I’ve never seen the sea of my country in person, I was a small child when we left. But i’m sure it is beautiful despite its ghosts. Just as the sky looked marvellously bejewelled every night despite the devastation below it.
I attempted to capture the essence of the sea of my home in an acrylic painting using a photo for reference:
I think it was going well until I introduced a little burnt umber towards the bottom (this was intended to mimic seaweed visible below water), and then I completely wrecked the shore, so much so that I cut it off the page and threw it away instantly! A quiet beginning quickly turned into a little disasterous painting session, but I can always cut this strange burnt umber portion off too if I can’t salvage it (I probably won’t be able to).
There is still a pair boats left to paint, but I grew tired.
I have a mountain of books waiting to be read, a list of things to do, it’s sad how quickly predilections fade, like they never existed.
The universe hastens somewhere, I feel a change of pace. And i’m getting old, and things have changed, and everything begins with an ending already in motion, and everything goes where they’re waited, in the end. Today is today, and we’ve lived. Tomorrow is beyond the horizon, just shadows away, and life?
Strange times. As the days pass, strange meets strange, becomes stranger. And we carry on just the same.
I’ve been just the same, thankfully, maybe a little uneasy, but nothing beyond my usual trepidations. It is becoming increasingly difficult to not worry about things outside the scope of my control, there is so much to simply witness, but I want to take care of everything and all must be well, ideally.
Despite everything, there is a lot bringing me joy and I still appreciate living life on this turbulent plantet. We can do better, I know, there is a lot wrong with many things in the world, but I will do my part and hope. It’s a coping mechanism you see, better this way than to wallow in the current state of things.
Recently, I dug out a tin of colouring pencils I once bought and forgot about, I wanted to try my hand at a proper coloured drawing for once in my life, and so I did. Although I still believe a good charcoal drawing can really capture the sentiments and spirit of a moment like nothing else (I’m just not particularly good), there’s just something so effervescent and full about a drawing with colour! And I may seem silly like I’ve just discovered colour but I really just have (in relation to drawing). It was always something I wanted to try, like painting, but I’ve always been exceptionally afraid of attempting to paint anything. Maybe I will try that too, I have some acrylics somewhere. It’s good to venture beyond ones comfort zone.
I still have some work to do on the reflections in the water in the second, maybe some stars and streaks of white in the second drawing? It’s a little cartoony but I shall see how it goes, if it even goes.
I seem to have lost my way
my assurances faltered to this questionable place
I have everything I need
Not one calm breath is granted in this place of perturbation
I’ve forgotten how to speak easily
burning on the edge of tomorrow
I seem to last forever here
There is a labyrinth to negotiate when it’s time to speak
I have nothing to say
Chopin’s nocturne started to play in C minor as I began to pull over, and the rain slowed to whispers. There were no sounds of traffic, no passing lights, not even the wind moved. the rain beat on the glass and something in me felt disconnected, a little unworldly, lonesome. The world stood still, crepuscular and delicately poised in the background of a memory, a problematically perennial engulfing little memory.
In a bookstore, a museum, on a rainy day through the windowpane of a cafe – on a chair, on the train, on the platform in the dark, on the bus, on the elevator: a traveller, a coffee connoisseur, a historian, a revolutionary man with many things to say who spoke a lot. He had a face with a face, and eyes that burned. I was tired.
The mood is different. The leaves have all fallen. We seek solace in different ways. There is nothing but quietened birds and quieter rain, the darkness grows more pronounced.
At the culmination, will you fight or fly? Far away the air is warmer, the trees are green, evenings pink and quiet, there is a little decency far away. There is hum of distant traffic and no accountability.
It’s almost June and the sound of spring is still a little disengaged, the cold is intense sometimes, I really am worried. It feels as though there isn’t much time for anything too, but trivial matters still manage to continue at a tedious length. Talk of politics ambush me on my way to work, prosaic routine concerns comprise of chit-chat that is seemingly unending about things that are seemingly important, and something impels me to just get on the next available flight to somewhere far from this despondent state of things, and not return. I only want a little warm weather and to know of what will unknowingly betide, I can no longer handle surprises in my life.
But on another note, I have been experimenting with some coloured charcoal and it is an interesting development in my life.
It is of a particular sky on one eve, but it could very well be daybreak too and that is the beauty of the sky isn’t it? From gold to black to gold, its soft transitions of colours and capricious weather patterns, in the end, it all combines into one disposition. Nature in its essence is a poetic illustration of life: everything ends where it began.
I am allowing some lingering thoughts to surface too, and I wonder of many things and people, there are so many unfinished things, so many things evermore elusive…