2/10/17
I went into the hills again to remind myself of the colours of autumn.
The yellows, oranges, golds.
The smell of wood smoke drifting in the air, and decaying leaves - of pine and mustiness
Of the river - its smell, light and sound.
Water has an indescribable smell - I cannot describe it - I'm not even sure if it is a pleasurable scent except perhaps to the thirsty.
I hear the sound of dry leaves clattering.
I collect all these in my minds eye and bring them back to the little room I call my studio.
I try to translate them into marks and colours.
I also collect conkers (a glut this year) in order to pot them up and produce saplings in the spring - ready to be returned to the valley.
All these things dim the horror and bring the good things to remembrance.
Paul.
I went into the hills again to remind myself of the colours of autumn.
The yellows, oranges, golds.
The smell of wood smoke drifting in the air, and decaying leaves - of pine and mustiness
Of the river - its smell, light and sound.
Water has an indescribable smell - I cannot describe it - I'm not even sure if it is a pleasurable scent except perhaps to the thirsty.
I hear the sound of dry leaves clattering.
I collect all these in my minds eye and bring them back to the little room I call my studio.
I try to translate them into marks and colours.
I also collect conkers (a glut this year) in order to pot them up and produce saplings in the spring - ready to be returned to the valley.
All these things dim the horror and bring the good things to remembrance.
Paul.
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