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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Monday, August 19, 2013

The stately Raven

Parker pen and Black Quink ink with watercolour on Bockingford 300gsm

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
‘Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, ‘tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.’

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered – not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.’
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.’
Extract from The Raven – Edgar Allan Poe – [First published in 1845]

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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 13, 2013

Leopard on the rocks

The leopard lingered in the sun
Almost at close of day,
With all its hours almost done
And fast to ebb away…
The leopard lets his memories
Remind him now and then,
Because he knew each day must cease
When moonlight shone again...

Black Pilot FineLiner ink sketch and W&N watercolour on Amedeo 200gsm 

An African Leopard sunning himself on some rocks. Powerful, graceful and arguably one of the most beautiful of all the large cats, the elusive leopard is a master of stealth and survival. 

In the Cape Province south of the Orange River (South Africa), they have been largely eradicated by stock farmers except in rugged mountainous areas. The Cape Leopard that lives in the Cape mountain range is much smaller than its big cousins in the Limpopo region. Their diet is probably the contributing factor, consisting mostly of dassies and much smaller prey.

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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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Wednesday, July 31, 2013

African silhouettes

The shadows now so long do grow, That brambles like tall cedars show, Molehills seem mountains, and the ant Appears a monstrous elephant.
- Charles Cotton 

Watercolour on Amedeo 200gsm – 12″ × 8″ 

Elephants (Loxodonta africana) in the shadow of a mountain on their way to water in the northern parts of the Kalahari desert (South Africa).

A portion of the Kalahari Desert transforms for a brief period each year from a parched expanse of arid wasteland to a bountiful floodplain packed with channels, lagoons, swamps and islands — and it has the Okavango River to thank for this temporary transformation into paradise.

During the annual inundation, the Okavango Delta region draws migrating animals like a magnet, among them herds of Kalahari elephants. Elephants must have water on a regular basis, so as the dry season reaches a peak, they follow ancient instincts across the scorched and desiccated sands to the promise of boundless waters in the west.

As the elephants slowly make their way toward the delta, many can survive on what little resources they find until they finally enjoy a respite in the rich lands touched by the Okavango. Other herds will not complete the migration and may lose members to the harsh and competitive environment of the desert.

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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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