Getting lost: some notes: part 1

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Spreading Tree

 

Although I have been to the woods many times I can still, bizzarely, get lost. I got lost about two months ago. I have very little instinct for direction. I can even get lost in Manhattan with its absurdly straightforward grid plan. I guess some of these things will become less familiar thanks to google maps.

Getting lost: some notes: part 1

1. There`s always this weird point when you realise I am lost. It comes as as a revelation, sometimes gradual (shouldn't we be there by now?) or sudden (isn't that the river?). Or that horribly perplexing Venetian experience: O God, we're back at the square!

2. There must be a moment just before where you are lost where you weren't lost. So are there a daze moments  where you are sleepwalking. 

3. Retrace your steps. This is extraordinarily depressing. It means accepting that you've wasted time and energy and there is moreover no easy way ahead, no short cut. Also it means seeing everything from the a 180 degree turn and this is, in itself, confusing.

4. Getting lost is much easier when you are in a place without a thing high above to refer to. Marrakesh is like this, there is no tower or hill and the network of tiny streets is quite extraordinary. In additional, all the buildings are painted a similar dirty peach colour.

5. Some say that men are too proud to ask for help when they get lost, and that women do not mind. Perhaps women don`t labour under the societal expectation that, as a gender they shouldn't get lost and therefore feel no shame in asking for help? Certainly, I dislike asking directions. Partly this is, indeed, pride, and the issue is exacerbated by the fact that I am hopeless at following instructions of any sort except possible food recipes. 

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Praia Mole, August 2015; Andrew Marr on Churchill: Blood, Sweat and Oil Paint

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Praia Mole, August 2015, oil on card,14 x 22 cm   SOLD

Today was a particularly lovely day at the seaside with a delicate, flickering light.


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I enjoyed very much Andrew Marr's BBC programme about Winston Churchill as a painter (Andrew Marr on Churchill: Blood, Sweat and Oil Paint).

 The programme focussed, rightly, I think, on how painting helped Churchill to deal with stress and depression. It conveyed well the sense of escape that Churchill must have gained through concentrating on his craft, patiently working in Morocco or the South of France, and the energy with which he worked,

The art of painting is akin to cooking in that it offers many relatively simple activities, such as mixing colours, which are soothing and sensual. The actual manual skills involved in painting are generally slight, so that persons with disabilities- such as Marr, a stroke victim, can work successfully. Contrast this to writing, where concentration has to be almost absolute, and which is utterly a-sensual; or, playing a musical instrument, where manual skills must be honed through repeated exercises if the artist is not to alienate his audience.

There is often something odd about Churchill's work- particularly with regard to spatial descriptions and his acidic colours. It is curious how highly intelligent people often cannot paint well: despite considerable dedication and the advice of excellent teachers Churchill's pictures are often awkward, and now seem dated. I find them, nonetheless, very enjoyable- they are so self-evidently a product of genuine enthusiasm.

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