water dancing light inside

I am trying to find a word for that thing when the light bounces off the river, and onto my ceiling. I go and lie on the bed to watch. This visitor has been bothering me on and off my whole life and now I need to find its word. I haven’t known where to look for it but now, today, I suddenly realise where - in Japanese language. And yes: here it is 水影 or Mizukage, from Mizu meaning water, and Kage meaning, almost shadow but more reflection, or trace of light. I feel a bit daft I haven’t looked it up before.

Only among my close loved ones do I bang on about this water making light dance inside thing and how I’ve been planning an installation for so long… However, I have now finally positioned a water trough in front of my house so that the afternoon light can dance inside with me and my family. I now discover this architectural play of water and light inside a building is a Japanese thing.

At times I wonder whether I have oriental blood, what with the aesthetic and philosophies of my work. I am thinking now of my recent oils on canvas and how they’re about this water dancing light inside. In fact, having just written that down, I think that must be the title of the series.

I love how a title comes - like a bird alighting on your head while you’re sitting in the garden.

This actually happened.

Driving along a narrow high-hedged road to Dartmouth one day, I saw the car in front collide with a pigeon. It was a busy road, and one on a bend, so obviously, the driver didn’t stop. I did though. I gently picked up the pigeon, wrapped her in my jumper and put her on my lap and carried on driving. Talking to her to her all the way, hoping it might reassure her. Pigeons like parks, so I parked beside the park near the bandstand. The pigeon seemed fine - just a little shaken, so I found a pleasant looking hedge. I placed her safe inside the hedge and left her to recover while I went to see a friend. On the way back, I went to check up on her. I reached in, picked her up and took her out to have a closer look. But it wasn’t her. This one in my hands was different and not only that, but looked a bit indignant. I apologised and put this one gently back in.

Another time, outside my studio the male blackbird had gorged on so many black mulberries he looked a bit queasy as he stood on the ground. So I walked over, reached down and picked him up to check him out. He was outraged. Screamed at me indignantly, raised his little quiff, and flew off.

Another time, I was sitting in the garden reading a book. Granted it must have looked a bit odd - I was sitting on a kitchen chair in a field. I can’t remember the book but I must have been gripped because a bird landed on my head. I felt it hop around looking this way and that (obviously oblivious) then suddenly it must have realised because I felt it jump out of its little skin. It flew off, squeaking loudly. I think it was a sparrow.

I’m getting way off track here, but this is the thing with water, it makes the light and everything that dances in the light, do crazy things inside.