Alice Mason Artist

I’ve been reading a book entitled ‘A Philosophy of Walking’ by Frederic Gros, and although a very good book in many ways; it covers many aspects: the pilgrimage, the urban Flaneur, walking as meditation, as inspiration, as a cure for melancholy, for health, the necessity of walking for so many writers and their practice, but there is a glaring hole in the book; that of women as walkers.

As a woman, I find this omission to be a big oversight.  Women have always walked, although in the book they are mentioned as companions to Nietzsche, students of Nietzsche.. probably walking to hang on to his every word.

Women need to reclaim their autonomy, or find their autonomy as walkers in their own right, who walk as part of their own art or writing practice, or simply as part of their daily regime.   As a walker, I am often asked by men, ‘Where’s your dog?’  As though I can’t possibly be out on a walk, by myself, without a dog.  I am polite by nature and I just laugh or smile and say nothing much…  But this is a feminist issue.  Women have often walked together at night to ‘Reclaim the Night’ as protest.

I need to write more about this.  To be continued…

How beautiful this weather is.  Last night I dreamed of the vast seas again.  It always goes back to the time we sailed to Australia when I was a small child.  This informed and formed such a huge aspect of my psyche.  The dream was also a painting.  I dream in paint, it seems.  The colours were hyper-real.  The sea was paint.  A colour I love.  The deepest brightest turquoise.  In the dream, we were on a large boat, with other people, everyone was excited and we were hovering around a land, very far from our original homes.  This is a recurring dream.  It is always as though we are on the other side of the world.  In anticipation we are viewing the lands, and there are islands and bays and inlets.  On the land were growing giant pink hollyhocks.  Bright, architectural, elegant.

This morning I awoke and thought about all the variations I have had of this dream, and it’s always such a beautiful experience.  Arriving somewhere completely new on a boat.  Dreaming, I am so close to the land and sea, like I am here too, on the cliff top where I live.  The fact that I live close to the sea and above the sea is part of my own version of psychogeography.  The Saxon Shore Way is a path I walk as often as possible.  It is never static.  The movement of the sea, the view out to the horizon, to movement and possibilities.  The cargo boats moving through.  The walkers moving through and across the landscape.  Life passing through like a river.

I realised that the dream was visually similar to a painting I made a few years ago, although the flowers were lupins, not hollyhocks, the colours were the same.

Tea with my friend Susanne makes me happy so I asked her to take a photo of me.  We were sitting in her sunny kitchen.  She is always there, with her beauty and calm, and the kettle is always on.  Susanne is a rare being.  She laughs easily and we talk and it’s just easy and light.  She is an artist and everything in her home is bejewelled, covered in sequins, patchwork, upholstery, embroidery and joy.  Like me, she creates quite compulsively.  It’s so necessary for us both, like food, or tea.  I love my friends.