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| Looking Across Galway Bay to the Twelve Pins (acrylic on box canvas) In June and July the evening colours towards the west and north were intense. The water of Galway Bay appeared as a shimmering purple pool. I applied the colour quickly with a big household brush (which I'd 'borrowed' from father-in-law with the intention of painting the shed). We used to live about a mile from The Twelve Pins, a big Irish pub in Finsbury Park, N. London. Now I can see the The Twelve Pins from my study. Is there a *word for the state of finding oneself in the actual physical reality of the name of a pub one used to frequent? (ie. - Crikey, the Marquis of Granby has come for tea. How unexpected.) * Possibly there is in German. |
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