Saturday, 28 March 2009

Friday kicks

It wasn't easy to sit on the beach yesterday. Even behind one of the biggest walls, the spray came round the corner in airy breaths, the wind sneaked down the back of my neck, snatched at my notebook, and I struggled to write while my hands were somewhere up my sleeves. I know - foolish to leave gloves behind so early in the year.

Thing is, my need for shelter meant I couldn't sit and look full on at the wreckage of the pier that inspires me. I think if I had done that I would have been blown home like a crisp packet.

While I was imagining myself to be looking at the pier from another angle, a man went for a swim. Once in the sea, the raging waves made the white of his swimming cap look like a ping pong ball, sitting high on the water. I watched that white dot dance in the distance as he did double arm backstroke in a lurching line that seemed to go nowhere despite his efforts.

He rode, he was driven, he was debri, and then he surrendered to a blissful looking float, out beyond the breakers, where he found a surge that carried him high in the peaks and low into the shadows of the troughs without taking him to shore. His Friday kicks looked great fun, but I did feel a bit of motion sickness.

This sketch was done last year from the spot I was wanting to sit in. What I was interested in, yesterday, was to look at part of the wreckage that reminds me of six pairs of work jeans pegged out on a clothes line. I realized that I've never sketched them. I guess the 'jeans' are swathes of material that have fallen from a ceiling long burnt out. But the thing about them is, they don't move in the gale, as proven yesterday on the windiest day for weeks. 

Further beach stake-outs are needed, obviously.