Visiting flamingo

Right on cue, I was woken by the Twig alarm mid-dream this morning; I think I must have been in really deep R.E.M. as it felt like I was coming from another dimension. Sadly Stu was in the shower and the best way to record my dreams is to tell him immediately as otherwise crucial details slip away almost at once; I am left with a feeling of otherness and some vague visual things. This one left me with a rather lovely image of a friend I have recently re-met after a ten year break and who I associate with fashion; thus in my dream fragement she was dressed in some fabulous stage costume type garment in scarlet and fuschia pink - kind of a Moulin Rouge/My Fair Lady hybrid. I am so annoyed that the circumstances escaped me as I know that it was quite surreal and threatening and that the friend in her flamingo plumes had come to bail me out from whatever situation I had found myself. Alas; I must go to bed with my sketch book beside me and not my current reading matter, which for the record is driving me mad anyway. I am still on 'A Passage to India' and getting frustrated; part of me loves Forster's turn of phrase and oh so painterly linguistics, part of me wants to punch him for creating such a bunch of onlovely characters... frigging Forster indeed.

The lovely red/pink costume left me thinking colour all morning however, as if the paradise bird had left its feathers or aura around me. While I was on Arran I wanted to paint red and pink skies all the time, and very bright other colours; maybe a reaction to the confusion within? I seem to be less drawn to very bright colour combos when I am more settled; the subtler side of my spectrum is allowed to play. There is always a desire to clash or contrast though, and I really can't see myself giving up that one lovely little piece of turquoise or red-orange. I dropped a bit of cadmium red by accident on the mermaid's tile background and left it as the colour was so good against the subtle blues... Ha ha the mermaid song in playing now just to remind me. I am terrible with music, I will listen to something till I have it on the brain, all lyrics memorised and pretty much growing sick of it; then I move on to the next big thing. A tenedency that has come out in various facets of my life too, but that is a story for another emptier day.

Been amassing stuff in my Amazon wish list as a substitute for actually buying it - lots of the bands off the sampler CD I am doing to death at the moment appeal, and Jakob Dylan has released another one sneakily when I wasn't paying attention; liked the last (first, outside the Wallflowers) one a lot. Stu's birthday is fast approaching too and my inside information tells me that he has an Amazon voucher on the way, so an up-to-date wish list is a must. It's not rocket science, I've been asked to purchase the voucher on behalf of a less technologically minded relative... I've got a great painting in framing just now for him - at this point I am relying on him not reading my blog, which is a fair but not entirely foolproof idea; once I hid his present in his sock drawer overnight, knowing he would not need socks until the morning. You guessed it, that was the one day ever that he had a mystical urge to look at his socks before retiring for the night. Damn funny though. The painting is by Ritchie Collins and features a bald man with wonky ears holding a fish, in great bold colours; I met my beloved in a fish restaurant long ago and you guessed it about the rest.

Served Ian Rankin again today; he is top of my 'most served celeb.' list, although I am sure he is blissfully unaware of this status, or indeed of me. This makes three establishments in which I have had the pleasure (which it is, he is polite and unassuming) of serving him at least twice in each one. So, for the record Ian, I am actually a talented but impoverished blogging painter on the threshold of great things and I will sell anything to you (painting wise) at a highly favourable rate for this month only. Cash preferable but I guess original manuscripts might be worth a few bob one day too.

To the studio! Angels gather there.