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8.00
Arrive at my observation post, panting from the bike. I empty the rucksack.
Camera, lidded palette, plastic paints box, karrimat to sit on, brush case, canvases, and my knee board that I put the canvas on to keep me clean.
8.10
I'm ready.
Each long brush is handle pushed into the earth at my feet, pointing up ready to grab. The kitchen roll pegged down ready and a jam jar of spirit upon it... ready. My white's prepared, ready and now I'm just waiting to mix the first traces of colour that appear in the sky ...I'll blend into this colour a little time element, some experience and a lot of guessing so that I’ll have a dollop or two of the basic colours that might appear in the sky 15 or 20 mins from now.
Waiting for the first colour to appear. Dawn's first tracery if you prefer. (I like that) I'm waiting for the day to appear between my feet, splayed out as they are upon the grass. A bit like Stonehenge I think my feet are, on mornings like this at my post.
It's elusive this morning though....Dawn's Tracery is elusive I mean, and I spend the time guessing what shapes will appear. I can't make any out yet, let alone any colour other than grey.
(That was 8.15)
8.20
I've forgotten my sketchbook. I usually spend this time sketching the formations of clouds as they exist in the half-light before the sun trots out between them.
It doesn't matter though because there aren't any this morning. There's nothing to draw. Two feint blurred grey bands have suggested themselves grudgingly across the sky, one two. Grey upon another grey. I wonder if this is enough to start a painting with.
8.30
A minimalist at heart, it's too minimal even for me. It's too empty even for a nihilist. Deconstructed though. Yes, it's Dawn Deconstructed. Conceptual then. Hey I could do that.
It seems to be a bit brighter than it was 30 minutes ago.
8.31
A quiet time. Contemplative. I'll look at some seagulls. There are three white dots about 1/2 a mile away. I could watch the ducks and swans but there aren't any. It's a Monday morning I suppose even for them. Soon though, the street light beside the cycle path will go out. I find myself looking forward to this.
There's ...well ...nothing.
No sun no colour, a basic monotone and no shape. It's not even cold.
Or warm. There's not much wind but it's not still either.
8.32
Thank you god for giving me this opportunity to know myself better.
I empty my mind of all thoughts and I value the blank canvas that this form of inner peace creates within me but the trouble is, god it's a bit boring. Especially after a minute or two.
Overcast is it? "There's no such thing as a grey day" I seem to remember writing recently in this website and now my own words seem to dance alone upon this beach like a mocking squirrel raised upon its hind legs prancing, taunting me. The wee b****.
I'd throw stones at it but there aren't any.
8.33
That's it I'm off.
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