Slow saturation

We must all slow down. We are getting saturated, squashed, squeezed, hassled, coerced, pressurized and pushed along too fast.
The end of the academic year is here. The first week of summer. Already, hot, stressed mothers pace the city streets, loaded up, furrowed brows, shoulders pressed into neck, as they grip the pushchair handles and try to think of what to put on the table tonight, remember to get the DVD from the library on the way home and where will I take them tomorrow that won't cost an arm and a leg...?

Pencil and paper. A walk through the woods. Sandwich on the beach. Look at the moon. Smell the flowers. Turn off all 'phones. Am I being naîve?

Check out Carl Honoré's book: "In Praise of Slow" and his website: http://www.carlhonore.com and this little description:-


What is the Slow Movement?

It is a cultural revolution against the notion that faster is always better. The Slow philosophy is not about doing everything at a snail’s pace. It’s about seeking to do everything at the right speed. Savoring the hours and minutes rather than just counting them. Doing everything as well as possible, instead of as fast as possible. It’s about quality over quantity in everything from work to food to parenting.

*Also, have a little smile at:- http://www.realsnailmail.net/ and http://www.slowfood.com/

Oscar Wilde & Robert Graves

These small collage landscapes were such a surprise and seemed to appear from thin Norfolk air one day. Or from subconsciously absorbing too much Radio 4. (Serendipity/poetry?)

Part of the continuing journey from using purely natural elements to including more of the man-made.

Still in the strong-colour phase.

Formic foolery

Simple pen and ink drawing of a handsome little fellow.
Lasius Niger, blue-earth-black. From the family Formicidae.


(Blow him up big to see the colours better)

The Big Draw

Here we go!

Check out this great site and see the likes of my some of my heroes in action - Quentin Blake, David Hockney, Gerald Scarfe, Ralph Steadman...

http://www.thebigdraw.org

Join in The Big Draw

1-31 October 2010

Fiesta de Sant Joan, Ciutadella

The night of Sant Joan, 23rd of June marks the arrival of the summer solstice, the shortest day of the year in the northern hemisphere. It has become a celebration of the triumph of light over dark.

The fiesta of Sant Joan in Ciutadella is of pagan origin and consists of 600-year old inherited rituals and
customs. The characteristics of these rituals are fire, water and the sun.

People take to the streets and party non-stop for 3 to 4 days drinking Pomada, an explosive mix of Mahon gin and lemonade, and for good luck, try to reach out and touch the fine black horses that rear up and dance amongst the crowds.

These Menorcan stallions, the Cavall de Raca Menorquina, play a huge part in festivals on Menorca.

The breed is distinct - true black in colour, elegant and slender, with large round eyes and a muscular and powerful appearance. Recent research has shown that they may be of Berber origin and are one of the few totally black horses in Europe.

This carefully bred horse has never seen the likes of fieldwork, that was traditionally all done by donkeys. This is maybe an influence on it's shape and style, pride and haughtiness.


ps: Thank you all for your feedback about this site. Very helpful, kind and much appreciated. More always welcome.

Hidden, tranquil Menorca

Just caught him as he hit the light...

We're back. What a trip.

Looked into distance, not desktop.

Unspoilt, tiny Menorca. A UNESCO biosphere reserve, it’s escaped the rash of sprawling high-rise coastal development seen elsewhere on the Mediterranean.

The bay fitted into outstretched cupped hands, shining. Sills of scattered, soft, warm rocks and hollows, encircled us tenderly.

Gold-soft, limonite-light sand, salty underfoot. Turquoise, transparent, silver-malachite water rolled oh-so quietly to and fro. Breezes blew blue.

Chromium oxide green and burnt sienna red landscapes whispered heat, while at midday, mixed birds sang bold and crickets creaked continuous crisp chirrups. Veils of violet-bright, verdant bourganvillia bundled over every balcony. Pines and olives twisted, dry grey-green, twinkling quiet flickers of sunlight-breeze- Tramontana, around us.

Menorca hides many secrets. It is said that the stronger gusts of the Tramontana wind soak the grazing fields with sea salt. This is why the cattle are so fond of it and explains why the local cheese has that rather special bouquet...

Wilder times included: World Cup furor in the bar and the Fiesta de San Joan in Ciutadella.

More soon...