Je

I received this postcard today from a friend, Isabel. I love this drawing, I wish I'd done it! Merci Isabel!

Drawing by Isabel Baraona.

Dog as frog

Brush marker and watercolour in Seawhite of Brighton sketchbook.

Death underfoot

My daily walk with Kato takes me through the most beautiful field - big sky, rolling landscape - through which a Roman road cuts. The sheep's head is still there, and much of the flesh has now been whittled away. 

Brush marker and watercolour in Seawhite of Brighton sketchbook. 

All lost

The weather has been relentlessly melancholy, good for holing up at home, drawing from photographs taken a few years ago.

Brush marker and watercolour in Seawhite of Brighton sketchbook.

Kato in bed

Ink pen, brush marker, pencil and watercolour in Seawhite of Brighton sketchbook.

Death underfoot

Not a drawing today...  I've been taking photographs of things seen undefoot - literally the view looking down - for years. Often, there are little dead creatures, on the road or in the countryside. This one, captured a few days ago on a local walk, takes the biscuit I think.

Waiting

Brush marker, pencil and watercolour in Seawhite of Brighton sketchbook.

There is a glut of blackberries this year, the hedgerows are still full of them, even after everyone's made jam. This one looks like a raspberry.

Kato

Kato, who was once a visitor in this house, is now my foster dog. Here he is, first sketchbook drawing in a month. 

Brush marker and watercolour in Seawhite of Brighton sketchbook.

Still here

I will try to get back to drawing - even if not every day - soon...

Break

I have to be away from here for a while.

If you were coming in the Fall, I'd brush the summer by With half a smile and half a spurn, As housewives do a Fly. If I could see you in a year, I'd wind the months in balls – And put them each in separate Drawers, For fear the numbers fuse – If only centuries, delayed, I'd count them on my Hand, Subtracting till my fingers dropped Into Van Diemens Land. If certain, when this life was out – That yours and mine, should be, I'd toss it yonder like a Rind, And take Eternity –  But now, uncedrtain of the length Of this, that is between, It goads me, like the Goblin Bee – That will not state – its sting.                       Emily Dickinson