A wise man once told me that the secret of a good snow painting is to paint the sky darker than the snowy ground. The reality varies as the clouds change, but I heed the words of the guru.
The same wise man also said, "look and look again." I pay this less attention as I get lost in the windows - so many windows.
I've never seen the park so busy with snowmen and sledgers everywhere. I'm an easy target, but only two snowballs come my way and they are a bit feeble - must be my hard stare.
The snow is already melting and every passing car hastens its demise. The yellow lines start to appear, but I regret my decision to paint them in as it just looks like a load of pee stains in the snow. I try and correct the mistake, but not sure I totally get it right. I put the railings in at the end, but it's tricky to do it without making the snow all dirty and they end up all over the place.
The cold finally defeats me and as I pack up I find someone's car keys revealed by the melting snow. Picking them up I resolve to do the right thing and hand them in at the police station.
More snow! I schlep into town lugging easel and board only to find that the snow here has already melted. I schlep all the way back to the car, determined to make the most of the weather - I need some altitude. I try my luck with Lansdown Crescent again - it's a bit of a nemesis - but it's still got plenty of white stuff.
4 things that make me smile (or not):
- A little old lady risks the treacherous snow and ice to come over and say hello. She's 87 (she told me) and she's supposed to be doing some shopping for a neighbour - what a star.
- Bloke: "Are you the guy I've seen painting around town before?" Me: "Er .... I could be ..." A slightly awkward pause follows and I find myself trying to fill the void, "but you could be confusing me with Peter Brown, I often get confused with Peter Brown, he's much more famous (? What!?) babble babble Peter Brown babble babble ..." STOP! Who is this crazy person talking - I manage to mention Pete's name at least half a dozen times without once telling the guy who I am. He walks on, slightly bemused.
- The cold again gets the better of me and I pack up. It's 3.30. I know this because lol is feeding the pigeons (who have been waiting impatiently for the last hour) and she always does this at 3.30 (she told me).
- I drop the keys off at the police station. A policewoman comes over to the counter and announces 'You're the artist Ben Hughes!" Not a question, just a statement of fact. Yes - recognition at last (assuming of course that I haven't got my mug shot on some wanted poster). I look surprised and then she points out the paint on my clothes - damn, she's good.