Open spaces

After a visit to the Burton Art Gallery in Bideford, we discover that the Ackland & Edward's paintings are not on show. Looking at the collection of artist's materials and diaromas displayed in a glass cabinet in the upper floor of the museum, I note in my journals working details. On chatting to the museum staff they point out a postcard on the work - Painting on the Beach, by Judith featuring Mary Stella sitting on the rocks. On return to the Cabin, I am once again drawn to engage with and move certain items, this time the collection of personal garments on the back of the kitchen door - two Burberry coats, a pair of brown wellington boots, an umbrella, bird bag and a wooden walking stick. I decide I must inhabit the outfit and give the assemble an airing.  We are advised of the lowest and highest tides and to walk far out to where the sea will part.  After two months of rain we have brought sunshine and, on the very hottest day, we three pick up the items and start to make our journey across the terrain of rocks, seaweed and pools.

Journaling- is that a verb or an adjective, was asked?

After walking for about an hour in the mid-day heat to reach the rocky outcrop, worrying about dropping things, loosing our way, pondering on the timing and the turning of the tide, carefully balancing the items, including the coat (as though it was a wedding dress) we find a place that feels right and look back up at the Cabin in the far distance. The idea is to don the garments.  The girls decide I must wear a cloche like arrangement on my head (a length of red wool from travels to Morocco) and help me dress into coat, boots and stick.  They move away a distance to capture the moment.  Suddenly, I truly feel as though I have stepped inside a story coat, its cottony damp folds wrap me protectively against the heat, whilst the walking stick gives me support and balance. With seagulls flocking overhead, the girls get their heads together to mutter about my camera settings and how to get the best angle, whilst I am concerned that the girls will get dehydrated in the name of art.

In the midst of all this a bare-footed guy with a surfboard walks past totally ignoring our antics whilst I am fretting furiously over the the well-being of the boots. I am concerned that they may crack open at their seams.  I need to treat them with utmost care and respect and decide not to walk in them too far, but become very still within their fragile rubbery interiors. I find a suitable rocky outcrop resting place, look out onto the horizon to imagine the trace of the lady artist's on the beach, start to worry about where the surfer has go too...and wrapped by sea and blue sky, feel myself become a Painting on the Beach.

Just sitting - story coat, red hat, boots & walking stick.

Enjoying just sitting, drawing upon much needed rest, I reflect on the life of the creative solitary experience connected with nature. The philosophy of one of the founders of the National Trust, an artist and social reformer, Olivia Hill, was to praise wide open spaces.  Apparently she was all for folk leaving crowded urban environs and enjoying time in the natural landscape.  During our week staying in the Devon countryside, we walked all sort of woodland and clifftop pathways, and at that point I was just thankful to be able to find our way safely home again, along with our treasured collections, before time and tide changed.

Gazing in - milk jug, boots, berries 
& basket, with small look out boy

Back at the cabin, we place the boots, gathered autumnal seaside flowers, along with a tin of leg ulcer plasters that the ladies must have once found handy, popped the red wool scarf into a basket along with a little rubbery legged lad. Shutting the door, we knew that next day we would have to give back the key, and no longer be custodians of the space.