Tuesday, March 20, 2007

After The Deluge

An violent storm drenched my home tonight. A small, revolving storm passed right over head, bringing with it heavy rain, violent squalls and lightening. In an instant, it was as if the sky had split open, with lightning flashing blue-white beneath the pitch black clouds.
I got home about ten minutes after it hit to find the wide, floor-to-ceiling folding doors of my living room blown open by the gale.
Water was puddled beneath stacks of blank, gessoed frames in the store-room. The frames were (thank God!) still wrapped in plastic. A couple of electrical fuses blew as I was throwing towels onto the floor to dam the flood. After I'd reset the switches, I discovered that my modem, AirPort Express, and Harman Kardon sound system had all blown, despite being plugged into safety boards. Now I'm connected to the Net via a slow, dial-up account that my boyfriend keeps for emergencies.
It will take a few days to
replace everything. It will be sad not to have loud music – lately, the late, great Bob Marley – to dance to while I paint. But after the initial pang of upset, I realise that I like being free of technology. It's been years since I disconnected from it voluntarily and the peace is almost ethereal. I've lit some candles and after I finish writing this, I am going to sprawl on my daybed to read Michael Holroyd's definitive biography of the English bohemian portraitist, Augustus John. At various times during his colourful, late 19th century life, the artist travelled with his children, siblings, wives and lovers in a gypsy caravan around England and Wales. As I sit here in the soft candle-light, I'm beginning to wonder whether it might not suit me to do something similar.

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