Pagan meadows

A stunning evening; a pair of crows are doing crow things on the roof outside and making lovely little noises to each other; I love the corvus birds, they are so intelligent and really give you pause for thought as to how much they know about us, things...

Just committed one of my own personal sins; things I have banned myself from doing based on sound evidence from the past that they are not on the repeat list. I cut my own hair - familiar? No matter how many times it ultimately leads to a) ridicule and b) trip to hairdresser I still harbour the conviction that it is a great budget idea and that my creativity natually extends to being a born (thus no training needed) hairdresser. I also briefly believe that I do have eyes in the back of my head. I actually used to hide my hairdressing scissors in the misguided belief that this would curb my habit; just as I used to hide the phone when I had had a few drinks... If you are familiar with the excellent film 'Sideways', you will recall the 'Did you drink and dial?' scene. Yup that was me, that was, and I have long suffering friends up and down the country to vouch for me. There are probably survivors to testify to my lack of hairdressing skills as well, but I don't know if they would pick up the phone.

The sun has once more turned the city's population into pagans, divesting themselves of clothing and offering their sallow bodies to the great one in the sky. The Meadows was a full on Bacchanalia with disposable barbeques and footballs - that would give the Romans pause for thought. Had we managed more than two fair days together last summer in Arran we could have really enjoyed a summer in the wilds without the city getting in the way. I do have some pleasant memories of snoozing on beaches between lunch and dinner service watching the ferry depart and with it our connection to the mainland - a great feeling - Byeeeee!

Started on the new painting with the usual stop-start frustration that comes of having my 'next great idea' in the middle of a spell of cash-money-work. Having to write notes in sketch book and on post it notes to carry over my train of thought, otherwise its easy to sit at the easel 24 hours later thinking 'why the hell is that green?' All the 'final colours' are underlayed with others, sometimes in a cryptic manner, and keeping track of my mindset from the day before is not always straightforward. I'll stick some pics up as I go along on the 'Studio watch' page (love that, I think I should ask Bill Oddie to guest present it for me) as I have actually remembered to take the camera to the easel from the start. This is, of course, the 'Next Great Work' as many pictures start out - always convinced that this is my finest piece to date and marvelling briefly at my own luminous talent, before the comedown and final rejection as I move on to the next object of my self appraisal. I am always glad to know that I am not alone in my lack of self confidence in my painting; indeed the man not known for ego problems, Mr Picasso, supposedly sneaked into the Louvre and looked at some of his paintings in the empty gallery before allowing them to hang there. He wanted to see if they looked 'out of place' with the artists he had idolised through his formative years. My favourite story is about Chagall - lovely biography I read last year in Tuscany prompting lots of my painted ladies to sport Bella Chagall haircuts - who in his later years went to the opening of a show of his much earlier work in his homeland. He was near ninety at the time and after surveying the pieces displayed he said quietly to a companion 'I was good, wasn't I?'

Chagall always seems to get bad press for being self obsessed, miserable, repetitive; I love him for his singular vision and the way he stuck with it. I always love an artist whose pictures show you something you just could not see for yourself - their unique view of a familiar world. Walking around Paris I love to think of him looking to the sky and seeing the flying people, the Eiffel sparkling and the flowers blooming. I think if I could click my heels together and fly anywhere right now I would magic myself beside the Seine; I do love Paris and this weather is perfect for it.

Foodwise, I have been chasing a recipe from long ago; while working in London many moons past I procured a recipe for 'cook up rice' from a Carribean colleague, which was one of my favourite teas of that year. Alas, the recipe is lost in removal and all I remember is that it was a coconut based rice with spices, beans and chicken. Attempts to remake it as a kind of risotto with jerk or cajun seasoning were pleasant but didn't catch the elusive taste lost; I have now found a recipe that cooks the rice in the coconut milk and then adds other ingredients, rather that risotto-ing it- I shall give it a spin and see what comes out, then keep searching. I think with a methodical approach and a weekly trial I may get there by next summer...