The pears at the market yesterday were so beautiful, I couldn’t help but take a picture. They were perfectly ripe and their heady scent was the only perfume in the sultry June air.
We had quite a storm last night. I listened to the rain hitting the windows like a snare drum being tapped, tapped, tapped. I stared at the ceiling and could see the reflection of the collected droplets as the headlights from a car flashed across our room.
This morning, it was grey when I left. There was a chill in the air and the rain had turned to a drizzle, slowly soaking you through.
The wind yesterday had beaten and whipped off the the camellias from many of the bushes near school. As I walked in, it was like parading down a carpet of petals. This one blossom remained, perfectly intact and beautiful on the wet ground.
I know that my posting has been a bit sporadic as of late. My computer is dying a slow and very painful death. The screen begins to flash as if its possessed and the keyboard has now decided to stop working among other things, so Mr. Michie is very kindly sharing his macbook with me in the meantime.
In attempting to get caught up with my blog reading list this morning, I saw this post on Colossal. I was mesmerised. More than ever before, the art of creating something by hand should be valued. In Japan, Yasuo Okazaki carries on the tradition of handcrafting Kokeshi Dolls that was taught to him by his father. Beautiful.
Another great find while catching up with the last threads of things I stored on my Instapaper account over the summer, I discovered a film on The Fox is Black site. Simply entitled Tone, it’s focus lies not with the art of painting itself but rather the medium used to create works of art: paint. The film was created by NY based filmmaker Trent Jaklitsch, who filmed Alyssa Monks while at work.
I was completely mesmerised by the colors bleeding and swirling into one another as they are blended. I love cleaning my brushes, watching the paint swirl around the water, like a squid that has just extruded a puff of ink. The water beginning to cloud with color like a storm rolling in.
The paint hues tangible, the bristles of her brush sweeping through the paint and stirring it into peaks and ridges as if she is creating mountains of color. There comes a point where it doesn’t appear as paint any more, it materializes almost as if it has come out of the cosmos, a star burst of color. Or, like bodily fluids, blood pulsing through the veins. It is an intoxicating film to view.
It has felt autumnal all day. This morning was crispy and although the sun came out it never truly felt warm. I went for a walk in the park over lunch and spotted an old bench, spotted with lichen. The sun was streaming through the leaves overhead and undulating back and forth over a small patch, almost as if the sun was beaming through the water on a patch of coral. It made me smile.