Throwing Moon Jars

Tomorrow eveing I will be going to the exhibition of Adam's new firing at The Court House in St Davids.

Before that I will submit myself to the rule of the Time Chicken, finish the bats, and decide which page to do next. Time is running short and needs to be caught in both hands and held close.

I love watching other people work and this is a great clip of pot throwing with fantastic music.

Elegant measures

I have measured out my time.

Hours spent painting.

With a kitchen timer shaped like a chicken, sitting ticking away minutes until the bell rings.

With a pomodoro timer on my phone, a tick and a whir and a measure.

With an hour glass where a line of sand falls from one sphere of glass to another. One glass diminishes while the other glass fills and another hour passes.
At night, when I wake, the time passing is spent watching the movement of stars across the sky as the earth tips.

And now with music as I have been introduced to Spotify. And I have discovered Sigur Ros. One hour playlists of wonderful music.

The most elegant is the hour glass. Silent poetry of passing time. And the movement of stars.

Poetry on a rainwashed day

Days go by. Trying to work through paintings and there are things that have to be done, that need to be done, for visits away. Nicky Potter has been amazingly patient organizing a two week trip around England, ( Manchester, South-end-on Sea, Hackney for the Starlit Festival, Cambridge and Norfolk for the Norfolk Children's Bookshop)and I have to admit that the highlight for me will be working in the story teepee in London Zoo, because afterwards I hope to meet an animal or two, watch a tiger, and talk with some of the keepers maybe.

My painting has been elegantly ordered by the softer and  poetic hour glass and I have been wandering the net looking and learning about hour glass timers, so soon there will be an hour glass shaped posting.

A box arrived with a wonderful delivery from Iris Milward. So beautiful. She made the tile above from the simplest line sketch that I did at Art in Action in July. I love her work and cannot believe that she sells at such amazingly reasonable prices. The words woven in the hares say;

 

The night has a thousand eyes

And the day but one

Yet the light of the bright world dies

With the dying sun.

 

The mind has a thousand eyes

And the heart but one

Yet the light of the whole life dies

When love is done.

 

 

Such a beautiful thing to arrive on a rainy dark day.

 

I painted, as sand slipped through glass, all the time thinking of making painted hour glasses. And maybe a 24 hour glass.

One Cheetah, one cherry, one Chicken of Time.

Walking by the sea watching colours change through from the palest silver blue to deep prussian green makes me realise why I love living by the sea. A few feet away a buzzard rose into the air and swept away across the field of gold. I walk under an ocean of air. Walking and thinking and then home to paint.

Cheetahs and cherries still wander through my mind's eye, while in the garden butterflies dance wild and settle, on flowers, on pots.

 

On the way home I called at the hardware shop to buy cleaning things. At last they have new timers in and some time ago I was sent some money for a Time Chicken. I now have one, but have lost the address of where to send it, so, if you who are reading this is the person whose timer broke some time ago, who has been suffering burnt food and time chaos and patiently waiting as time ticked past for a time chicken to be born from the egg of hours, I have one. Can you email me your address? 

Your chicken awaits.

And I have a spare for anyone else whose life is in a vortex of too much time spent doing what they shouldn't be doing and not what they ought to do!

Proofs and The Time Chicken

Slow slow slow progress. The tricks we use to make ourselves work, but I fear mine is leading towards a book as I bow to the rule of The Time Chicken. Set the timer for an hour then sit and paint til the bell goes off. And below the Time Chicken, proofs of The Icebear which at the moment I take as proof that once upon a time I did some painting.