She stood in the storm, and when the wind did not blow her way, she adjusted her sails. Elizabeth Edwards It was my son who called me to the window as this deep pink sunset filled the sky. It never ceases to draw us there to stand and stare. You can keep your golden yellow . . .
This is from my journal, NYC, 2016..... "Everyday I meet the same people as I walk from the subway to my room on Second Avenue. I'm shy with the camera because I'm really only relaxed with Mother Nature as my collaborator. She's a little bit scarce around the streets of NYC so I have to . . .
Time is growing short. There are unexplored adventures ahead of you. You can’t live the rest of your life worried about what other people think. You were born worthy of love and belonging. Courage and daring are coursing through your veins. You were made to . . .
Suddenly it's winter. A time I savour. The inclination is to hibernate, pause, mull over stuff. It's a time for saying no. A time to rest. A time to enjoy early frosty mornings. Although in truth we get very few of them here in the South East of Ireland. The changing seasons are a . . .
It's all still sinking in. The hard work, the experience of exhibiting, the aftermath. Because I work in an alone space it shocked me on the night of the opening that people would actually arrive. When they came I was somehow still in the middle of the making. I had fallen out of bed . . .