Monday, 10 August 2009
Im in Bretagne, just west of the now ugly St Malo, in a little town called Pleurtuit - sleeping at a B&B on a farm which has the curious added touch of an airfield occupying the rear land behind the house. Each morning i sit eating breakfast in the front garden with all manner of light aircraft lifting a few feet above my head. At 7 am there is a ryanair flight to southern england that feels as if it is going to take the roof of the house with it. The hanger at the foot of the runway houses a number of 2 seater planes brandishing delicate wings decorated in mustard yellows with deep burgundy stripes or military green with silver stars. They tear into the sky one after another, dipping west almost immediately to travel along the coast. It is straight off the page of a Ballard novel.
At breakfast i smother sweet breton honey on pumpernickel bread. i take this with bitter local coffee and orange juice so sour it leaves my taste buds weeping. The days are spent driving along the coast to small villages, stopping off at flea markets along the way. It is easy and slow here. There is a film festival in october so i hope to return then.
Moving down the country on Saturday, right down at the bottom, to spend a while in Seillans where Max Ernst stayed in the last years of his life
- need to put things in order, have many ideas/projects to be realised fully but lack of time and no patience at all at present
- i. make a grid. ii. fill it
Watching - Beau Travail, Claire Denis
Listening - Screaming Jay Hawkins 'I put a spell on you' and Miles Davis 'Moon Dreams'
Reading - Imagining Reality by Kevin Macdonald