Out under the travelling sky, when I kicked them up from damp grit, wrenched them from the mud with bare hands and put them in my pocket, still damp. When I sat on a rock and scribbled with a stub of pencil on the damp pages of my notebook, speckled with the first spit of rain. The images were more alive when the wind was in my hair.
Time at the desk brings something else. And it made me think that my "real" desk is the world. These words came to me yesterday when I was choosing a new image for my blog banner. Tough to choose, but this is a sketch done out on the moor near Malham in the Yorkshire Dales, when the sky was looming low and it was time to head indoors after a productive day in the hills.
Wild weather was shadowing my back. I remember hoping that the ink would dry before the rain swept in as I carried my paintings strapped onto the back of my rucksack. The words in the notebook came later when I was doing some free writing.
a wild day out in the elements on Boss Moor on the edge of the Yorkshire Dales, when the sky came down as well. Acrylics, grit, sand, wind, hail and fury.
One of my happiest times ever, was up high on the Lancashire moors, in an August gale, wearing every item of clothing I had with me, wrestling with a wonderful handmade piece of A1 rag paper that I imprisoned beneath rocks. I was up there with a group of artists who huddled behind walls like moaning grumbling sheep. I spent the day in a ditch, so warm out of the wind in such a painting frenzy that they didn't see me until it was time to go home. I felt tearful at the thought of that day being over.