I returned home to Edinburgh and went to rent a room in a flat belonging to a French lady and her two daughters.
Francoise worked and her two daughters went to school .
The girls were outgoing and slightly goth, only mildly so although at the time I thought they were more extreme. They spiked up their hair, wore DM’s and black eyeliner and torn jumpers and hung out with friends who were similar.
I did some paintings and drawings after they let me take some photographs of them, the older girl dried and spiked up her hair and I did a couple of drawings I liked. The younger girl, Julie, sat for me and I did some small acrylic paintings that I found again recently although they look relatively tame.
Old work can make you cringe a little and be hyper critical but at the same time it is a record of that time and it brings back those specific days in your life.
I was free and had a whole life ahead of me that I did not know.
After a year and a half I moved away.
A few years later I met the younger sister on a bus again and I had my first child in a sling in front of me. She had calmed down her image and her hair was longer. She cooed over the baby.
I think she must have whispered secret goth things into his ear. Little did I know then, that in his teenage years, this baby would do the whole eyeliner, roc boots,long black coats and chained trousers thing….
This flat that I had stayed in with Francoise was four floors up and was a two storey flat. The front room was a circular turret and it was in Leamington Terrace. The Scottish poet Norman MacCaig lived on the first floor. I passed his door a lot but I think I only ever saw him once .
I hadn’t quite got au fait with the Scottish poetry scene beyond Robert Burns and I am not that much more knowledgable now just more interested. Every now and then his name crops up and I wish I had known a little more. More recently I clicked on a book on Amazon and got a hefty volume of his poetry through the post. I am reading some and it is easy and gentle to read. I am trying to find the one we looked at when I was at school……. In the meantime here is a bit from one of his ….’ Aunt Julia’
......She was brown eggs, black skirts and a keeper of threepennybits in a teapot. Aunt Julia spoke Gaelic very loud and very fast. By the time I had learned a little, she lay silenced in the absolute black of a sandy grave ......
(It was a cold snowy day and I had no intention of swimming!…)
there must have been a marathon starting somewhere but this sign would only make sense to ‘those in the know’!
I think I must read a sign like this almost every day, as do loads of other drivers (I must read it about 300 times a year so over the last ten years I must have read it ..oh..too many times.. 😦 )
I don’t think this cyclist had given the sign above his head much notice!
I painted this a couple of years ago now.
I spent a few days in Falmouth and it was brisk and breezy on the coast. This girl read a book on the beach and the wind blew her hair. I took pictures and painted this later but trying to keep the blusteriness of the scene fresh.( I bet that the word blusteriness is not proper)