JUST ME :: and a stack of blank pages

:: Living creatively ::

About me

This is the real secret of life — to be completely engaged with what you are doing in the here and now. And instead of calling it work, realise it is play. The only thing that is ultimately real about your journey is the step that you are taking at this moment. That’s all there ever is. I’m here to tell you that the path to peace is right there, when you want to get away. When you are present, you can allow the mind to be as it is without getting entangled in it. If you miss the present moment, you miss your appointment with life. That is very serious!

Friday, August 23, 2013

Crow wears a silver band

W&N watercolour on Amedeo 200gsm
Cape or Black Crow (Corvus capensis) – endemic to Africa
With thanks to John from Midmarsh Jottings for the use of his beautiful photograph.

Crow wears a band of silver on his ankle, holds it out to watch it glint in the sun like cool creek water. It is noon. He is the only one out. All others have sought shelter under the canopy of live oak, the leaves beneath the chaparral, Crow, the only one among them unafraid to cast a shadow. He is a black body to absorb the sun’s heat, and yet unheated.

He’s silver studded with stones, turquoise to match the cloudless sky. He stretches out his leg again, watches sky and water glisten on his ankle.

He flexes claws and brings his foot beneath him again, stretches out his other, naked foot for balance. His feet are beautiful, furrowed skin like charcoal scales, sharp and onyx claws. As flexible as hands, good for grasping new-hatched thrushes or pulling gate hooks from eye bolts, and sleek. The humans see crow’s feet in the faces of their most seasoned elders, the scars of a learned life spent laughing.

Crows’ feet, the mark of craft and cunning, crow’s feet a sense of humour made skin and sinew.
He swings down on the branch, holds himself upside down and swinging, the silver falling down around his upper leg as he barks in delight. Sky below his feet and swaying, silver pools above his head. The world so beautifully inverted, he cannot keep from laughing. This is beauty: the world turned upside down. You can keep your lithe ingénues, your florid sunsets and cloying sentiment: beauty is all that cleft in two, a cunning spark suspended by crow’s feet, a fall from a deadly height and then the swoop of wing, the thickening of the air beneath splayed feathers. Seeing air rising within air and climbing on it, sun glinting blue-black as night sky off your feathers? Night colours blazing brilliant from your feathers? Beauty is day turned to night and night to day.

Heart beats furious beneath that dark breast, mind burns in onyx eyes. Beauty a glint of laughter in a bottomless dark eye. He barks again.

Sun above live oak, a thousand suns refracted on the earth below. Grasshoppers leap into the air clicking. Wild oats, tawn in the summer heat, lean eastward with the breeze, and a wall of fog on the ocean twenty miles west. All this beauty: all this.
Story from Coyote Crossing

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Friday, August 16, 2013

Light and shadow

W&N watercolour on Bockingford 300gsm 

... light and shadow reveal a silent presence on a kitchen counter…
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Tuesday, August 6, 2013

Solly's house

“Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.” 
― Edith Sitwell 

W&N watercolour on Bockingford 300gsm 
Solly’s house (our handiman factotum) on our smallholding (Tarlton, Gauteng, South Africa) 

No matter the size or location, a true home is one of the most sacred of places. It is a sanctuary into which men flee from the world’s perils and alarms. It is a resting-place to which at close of day the weary retire to gather new strength for the battle and toils of tomorrow. It is the place where love learns its lessons, where life is schooled into discipline and strength, where character is moulded.

 Another sketch of Solly's house that I did a few years ago

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Sunday, July 28, 2013

Jonathan Seagull

“To fly as fast as thought, to anywhere that is,” he said, ”you must begin by knowing that you have already arrived…” 
- From ‘Jonathan Livingstone Seagull’ 


After I read “Jonathan Livingstone Seagull” and because of all the Seagulls that often fly over my garden in Tarlton, South Africa (600km from the coast!), I was inspired to do some more Seagull sketches again – I’ve always been enamoured by these birds, especially their plight of constantly being trapped with plastic and metal rings around their necks and feet. It’s a passion that has been lying dormant for some time and awakened by this wonderful little book again.


Something I didn’t know, is that Seagulls are most closely related to the terns (family Sternidae) and only distantly related to auks, skimmers, and more distantly to the waders. But whoever they are related to, I personally would categorise them with Crows, one of my favourite, most intelligent birds! The same as crows, most gulls will take live food or scavenge opportunistically. And their love for man-made “junk food” defies belief! They will go to ANY length for some tasty hot potato chips with tomato sauce!



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Friday, July 19, 2013

Jack Frost's colours


W&N watercolour on a coffee back-ground (Nescafé instant, black and strong!) on Amedeo 200gsm 

There are popular and scientific myths about the causes of fall colour in trees. Jack Frost is alleged to paint tree leaves with his chilling touch, bringing on colour change along with a frosty coating. Another twist on this myth is that Jack Frost brings reds and purples to autumn trees by pinching the leaves with his icy fingers. A less poetic explanation of fall colour, favoured by scientists for decades, is that the autumnal colouring of leaves was caused by waste products accumulated in the leaves and revealed to us with the fading of green chlorophyll pigments. As it turns out, the waste product theory now seems to be considered a bunch of, well, crud. The fall colour pigments are produced, or revealed, only in living leaf cells of deciduous trees during the critical, seasonal process of leaf senescence. In fact, if Jack Frost did his thing too early, or, in other words, if there was an early killing frost, the leaf colour display would be dulled, if not stopped altogether.
- Info from Why Tree Leaves turn color in Autumn

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