Wednesday 13 August 2014

Last Post...

This morning was the ninth, and problaby last drawing expedition of the year (sixty-three drawings, wonder what I could charge apiece...Given the fact that I can only afford 9 days a year, quite a lot, methinks).

Today, fittingly, was not a' finding' day  but a 'searching' day. "Ich erfinde nicht, ich suche" (I prefer to quote Picasso in german, I believe he would dislike that). Maybe I'll have it carved on my grave stone: "Er erfand nicht. Er hat gesucht."

Waning gibbous moon in the north-western sky. The highest tide I have seen in a long time, the incoming water reaching up to 30 cm below the jetty.
Even with the moon glittering in the flooding river, the rushing reeds, and geese flying here and there, I wasn't exactly in the mood for composing haiku, for once again I had forgotten my folding chair. Dis pros ton auton lithon proskrouein. Even mules don't do that.
In the north I faintly made out the silhouette of a ship against the myriad of twinkling lights of the portuary Kublai Khan Pleasure Dome. So I had to wait to unpack and start work, until the ship had well passed. As explained before, the wake of a fast ship can send a triple wave over the jetty at high tide (my chair would have afforded some protection). The 'Marie Theresa' hurried past, but the ensuing waves did not reach over the jetty. Just.
I still couldn't sit on the edge, as I'd have had my feet dangling well into the water. So I waited for some more ships to pass, and the tide to turn. In the south, a thin veil of cloud cover turned a pink hue of red by the rising sun, warning the early risers in the city of unsettled weather to come.

Talking of weather, it is quite impossible to find a good weather report on t' internet. None of the 364.125.254 sites seriously predict local weather in the early hours of the morning. "Chief?" - "Yes, job student?" - "Chief, what do I write in the forecast for the hours between 3 and 6 AM?" - "Oh, just write 'MIST', as usual. Noone will notice anyway..."
Am I the only one to find that the whole bloody internet is all bragging hot air, loads and loads of promise, and very, very little delivery? Recently, while researching the publications of the very excellent Alex Kerr, I stumbled across a chat room discussing his latest work ('Dogs and Demons'). I tell you, chat rooms are an ugly thing, an outlet for all the basest human instincts. In fact, the one basic feature of the internet is its universal ugliness, in content and in form. I propose we scrap it altogether.

Suggestions for further reading: this summer, I read (amongst others, and in that order) Lettres aux années de nostalgie, by Oe Kenzaburo, Alex Kerr's Lost Japan, and then Tanizaki's In Praise of Shadows. I'd read all of these masterpieces before, but never in this wonderfully logical order.
Later....

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Tuesday 5 August 2014

Session without chair

Contrary to the predictions, no mist. Not a whisp.
Then, just as I got off my bike, realized that I had forgotten my folding chair. Forgotten! How can one forget a heavy bag containing a metal folding chair and an umbrella, hanging from one's shoulder, and making riding a bike quite a challenge?



Had to sit on the hard, cold concrete floor, which was ok for a while, but then only the first hours were a bit inspiring. After that, the day woke up.
Got home half an hour early.

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Tuesday 29 July 2014

Mist

Well, not real mist. But a beautiful misty haziness hanging over the Schelde. It was still quite dark too, compared to last time. Amazing density of light. I need many years to even start to comprehend it all.
No wind, ebb just started around 5.30. Hope to get at least one more session before the Scary Craziness begins again.

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Wednesday 23 July 2014

The Buzzard Has Landed

First there is silent, slumbering suburbia. Only a handful of zombie-like creatures on their way to work. Then, upon approaching the port, all hell breaks loose, that 's to say, heavy traffic has to be crossed, thundering and spitting and hissing. In truth, rather calm at 5 AM on a balmy morning (21°C!) in summer. Just seems all the more noisy, so early in the morning. Then, slightly quieter again, crossing the bridge. At last, almost total calm, cycling along the bank of the river towards my secret spot, chasing rabbits, pheasants, magpies.

The river was ebbing when I arrived. The tide turned 3 to 4 hours later, as I prepared to return home. It is strange how the mighty river seems to hesitate at every turning of tides. It flows full of purpose for some hours, and then suddenly it falters, can 't decide to go on or stop flowing. After half an hour or so, it finally makes up its mind, hesitantly.

By about 8 AM the sun had climbed high enough to warm the nape of my neck. A buzzard landed below and almost in front me on the bank, some 5 meters away. I heard its talons scraping the rock. It probably didn't see me, as I was partially hidden by reeds. It looked around, then flew off, low, close to the ground.

 
 
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Wednesday 16 July 2014

Who remembers Vanderlick?

Tuesday (15.07)

Who remembers Armand Vanderlick (1897-1985)?

On Monday, a chance encounter with a still life of his, in the window of a gallery in Ghent (Vase garni de fleurs, 60x50, found no date).

An moment of intense delight. A crisp mystery mutely erupting in the silence of a shop window in the afternoon sun. Made me very happy.

Today: arrived earlier than usual, just before high tide. Standing up after the first hour and a half, to stretch my legs, started to shiver uncontrollably, then shake spasmodically, for about 20 minutes. Not that it was that cold, but the nor'wester had me all benumbed.
Gibbous waning moon.

 
 

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Friday 27 June 2014

Finally, some weather!

5.30 AM. The aspect of the river changes continually, deep hues of purple and emerald green, then silvery, then dimly bleuish, streaks of sulphurous yellow. Molten amber, wrinkled aluminum, mattened lead, mercury, glass...

High water. Whenever a ship passes (not often, at this hour), the rolling billows of its wake crash into the reedbeds around me with sound and fury. They never reach the surface of the jetty on which I am installed, though. (No, they did, just once, years ago. There I was grabbing all my stuff from the ground around me (you can see the wave coming), and feet up as high as possible, and the river washing under my folding chair).

Half an hour later the first drops fell, at last! Yes, I had to tuck away my paper in a flash, and had to take cover under my umbrella, but only for ten minutes or so. What the rain does to the river and to the sky, I am quite unable to put into words...

 
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Tuesday 24 June 2014

In search of weather

For today, cloudy weather with some rain was forecast, so at 5.30 AM I was at my post. The sky was rather clear, with a pinkish tinge ("Red sky in the morning..."). Then from the north/northeast some very high cirrus came drifting in. No rainclouds, although I imagined I could hear warnings of the imminent rain in the birdsong around me.
An hour or so later, the sky was bloody well clear again. As always when there is little or no wind, the river seemed to simply drain away, not stream but drain: at ebb the waterlevel drops at a steady pace, as if around the bend in the river, someone had opened a gigantic drainage hole.

 
 
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