Autumn has arrived. I
took long walks in the countryside both today and yesterday, in bracing weather
and sturdy shoes. The sky was overcast
and the thermometer low, and I was unable to take a single decent photo,
alas. I observed numerous rabbits and
squirrels and birds, gathering up the bounty of the harvest season and getting
ready for winter. When I got home
yesterday I saw a lone rabbit sitting in a field amidst the rising fog,
reminding me of the little poem:
A lonely rabbit
in a harvested field
contemplates summer
in a fog-shrouded
world.
Autumn has fallen
with trouble, with
care.
On nights following such days I like to take a hot water
bottle to bed. I used to be a great fan
of them, until my Mouser – may he rest in peace! – got in on the act and ruined
my enjoyment of them. My usual procedure
is to fill the bottle with hot water half an hour before I am ready for bed and
slip it under my duvet, at the centre of the bed, so that the bed is nice and
warm by the time I want to get in.
Whenever I did this I was carefully observed by the warmth-loving feline
who shared my domestic space. He feigned
disinterest while I was in the room, but as soon as I left he would seek out
the bottle under the duvet and lay down on top of it. When I then wanted to get into my bed I had
to somehow curl around him and the bottle, which was unsatisfactory in all
sorts of ways.
To circumvent this misappropriation of my hot water bottle I
started to put the bottle into different places, at the bottom, towards a side
– but the Mouser was like a heat-seeking missile, every time I tried to get
into bed upon my return from the bathroom that feline had found the bottle and made
himself comfortable on top of it. One
evening I sneakily observed him from behind an almost closed door, and saw how
he systematically walked up and down the bed until he had located my supposedly
well hidden bottle.
What was a woman to do?
I bought another hot water bottle, so he could have his own, but that
didn’t work, either. He made
super-feline attempts to monopolise both hot water bottles, by stretching
himself as long as possible, and even trying to drag the bottles closer
together. During one such attempt the
stopper came off and the bed got soaked, and after that I abandoned the hot
water bottle practice altogether.
Recently I decided to re-introduce it, seeing as the bedroom gets cold
and the Mouser has departed, though it does seem a little disrespectful to his
memory!
Another thing I do when the days draw in and I have a little
time on my hands at home is to bring out my icon and apply another layer of
paint. I have been working on this icon
for ages – about ten years, I should think.
As long as I can remember I had always wanted an icon. Of course it is not the sort of thing one can
just go out and buy, unless it is a very small one. But I didn’t want a small one, I wanted a big
one, painted in oil on wood, in the traditional style. One day I decided that I really couldn’t
accept my un-iconic existence any longer, and decided to paint one myself!
I trudged to the homeware stores and bought a large piece of
plywood, which the assistants cut into four pieces for me. Each piece was 50cm square – I figured I
might as well paint a few more! Then I
schlepped them home and applied sizing to the first one. After it had dried I was ready to start
painting my icon.
The only trouble was that I am not really able to
paint. I am good with composition and
colour, but don’t have the craftsmanship needed to paint properly. If I paint a car it looks more like a car
than like an airplane, but it does not look like any particular car. I had figured that icons would be easy to
paint, since they are a bit simplistic anyway, but that was a grave
misjudgement!
To facilitate the creative process I had bought a book about
icons – I always buy a book when I want to do anything – and picked from among
the illustrations a likely candidate to copy.
You may think this was cheating, but I wasn’t interested in creating any
sort of art – I just wanted to acquire an icon in the cheapest way
possible. So I set to, and applied many
layers of paint over the weeks and months.
But I was never really happy with the results, and eventually banned the
icon into the attic. But ever year
before Christmas I take it down again and have another go.
Occasionally kind friends inquire about the icon and ask me
how it is going and whether it is ready to be exhibited any time soon? But I always have to disappoint them. However, pressure has been applied by an
American friend to see how far I have gotten, so today I took some photos of my
handiwork.
Photographing a painting is almost as difficult as painting
it! Depending on light conditions the
photo displays different layers – sometimes I see things in a photo I
overpainted years ago! Anyway, I did
what I was asked to do, and below are three photos of the fabled icon – and
yes, P., it really does exist! I did not
just make it up! Duh!
