Sketchbook Project, 2012
"A walk through the trees" .... a walk through the forest
I've loved working on this project, and thanks again to Joan for introducing me to it, and then to have Ana join us recently too has been great.
Each page was meditative. I'd take my pages, clipped neatly on a clip board and work into it each night in bed for a few minutes ... or sometimes for an hour or so ... before dozing off to sleep.
The rhythm of sketching and dreaming through each page was therapeutic ... and I loved it.
You can click here to view the pages in more detail ... or see the snapshots below.
Some of the pages included text, which I've detailed below the images.
A walk through the trees ... through the forest. Lara Mellon. Dedicated with love and gratitude to Maggie Strachan. Durban RSA 2012.
The wind began to blow hard and I was not afraid to be freed, and so I began to find my path through the trees, through the trees.
I found bugs and beetles and butterflies but no best friend.
The gentle breeze kisses my cheeks and I wonder.
Walking through forest, along paths, through life, is always better with a friend.
I loved flying kites, now my dreams fly on butterfly wings.
I think I think too much.
windmills, windmills, windmills everywhere ... turning everywhere
sometimes our dreams must be set free
Walking alone is not lonely.
Suffer the little children. Even the lilies of the valley.
Burnt Sienna is my favourite colour. Red hot from the earth. And I have a dog called Sienna.
all i want is peace and quiet.
I look to the hills, where does my hope come from. My hope comes from the Lord, maker of heaven and earth.
flowers are still flowers in the dark.
I would travel long distances on horse back, into fields that stirred with dust and smells of earth. Up hills, along roads sometimes, just me, Safferrick and our thoughts. Beautiful times not forgotten.
Figures would appear walking along the paths I'd travel. I was not afraid, even when the shadows were dark.
I owned a dog called Ta-Tinka and I loved her very much.
Don't let the birds nest in your hair.
When I was seven, I dreamed of owning a circus and also of owning a massive farm.
It is with reverence and awe that I watch the butterfleis flitter flatter in my garden.
I long to walk where it is quiet and still.
light at the end of the forest it is bright it is light at the end of the forest it is bright. It is bright at the end of the forest. It is bright at the end.
and then it is light. just light
