First sight of Potato Point sea for seven weeks
Beach runners and shadows
Around the weekend yard
On top of the chiffonier
Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about objects that represent experiences and the people I love. The red cedar chiffonier in my living room belonged to my Auntie Min. She had it restored towards the end of her life, and it was part of my tangible inheritance from her. The wedgewood candlestick used to sit on my mother’s dressing table. The feathers have been collected and gifted over a number of years, and maybe presage a photographic feather-frenzy. The Prague crystal container was a gift from my more-sister-than-sister-in-law; the amber pendant a gift from my daughter’s parents-in-law; nestled invisibly amongst its silver chain are the topaz earrings my new husband gave me on my birthday two days after we were married; the bird was an unexpected gift from a Siberian friend of my daughter. Underneath it all lies a placemat crocheted by my mother – and overlying it, a patina of dust that is my unique contribution. So much history and biography, conveyed in just a few items.
Water and sky
This image, Penguin flight, was created by Gillian Wilde using the continuous line technique, without looking at the paper. (Photographed at Gallery Bodalla, with permission)
Dead things and light
My muse for both of these is Sue at WordsVisual. She has taught me the absolute and rather mystifying charm of flowers beyond their prime, to the point where the giver of these zinnias asked plaintively whether I’d actually enjoyed them fresh. I did, when they were plump with youth, but I also like their graceful drooping lines and curls as they fade.
There is only one creature more a seeker of light than Sue, and that is Cruz. If you want to know the best place to capture sunshine, cherchez le chien.
The inevitable beach!
A summary of the many pleasures of the beach: those knobbled shells nuzzling into all sorts of crannies; patches of tapestry-lichen; tumbleweed, the same ecru-oatmeal as the sand; a discarded seagull feather, just one; sandripples, seaweed and buff jelly; rockpools peopled by light, seaweed, an albino crab, worm tracks and pink sea lichen.
I said there would probably be more sculptures, and I was right!
A pair of rusty Easter-Island-like monuments,
a bit of musical rust,
a ray and a magpie
and contrasting shapes
The 5 year olds
Miss Maja, and cake: they’ve always been congenial companions: Janek’s allergies prevent him from enjoying the same pleasures.
Exploring as Mum watches from a height.
… a whole collection of watery and airy things. For once I manage to capture birds – one a camera-flirt to rival my great niece, even going so far as to sit on my knee. He also attempts to kidnap my scone, a very good one: he has discrimination.
There are plenty of sounds as I amble along the boardwalk: the throaty satisfaction of the pelicans as a fishing boat approaches; the croarrr of seagulls; the insistent ringing of invisible bell-birds; the lazy midday quarking of crows; the cello-coos of doves in the bridge superstructure; the metallic tap of walkers' shoes; the occasional whirrrr of an an approaching bike; the excited cry of a boy when he spots seals: “Mum! Look what I found”; and behind it all the continuous noise of traffic on the highway. Signs provide amusement, history, and an idea for a future walk.
The tide is heading towards low: colonies of sea urchins, indicators of healthy water, are easy to spot, nudged up against rocks. Ripples, oyster-encrusted rocks, the blue green under the bridge, even the mud and sand-patterns are all jewel-like.
Which brings me back to Fabergé, in case you're wondering. The stroll along the board walk began as an adjunct to going to the movies, to see Fabergé. Screening was cancelled because they'd sent John the wrong DVD, so I took my Fabergé where I could find him, along with many other treasures.