Fleeing or frolicking

The title came to me on the way home while driving, inconsiderately, so I could only record it once I was in the garage petrolling up for my *week off*!! I have actually pulled over while driving to write down some niggling thing that is in my head; a line of a haiku or a painting title, and I am always so aware of how stupid and pretentious it must seem. But hey, its my brain and it won't remember if I don't record it, and if I don't record it all of these mystery ramblings will be lost forever. It's like the thing where I always think of great ideas in the shower, which may or may not be related to the wooden angel outside the door; when inspiration strikes, you just have to roll with it. The 'fleeing or frolicking' thing is related to the running women that keep appearing in my pictures; the angels over the roof of the world and numerous other sketches feature figures in ambiguous flight. Hence... or 'cavorting'; love that word. Accidentally painted an excellent background yesterday while I was painting over the picture once called 'Cloudberries'. I loved parts of the original and right up until yesterday I had kept one little face in the middle of a blue board, but if there is one thing I have learned this year it is not to try and salvage paintings that have gone to the pale. Give it up and move on is the wisdom, as I never, ever, end up liking or respecting retreads. So, in covering the old picture I initially used a wash of cheaper acrylic in a great turquoise that can be a bit much on its own, then last night set to covering that in red oxide. Half way along I realised that the rust colour with peeking pieces of turquoise was looking good, so I finished the rest of the board with this in mind and 'voila', a cool and interesting ground to work on. The new picture on here is going to be a continuation of the flowery and patterned face women; the forest angels and the bunny-leaf ladies. She is something I am aiming to work on in sketch form over the next week while I have time to work on things more fully that usual.

From Tuesday to Thursday I'll be on Skye; told a customer this earlier today. She is a fantastic hair-netted 'Miss Jean Brodie' of a Morningside lady, with teeth that whistle (ill fitting dentures?) as she speaks, making the Scots accent even more melodic. Her memory of Skye is of a relative, unspecified, going there on honeymoon and climbing the Cuillin hills with his new wife, only for her to fall to her death. 'Unsuitable shoes, I would imagine', she whistled. Wonder how many times she has repeated the story and whether somewhere above an irate angel in hiking boots is tearing her golden hair and screaming un-Christian sentiments...

Another fine conversation this morning was regarding the open day at the herbarium in the Botanic Gardens; the storyteller had visited and lingered on after the tour was over 'to enjoy the quiet'. She went on to describe her joy and finding 'huge rhubarb-like plants' that you could shelter under the leaves of. (Gunnera, I believe.) 'I felt so much better for seeing them', she sighed wistfully. I love that. I love that seeing a cool plant can make your day better and put a smile on your face; and how true.

Following my debates on the People's Friend magazine, attention has now been drawn, prior to my trip 'out west' to a series of very similar books that did indeed adorn the bookshelves of my house in childhood; Lillian Beckwith's tales of the Scottish Isles spoke of a bygone age and would probably be called 'gentle tales' in the 'Friend'. Looking up the titles is like revisiting my past although I have never read the works, and I have just discovered that the 'loosely fictional' tales were the work of a Londoner on Skye who recorded the island in the 50s and 60s in what was essentially an autobiographical way; the main character an incomer recording her fellow islanders' lives. 'The Hills is Lonely' (why the crazy grammar, will I have to read it to find out?), 'The Sea for Breakfast', 'A Rope - In Case' (sinister...) and lordy-be there it is; the angel reference... 'The Loud Halo'. Think I feel a painting coming on..

I am now wondering whether it would be a meaningful exercise to track down a copy of one of the books and dig into it 'in situ' as I watch the tides wash Broadford bay. Could do worse in the name of research. I have actually done a wee charity shop trawl and found a couple of books to read in the bite sized pieces necessary when on holiday with an ageing mother in need of constant attention (sorry, I know it will come to me too, but it's true); an anthology of poems on the subject of flight from a fairly random slice of literary greats: 'Icarus; an anthology of the poetry of flight' and a volume of short stories by A. M. Holmes - 'Things you should know'. I'm a sucker for a title like that and the cover has an excellently Photoshopped image of a reclining furry dog with a sheep's face.

I am going to record my posts in longhand over the three days away and fill in on my return. I shouldn't flatter myself to think that anyone will notice, but there it is.