I have been thinking it was time to go to Lake Ferry again.
And it was beautiful. It was warm with a slight breeze.
After the sea the first thing I saw was an amazing structure on the sand.
It looked loke a Druid Circle and I begah to think about who might of built it and why. It was quite recent, surely more than one person was involved in the construction. From the landside it was on a rise sloping down to the sea but when I turned and looked the other way some of it's magesty had shrunk and it didn't look so big against the hills.
I walked on down to the sea. The tide was coming in, rushing up over the sand and I watched and listened to the rhythm of the sea as the waves built up in silence and then broke over the sand
And then came up over the sand like fast changing lace and returned to the sea. The breaking waves are never the same. Each one is slightly different and each one moves up the beach differently.
I had thought I might find some tangled nylon and/or some bones from fish or birds but no. Then I was distracted looking at the rocks and pebbles on the beach and thinking about them and my drawings and paintings.
They were so much more varied compared to my own work. And I began to think about artistic licence and composition and what I needed on my wotk. I am hopeful that I might have a bit more variation this week.
As i walked I temembeted seeing anothet construction the last time I was here. Very different from my giant circle.
A sort of a shelter I guessed and I wondered about the need to construct and build. As we turned and wandetef back up the bech I saw another construction, another sort of a construction. Do they have a purpose? Or are they just part of a need to make and do
It was a thinking/ wondering sort of a day and as I walked up towards the cliffs I saw huge tree truncks and imagined the power of the sea and the tree trunks being blown and tossed way up high onto the sand in a storm way beyound the sea.
I have never been here in really bad weather. Once it was generally impossible to stand in the wind, but it was fine and the sea wasn't rough. I would love just to see a storm rolling logs and rushing them up the sand.
Further up from the shore I could see the layered orange cliffs and from closer there were caves and marks from four wheel drives trying to get up the almost verticle grassed slopes. I found a slip and put some broken rock in my bag to bring home to try and make paint. Maybe a sort of ochre colour I hope. By now Maggie Mae was pretty tired and getting under any sort of shade she could find.
Now she is snoring on the sofa. The sleep of the intrepid.
"I paint flowers so they do not die." Frida Kahlo