Showing Up
Last Thursday I discovered at the last minute that I didn’t need to go to work after lunch. Spook came home at that point as there was no power up his mountain after the previous day’s storm (Storm Gerrit), it was pouring with rain and he was in the doldrums. It was far too wet to do anything. So I donned my layers of clothing, waterproofs and Dry Robe (which has retired from any attempts at protecting me from the cold after dipping myself in cold water as who the hell wants to do THAT?,) and took my paints to the ancient graveyard in Glen Nevis. Very close to town, it’s enshrouded in large ancient trees and a dry stone wall and people must walk past it all the time without noticing it’s there. There was even a bit of a canopy to protect me from the worst of the rain. 40 minutes is really enough to get some shapes and colours onto paper and I managed a small one and a larger on another of my Mum’s old sketchbooks. The paint was extra wet with the rain, so I left the graveyard for the short walk back to the car, carrying the small one flat in one hand and the large one balanced in the palm of the other. Unfortunately, the rain got even heavier and was gathering on the sheets of paper, but I didn’t want to tip them up and wash all the paint off. There was almost no one in the Glen. Almost no one. A young man walked towards me, hunched up and looking lost.
“Is this the way to Ben Nevis?”
Using the hand with the smaller painting, I pointed into the mist behind him.
“That’s it over there. It’s 3.30pm, I hope youre not planning to go far?”
What a tumpshie, I thought, as the paint drippped off the large painting, and ran up the sleeve inside my Dry Robe. Imagine even thinking about it on this day and at this time with 1 hr of daylight left. Some people are just mad - mad, I say!!
My sopping painting was held high, just under his nose - it’s impossible to know what he was thinking. Hard to see ourselves as others see us, I suppose.
This is what it looked like after working on it at home.
This is what it looked like in the car, with a big puddle of muddy water.
When I got back to the car, I didn’t want all the water to run away and I still hadn’t wanted to tip it up in case the puddle of paint was crucial to my work of art. So I propped it level with some dogs toys and rubbish in the back of the car and drove carefully home, trying to keep the car level. A quite ridiculous concept, of course, and Spook would wish I had taken such care when I transported the little jug of olive oil to his parents house to aid and abet the wax in their ears. It’s still possible to get an oil stain on your bum if you sit in the wrong place.
This is what it looked like once the dirty paint water had soaked into the boot of the car. (I’m sure the dog toys took the brunt of it.)
My smaller painting, used to point out Ben Nevis to unsuspecting tourists.
My Grandpa Nicol’s ancient Waverly Novels, by Sir Walter Scott, have sat in my house for almost 2 years now. No one wants them. They are tattered and will never be read again. So I took a deep breath and tore pages out of XXV The Pirate (there are 48 of these beauties) and glued them onto the painting. Sacrilege perhaps, but surely Sir Walter Scott would approve of a little repurposing if no one’s going to actually open these books again?
48 Novels. That’s a lot of glueing and sticking. Printed in 1831 - quite fitting for an ancient graveyard.
Monessie Gorge was handy for a lovely after work dog walk the following day and the weather was lovely. 30 minutes was enough to catch a quick sketch in the gloaming.
Cold fingers. Cup of Tea and a Timtam at Curly’s house, and them home to rework it. Haven’t ripped this up, nor the Glen Nevis Graveyard ones - yet.
The last day of the year was a Sunday. The Day of the Dip is a Sunday, which as I have stated, I no longer participate in. But I do wear the Robe, which now has white acrylic paint down the front of it (and some brown paint inside the sleeves.) However Running Girl continues with the Dip and chose Loch Sheil at the foot of the Glenfinnan Monument as her last dip of the year. I decided that no opportunity should be missed to try a wee painting so said I’d take the same time it took her to strip off, swim and don her dragon onesy (no such fancy kit as a Dry Robe for HER.) I rested my finished pic on her swim bag, which she grabbed in her freezing fingers, which tipped the pic onto the grass. This added texture to a dull a painting.
I tried to brighten it up at home, and then ripped it up and tried again.
Only bit I liked
The wee smudge in the water is Running Girl
It’s hard to describe the pleasure I have had from going out to paint, regardless of the weather or the light. The sense of empowerment from not having to hide from the weather nor worry about whether or not a painting works. It’s about showing up, and keeping on, because it doesn’t matter. It’s just paper and paint, and I can do what I like.
