This morning is cooler and the wind has returned.
I am missing home today.
It is a long journey to here, in lots of ways.
The detachment and separation is a double edged sword.
Its a good space but I am missing loved ones.
And when I am away the present is not real in a work sense.
It takes time for the unfamiliarity to permeate.
All the work that is done seems empty, it has no context.
As a traveler I am caught up with the present, maybe when I am back in my studio the work will make sense - as before.
I could drive around the world - from here the sense of going on.
is an autumnal feel outside brought by the wind. Is there such thing as Sicilian
autumn, not in the English sense.
I don't see the signs, rather sense it in the air
Marsala seems less dry than other parts, or maybe I have just got used it.
Could I ever get used to it? In a way I’d like to try.
of Salt by Mark Kurlansky. Mozia is one of the oldest salt producing areas.
The windmills are based on a Turkish design brought to Sicilia by the Spanish.
The Tuna fishing was here because the Tuna migrate past Sicily.
- the big bastard - sicilian tonne fishermen who dive down with the fish and herd them through the nets.
I like connections, however oblique. It is a bit like a hobby.
The Island thing which seems to be entirely geographical yet connections keep cropping up.
Scilly - Venice - Sicily - Mozia
The weather is slowly turning towards rain.
Its grayed over but no rain, hasn’t rained for five months here.
The southerly wind up from Africa. Tunisia is near, four hours on a boat.
I like to think of ‘ that other world ', another continent there.
Marsala is almost North African. You can sense it in the dust and streets. Another country.
Looking through the map of Europe flicked past the pages of England, their names seem as familiar as the back of my hand.