Sea Shells and Sunshine

A journal from my summer

Summer.

Warm peaches, succulent and juicy, and handfuls of early blackberries that taste like a sweet and potent liqueur. Bees humming drowsily, drunk on the nectar of sun warmed flowers. Grey pebbles, smoothed by the sea and striped in white, and a palm full of tiny pink and lemon sherbet coloured shells. The call of gulls in a forget-me-not blue sky spun with candy floss clouds. Footprints trodden into damp sand, and the tang of sea salt on a warm breeze. Butterflies fluttering prettily around cushions of pink and lilac hydrangeas. Dragonflies zig-zagging energetically over the garden from the deep green cool of the river. Two kingfishers flying up river side by side, a streak of glittering turquoise, and a cascade of swifts tumbling and screeching above the treetops. Kayaking on limpid, aquamarine water. Watching a meteor shower over the North Sea under a navy blue sky drenched in starlight. Posies of sweet peas. A fresh loaf of sourdough, sliced and dipped into a small bowl of golden olive oil with a puddle of balsamic vinegar, as the sun goes down on another glorious day.

Oh summer, you are a dream.

The days have been blissful and balmy, we want them to last forever, although we know that they are fleeting and to be treasured for all they are worth because already in the early morning as I take my coffee down the garden to the riverside, I see the dew sparkling on the tiny spider webs strewn between the dahlias and the sun that rises above the crags is slightly lower in the sky, and there is a perceptible scent in the air, of change.

August is always a strange month, a listless time which feels like a party that has ended too soon. The leaves have darkened on the trees, and some are tinged with rust and gold. The fields have become bleached by the sun and the tractors traverse back and forth bringing in the crops. The light has changed. I notice dusk filling the garden with shadows earlier than before, and there’s a slight chill after sundown.

I have always found the transition between summer into autumn one of the hardest to adjust to. As much as I love the season of autumn, I struggle to let summer go. You’d think, after all these years, I’d have become accustomed to these changes and yet I continue to cling to the summer, reluctant to release it in exchange for cool, mellow days imbued with soft golden hues and storm laden skies whipping up the fallen confetti of leaves from the pavements.

But, one thing that does happen around this time of year (and something I always relish) is that my creative energies begin to re-awaken. My busiest months lie ahead and there is much to do in preparation. I have been invited to show my work at The Bath House at RHS Harlow Carr this winter, and I find my mind wandering to products and ideas for new art. It is a nice prospect to mull over as I lay on a blanket on an east coast beach watching the gulls wheel above me in a clear blue sky.

In case it sounds like I’ve done nothing much at all for the last two months, I have done some drawing and painting, but it’s been sporadic. Schedules have been cast aside in favour of taking advantage of the sun blessed days, and I know I’m lucky that I can do that. Summer is seductive, she invites you to let go of routine, and to kick back and relax a while. In the north of England, we have to make the most of the good weather while it lasts, so it doesn’t take much to convince us to live in the moment, pack a picnic and drive to the coast. The temperature in the little shed that I occupy at the bottom of the garden is at times so intense it makes painting almost impossible - the acrylic paint dries within moments of being squeezed out of the tube. The air is languid and thick with heat, making concentration and effort slow and laborious. Ideas are muddled, it’s as though my hand can’t use the brush properly, I make mistakes and discard things with a sigh of frustration. I pick up a novel and retreat to a shady corner under the trees. Better to wait until it’s cooler, until my mind is sharper and I’m more focused.

The winds came this week. They snapped the tomato plant stalks, and broke the white agapanthus in half. Monsoonal rain lashed the garden, and afterwards, the roses looked defeated with their dried carapace of withered, stained petals. A scent of damp leaves tinged with decay lay in the air. I realise I’ve not seen the swifts in a couple of days and wonder if they’ve already left for southern climes.

Now I think about it, I suppose it will be nice to get back into the studio, to make a proper start on the things I’ve been thinking about these last few weeks. It will be good to embrace something of a routine again too, after the relaxed and easy pace of summer…but I’ll miss it dearly, it’s felt like the most blissful romance.

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With love and thanks,

*The art work shown at the top of this post is ‘Beach Treasures’, an acrylic painting on paper.