No.4
Tamar. June 2012
NFS
In Amsterdam I tried not to cry in front of a Rembrandt painting, I felt the same sitting in front of the changing light on the river.
The light was just getting better and better, the birds song more clear, more echoey as the evening stillness crept over. The sheep who's voices carried up the valley dotted its lime green flanks, this turned pinky orange as the chill set in and the sheep's noise was replaced by pigeons lulling. At 8.45 a green bottomed boat with a red sail that could see the last of the evening sun sailed silently up the opposite bank of the estuary, about turned and went back towards the sea, the beauty of it made me feel insane.
I wanted to stay weeks to paint in oil, by the water, not take them home and think maybe one day I would work them up into oils...and then not. To be there, in the light, to hear the water moving and the birds flopping about in low tide and bumble bee floating past or the distant engine pooteling out to its mooring.
