In less then 23 hours I'd be back in (Wellington). 1991
Acrylic on Hardboard 450mm high x 600mm wide (18" x 24")
I always feel Mum and her friends disapprove of me doing this, but I like to see my friends on my way to where she lives. I love them, and if I ever decided to move to Central Otago to paint, and to be closer to her, having friendships I nurture will keep it from being a mistake...
On my way back to Wellington from Mickey's farm in Southland, I stop at the south end of the green one lane wooden bridge over the Clutha River at Beaumont. As I get out of Bill and Daphne's car, the rain stops too. I'll walk over the bridge with my coffee, and I know it's not autumn, 1968, with biting yellow trees, smells, coal train smoke on the last train ride to Roxburgh, but there may be magic here that engulfs, renews and relaxes me.
Magic is not where the road and the railway diverged long ago. That's okay. I loved being hit by it the moment I stopped. I walk back over the bridge to draw. I sniff the tangy faintly salty child's picnic smell of the manuka covered left hand hill. It's covered in red centred white flower. Next to it, the popping flaring gorse and broom springtime pods have died down, dark against the spasmodic sun behind.
The bottom left hand slash is going to be hay when it dries out. Farmers are usually ruthless obliterating vegetation. I wonder if the ten almond trees radiantly jammed into the bend bulging out into the Clutha River will be here next time I drive past. You don't see the river - its out of sight, the white misty gash opening out behind the right hand four bushes. Another painting (sold) continuing the panorama showed the bridge.
Over the river you glimpse a tangly triangle of wild seedy grass sloping up to where the train station was. It's perfect for my captioning.
It starts raining. I'm glad I'm quite close to where Eric and Hugh live, otherwise I would be just another middle aged man, who goes home to spend Christmas with his mother, and has a boring plane to catch tomorrow to Wellington.
My original thoughts about this painting were this and below is the sketch I did in 1992...
What an insistently miserable rainy day ride from Mickey's to Eric's. I'm going to stop at Beaumont to draw, to re-savour on the last train to Roxburgh, March 1968.
Left, the road bridge crosses the Clutha. But steep squashed rose-hip, broom, gorse wilderness, we keep going into, north bank.
Windows that push up, open veranda bouncy wood carriages. A steam engine chortling/chuckle. Sometimes we stop for photos.
It's an almond orchard! I've never seen one before. About to hit the one-way bridge south end, the rain stops. I can fill up on Greek Australian Andronicus coffee, walk around, draw, without my ball-point jamming.