Afterwards

 when i think of my show, sense those images up there, i sink into an indescribable state.Nothing to do with success or failure , or any show label . yes a friend used the word weird , and yes depressed , but its unclear , except i know now, shows are not the route for me. .

 well ,there is always Mrs brown ,

this morning she was bustling by the gate , and pleased with her porridge and organic  - of course - layers mash . I stood watching as the plump blackbird arrived to join her . Mrs brown goes 1st , the blackbird waits , as she makes her special food enjoyment noise , and then she allows her tiny flock to share .

walking by the seals

There's an increasingly long fence on Wells beach that annoys me ,  and notices telling us to : ' help protect seals hauled out on the beach , and keep dogs on lead or under control .'  I know it shouldn't annoy me, and that i surely care about the seals - i do , but perhaps i care about the holiday makers more,  so much of the good strip of beach is taken from them . I'm surprised at my attitude , maybe its just notice boards put in the way of me and the sea.

       I was out early and they were there , the seals ,  safely fenced off, glowing eyes , and simultaneously  doing an anxious slither when they saw Neddy , but when they realized how harmless he was ( obsessed by his ball), they continued to lie on the sand . I'm constantly drawing them , and today i only had a clumsy pen .

   I quickly drew a horrible speed boat going out to sea  , with their fishing rods placed in the front like spears , well they are spears as far as the fish are concerned , and the hunters standing proud as the boat wallops the water .But for a quick drawing i needed  to know more than i saw then , that combination of aggression and pleasure - their stance on the boat - the shape of it , all went by  too fast .

     Neddy was swimming , returning with his ball while the boat went past .

    I wondered about swimming too, but i haven't quite got the real swimmers attitude , and anyway all this, all this blogging, and drawing, and growling at notices , is to distract me from the pain of  my show  coming soon , and to get into that grey green chilly sea might leave me too raw . Unless someone was there safe with a warm towel and hot tea and biscuits .

     I've  the beginning of a swim i did last summer on a 4ft high canvas , to finish one day after a different sort of golden swim .

smiling slug

 I've happily  allowed a slug to distract me - the worms have gone - It's beautiful bright sunny weather , but I'm stressed and need ,  to laugh at myself .   People , dogs , hens , music , tulips, walking by the sea ,  are all very fine , but I'm drawn to the compost heap . For the 3rd day running the slug has remained on the inner ledge beneath the lid , i decided to paint it , and realized i couldn't be bothered to do the intricate patterns on its body , so i left it feeling a bit silly . Half an hour later i returned , i decided to scoop it up , have a  closer look , but it wouldnt scoop , it curled up , shrank . I stood back and it curled under the rim and smiled , it returned to its large size and smiled like i drew it .

I know , i know slugs dont have eyes like that , or normally look so fishy , but this one did THEN, there was that eye dent  ( i've noticed that before , those wierd holes in their sides )

Hen, birds, and a bee.

 Early this morning mrs Brown was making a peculiar noise, as if she was stuck , i went out  in my dressing gown , and she was just pleased to see me and wagging her tail and telling me i was missing a beautiful beginning of the day .

 I fetched my coffee  and toast , and neddy of course , and sat  in a shady corner of the garden ,
watching. . A Jackdaw was making its nest  - carrying twigs as big as itself to the chimney opposite , sparrows fluttered in the sunlight their wings transparent , an obese pigeon sat on the wall , and there was 1 bee in a purple sort of dead nettle flower , but a wonderful shock  - the patch of sky above was split for a second by the sharp v of a house martin arriving back

   .
            I'm now wondering if it was a swallow just checking up on its way somewhere more watery .

    That would suit me as this IS a swallow in spain .The  only remaining part of a huge painting that i cut    up , so at least  I'm giving the bird a  chance to  live on .

The plate

 Yesterday I bought a plate for 50p , from the shop opposite . Neddy and i were walking back from a windy walk , and i saw it  in a cardboard box on the pavement , with a collection of awkward looking china . It isnt  gaudy welsh -  my favorite pattern , but the pleasure it gives me obsesses and baffles me .

   A roll of paper had got in the way in my studio , from the disruption of getting stuff out to frame for my show , about 4ftx 5ft  remained , and as i stood it up  , i realized i wanted to paint on it , and that the blooming plate would have to go in  . A bit daft doing a plate in watercolour , a bit daft doing an enormous water colour - well from the point of view of selling - but its already very intriguing , and a  miracle plant i found flowering in an icy ploughed field last month , dead now , has already got on the paper ,and much will happen  ,  there's plenty of space , and then everything will be covered in earth , only in  a sense . There is a link with a photo my son Joseph sent me of earth . Best not to write out more until i've DONE more .

Another egg

This morning Mrs Brown laid another egg and decided to make a proper cluck cluck cluck yell  , i shouted encouragement out of the window , and Neddy barked and wagged his tail .

   It's a day for drawing , colours are too slow , no cant be that  - nothing is more immediate , but I'm impatient to respond .

    

Pecking - she would peck at the very paper................

Spring is affecting everything , even this computer . i decided to sit , as in meditation, in the warm greenhouse , and Neddy who's all a tremble, came to sit on my lap .  I began to worry about those worms , and felt a feverishness of  being close to so much   growth . I deserted , and went to check on the new compost bin - where last night  i'd lowered in a few of the super pink worms - and they were right up on the lip of the lid , either escaping , or new ones trying to get in . i tried scooping them up and they slithered speedily  down the edge of the bin , no sluggishness in them.

      

worms and poems

I opened up the oldest of my compost heaps , and as the first clods fell apart a mass of worms squirled out . A bright pink they were , I would have thought they'd be colourless hidden in the dark rot of earth and vegetables slowly  composting  . i lifted up a spadeful to take to mrs brown , the worms reeling in the sunlight , and realized i couldn't face the sight of her eagerly pecking them up , and making that gobbling chirp of delight , (  i gave her a freshly dug up chard plant instead ) , and i buried them in my empty veg patch . But instead of the worms wriggling down in delight they lay still and helpless under a sprinkling of fresh earth . I find all this under earth life exciting , and all related to the vast underground angel that i paint .

     I met Jehane markham  by mistake next to the vegetable shelf  in our local organic shop , and we had  coffee together , and  talked about how interesting it was getting older , and i ' confessed ' about this blog  -  my neck felt as if it might explode  , is that why some people get a sort of neck blush its never happened before , but  the confession turned out not to be one ,  but that  blogging might be - not quite a journal -  but  a creative link. Back home, inspired , i looked at Jehanes poems  , and immediately found one related to our conversation :
                                               IF YOU NEVER GROW UP
                                              
                               If you never grow up, does it matter?
                               If the years stack up
                               In a tower of shells
                               That might fall
                               Scattering over the sand like lost buttons
                               Under which you crawl
                               Revealing how dark you are
                               How raw inside
                               Moving with such tiny steps across the moving tide

And it goes on beautifully for 2 more verses      -      from her book :    Thirty Poems .