A Portrait in Time

The land is swamped with moonlight. A mysterious world revealed in silvery shadows, making the layers of the world more enchanting. When ever there is the need to see the world anew, sitting in the world in the darkness in the middle of the night, has become a nightime habbit. The painter has helped me observe the composition of everything. The same objects rearranged offer a different formular. so too the aspects of light and shadow. Enough shadow offers contrast, too much and the subtle balance is lost. So too in life, essentially light and dark are part of everything, the polarities of the stage of life. In the Highlands where the clouds are thick gloomy towering grey layers, their merkyness is made relevant when the light battles through. Real bright light is an occassional thing, generally observed at a distance; many many miles, as the sheep runs, from the picnic. An architypal vision is the sun blazing throught the clouds, piercing the heavy pillars & p

It was an innocent mistake. Truely. Although yes at some stage I did glance at the invitation, but details, what are details in an impressionistic world. Seen today, forgotten tomorrow. Such details will never, EVER, be overlooked again. Because today one of those landmark moments in mistakes of the meat kind. The painter and I are really not one for parties. We would rather linger with a few friends and talk all night. We do go to out to our dear friends, but in a small town the intimacy and interaction can almost overwhelm. So either you are out all the time or you are selective and choose those rare opportunities to mingle and merge. Tonights motivation were more for the sake of introducing our friends to their neighbours. But Oh what a faux pas, and a disservice to our friends. So what have we learnt from this event. Never EVER take meat to a raw food house..... and may be more so, NEVER EVER take PORK to a Jewish Home. To say we were marched out

Theres a great advantage to being 2 hours away from the nearest big city. The world is very different here. None of the needs and expectations of the metropolis. Cars tend to be older, fashions undefined. High heels, have been unworn and in the closet for almost 10 years, why I keep them I do not know. Around here with all these dirt roads and cobbled streets no one is insured or sensible to where heels. It is always an indicator of ' a newcommer', and often when the fashion conscious do come clip clopping through town they are regarded with curiosity and alienation. For the painter it is all about light and shadow. He is barely aware of the hustle and bustle of the little things. Of more interest is the response of the desert. Here we are in the midst of monsoons, for us its all about the rain, and the break in the relentless heat. For the painter, now intimately with the cycles and subtleties of this arrid zone, he waits for the red dirt to be speckled wi

Monsoon season brings frisky unpredictable weather. Thank god, endless days of sunshine are such a bore. Never thought I would think about rain so much, tempting those clouds to just give us what they got. But 12 years in the desert have parched the Scottish lass, and when I think of what I would like to attract, it is rain. Last night, full moon I sat in the jungle of trees at the back of the garden, and read the sky as clouds flurried past. Powerful moon, linger planets of Saturn and Mars. Nothing simple about that alliance. Bring it on, HA - she says unaware of their unavoidable purpose. The painter has been sitting out the wind and rain in his studio. From there he can appraise the clouds and consider if he has enough time to get outside and set up his easel before the bothersome winds come. Painting in rain is not generally a problem with oils. But the monsoon rain can hit with such a force that the drops can nudge the paint. The only other time hes met su

I thought by now I would be advancing forward with all the pressing responsibilities of a grown up world. Our son just started first grade, and with that a new found freedom was to be mine. Was but not is, as the day he started school I broke my toe. For 6 years my little escort has been my constant companion, and my continued fantasy of alone time, freedom, idle fancy, have been just that, fantasy. Meanwhile the painter has kept up his nomadic lifestyle, wondering off each day into the great outdoors, getting more reclusive as each year goes by. But the translation of his efforts now portray vivid magic. Astonishingly intimate collections of these canyons and corners around the valley that the restless mind would wiz by unnoticed. Mixing with his pallet of red yellow and blue, he brings these landscapes alive on canvas. Heralding the simple association of trees and shrubs, mesa's and trails, life is observed anew from the gift of observation from the gentle man. I m