Art is not always about pretty things

Painting something or creating some or other thing, has always filled my need for escaping. Just to clarify my thoughts…the stillness of the moment, the unspoken conversation in a relationship with canvas and oils.

There is really something therapeutic about art. To get lost in something that can be perfectly imperfect. A thousand people can look at the same painting and all see something different.

It is like music, it connects and divides people. Etches stories into history and brings those stories alive.

I almost finished a painting tonight that I started on ages ago, just to find that I just didn’t like it. So I stripped it back and started again. It’s not so much a moment of failure, but another chance to turn it into something I love.

It’s so satisfying, the smell of linseed oil hangs in the air…for now, off to bed, but looking forward to tomorrow 😊

Ravishing in Red

Birthday wine…

Hmmmm…The bliss a good bottle of red wine brings…

I love a good Pinotage. Since moving to NZ we haven’t had much. They stock a few good bottles, but nothing great like back home.

It has been a while since we have had any however. Hubby gave me a bottle of Chocoholic Pinotage for my birthday (amongst other spoils 😊). By no means the best, but it was still just amazing.

From the distinct smell that excites every bit of my being, to the woody full bodied flavour covering every inch of my palette. Every mouthful a sensational celebration of yummyness.

There is just nothing like an amazing bottle of wine. It ignites every sensory point in your body and makes you feel alive. Enticingly seductive, and something I would volunteer to be victim to. Hmmm, yum