mercredi 13 janvier 2016

Cinematic Writing XII




my own | cam llwch, Brecon



Midwinter spring is its own season

Sempiternal though sodden towards sundown, 
Suspended in time, between pole and tropic. 
When the short day is brightest, with frost and fire -

Now the hedgerow
Is blanched for an hour with transitory blossom 
Of snow, a bloom more sudden 
Than that of summer, neither budding nor fading, 
Not in the scheme of generation.
Where is the summer, the unimaginable Zero summer?

- T. S. Eliot, Little Gidding


lundi 16 novembre 2015

Wintering



india hobson at the black shed, highlands

Longing for hills & snows more than ever. @wildguidescotland // Skye or Cairngorms? Or Iceland? // May this winter bring more peace to the world


x

mardi 27 octobre 2015

Capri sun





Dreaming of sun and sweet abandonment of village air. 

&

the first time I ever read Ferrante, by the ponds heavy with humid air and smell of grass: 

“Existence is this, I thought, a start of joy, a stab of pain, an intense pleasure, veins that pulse under the skin, there is no other truth to tell.” 



mercredi 24 septembre 2014

Girl of my Dreams XIII




Her parents (French & Korean) each runs a ceramic shop du bon heir au quotidian and writes children's books; she wanders around Paris with her pet shiba Pompon.


This is Philo, age (almost) 2.


x


samedi 6 septembre 2014

The armchair wanderer



from instagram * richardgaston


....merely to be with the mountain as one visits a friend, with no intention but to be with him.
- Nan Shepherd


In spite of the avalanche of working life I've been reading and dreaming and planning ferociously - the next adventure is in sight, my wanderlust lurking and brewing and about to overflow. It's time to get away. It's time to get away.

The triggers - 

Eulogy to Peter Matthiessen, the founder of the Paris Review / Reading the Living Mountain by Nan Shepherd - Robert MacFarlane's hymn to the wonderful book / Oh the Adventure Handbook - instagram has never been so inspiring / Natalie Smith on Morocco / how does that quote go? - "I don't like it when summer leaves but I like the way it walks away."

x


mardi 24 juin 2014

Midsummer murmur



1. How could summer solstice come & go already? I have been watching sunsets every evening, letting the crimson light flood my bedroom -

2. The foliage is dark green, air is thick with fragrant jasmine and quiet white flowers -

3. The wilderness was perfect. Every time I think of those perfect few days spent on the water and under the vast sky - my heart is still. There has been a lot of undercurrents in the face of apparent calm water at present, but all shall be well. We shall sail through (practising mindfulness) -

4. Ran a glorious (albeit the slowest) half-marathon, stopping to help in the capacity of a doctor. A sense of pride and also the inevitable responsibility -

5. I've found the perfect house to move to next - creamy white wall with laurel green window frames, stripped down wooden floor, looking over a cosy rose garden. Plus rugs! Plus a direct bus to Cafe Oto! I cannot really ask for more (in London)

6. Still need to go to: RA Summer Exhibition, the Monks House and one day, Atelier Cézanne; finish the Edward St Aubyn's novels (toxic yet thrilling, read in conjunction with his brilliant New Yorker profile)

x


vendredi 25 avril 2014

Happiness forgets




"Even if happiness forgets you a little bit, never completely forget about it."
- Jacques Prévert 


- Almost there! Currently knee-deep in revision materials (and a mix of excitement and angst, washing over an already crumbling shore). But in the midst of chaos, there is always room for quietude, thoughts and happiness. 

In the transition period, I -
wear: a gray tshirt, jeans, a relaxed blazer, loafers (and a set of swimming kit in my bag on demand)
listen to: Charlotte Gainsbourg, bbc radio 4's Gardener's Question Time (it is mesmerising)
read: Ruby Tandoh's new column in Elle: Dinner Party Philosopher (I aspire too to be one)
look forward to: artisan wine! Picnic season, Matisse's cut outs at Tate Modern, flat-hunting (dreaming of herringbone floor), our wilderness adventure :)

One, one last push. Wish me luck!

x