Clouds the colour of a rugby bruise hang like a nagging worry over a low horizon.
Redcar, on my mind.
Busy lives strive to abandon the spirit from places we carry with us. The day-time window beckons the soul, while the fingers tap and the pen push, the mind is wondering lonely fells giving birth to infant streams. The hunger for solitude searches for intimate landscapes becoming intimate places within our hearts. While alone we miss the company of others, in the landscape a journey out becomes a journey in. Office days become wasted years as the trappings of modern life fade the memory of an old footpath walked long ago by a younger man.
I’ve been busy with my sketch book encouraging my loyal group of dedicated learners to sketch as often as they can. I firmly believe the best way to learn about drawing is to draw. Read as many books, watch as many videos as you wish, the learning is in the participation and I believe I’m speaking from experience. For many years I allowed my interest to waver. It’s only the past six years I’ve picked the pencil and brush up again.
I’ve also had the benefit of some good friend’s blogs and websites who’ve encouraged me along the way. Barry Coombs. Leslie White, Carol King, Amber, Val ,Patricia and to everyone else who I’ve failed to mention, but who’s taken the time to like or commented.