Scraps of light

Pale narcissus in the garden look eerie and ethereal in the dark, early hours, but with a cosy blanket on the sofa, it proved the ideal backdrop for night-time brainstorming. Last night was a restless one, with tangles of thoughts and ideas congesting my head. I resorted to scribbling everything down on scraps of paper, as I seem to have finished the last of my stash of favourite journals. Still, scraps work just as well when trying to decant the contents of a rambling, worried mind.

In just one night I have developed a collaborative project, devised two workshops, planned what I need to do for the Bradford Open and have thought through the direction of my practice for the near future. If only I could be this productive AND sleep!

I have always found narcissus seen in the dead of night a haunting yet beautiful sight, and this, in combination with the heightened state of awareness when you get up in the middle of the night is a really  unusual sensation. It reminded me of two books that were dramatised for TV when I was a kid; Tom's Midnight Garden by Philippa Pearce and the Moondial by Helen Cresswell. I think I have always found the subtleties of a nightime landscape washed with light deeply affecting, I wonder why?