Wet and Wild

Wow home again after 30 hours of stumbling from plane to plane. Sometimes I wish we were closer to the other side of the world but most times I am glad of the distance.
Flaxmill Bay is still where I left it but very waterlogged. It has been a very wet and wild winter and friends and family have a glazed look that shows they are over it and it's time for the sun to shine. I tell them about the bad summer England has had and all they have to look forward to is winter, but I guess it's all relative.
So it's back to pick up the pieces (literally because my tall double figure sculpture lies in bits on the ground, victim of the high winds), demolish our little house on the hill, find somewhere to move to and prepare for Jason and Paul to take over the restaurant. And, of course, use all the inspiration I found on my trip to make art. It's a rollercoaster ride when I'm viewing art, sometimes when I see something that takes my breath away I say to myself who am I to make a mark, but a lot of the time I see ordinary art and it encourages me to keep going.
The rain is dancing a funeral march on the roof again, it's funny, if we were in the middle of a drought it would be dancing an Irish jig! It's only a state of mind!