The white heat has gone from the iron.

Sat on the Grass. (poem).

 

Like Winston and Julia Underneath the tree,

That wasn't her, And it wasn't me.

 

Currently reading Scott Fitzgerald's The Beautiful and the Damned: “The white heat has gone from the iron and the glow from the coal”. This month's sketchbook diary reflected that mood:

 

In spite of the art award, in spite of being exhibited, I'm actually bored with painting now. I need something new. Is it too late to change my career options?

Below: Went to Skegness on my own for my annual day trip. Didn't stay very long.

 

 

Below: Sketching on Robin Hood’s Hill:

Below: Clumber Park:

 

 

All text, pros, poetry & artwork, copyright Ian Gordon Craig.