8.50 am. A glorious morning (gratitude abounds), much needed after a succession of dull, draining, and drizzled days. 9.00 am. Third year painting tutorials at the Old College. The interior graces the wide-eyed and attentive with moments of illumination, beyond the literal sense of that word. A window and its ghost:

10.30 am. Back at basecamp; the School’s garden has more than its fair share of evergreens, a realisation that we only fully appreciate at this time of year. On such a day as this, all things might be possible:

10.50 am. The start of second year painting tutorials. Outside, the clouds gather; inside, the light of understanding enters both the tutee and the tutor:

Some principles and observations derived from today’s engagements:

• The painting is its own reality, governed by principles and requiring decisions that may have very little to do with the reality which it seeks to depict. Learn to let the picture be what it needs to be.
• The tyranny of the photography: photographs can be a useful point of departure for a painting; but unless you have some stylistic commitment to photorealism, you shouldn’t feel obliged to slavishly adhere to it thereafter.
• One may learn to paint by teaching others to paint. And we may all teach each other by showing and sharing what we do.
• An army marches on its stomach. An art student studies on a nutritious diet. Your stomach may seem along way from your brain, but they’re intimately connected. Look after them both (he said, parentally).
• Your life is of incomparably greater value and importance than your work. Therefore, first, look after the bigger picture, and the little pictures will take care of themselves.

5.10 pm. At the close of the day, the 13th Abstraction lecture. Today, I was on my third wind. I ended the afternoon session knotted by exasperation. (And, I’m not alone in this.) There must be a better way.

7.30 pm. A readying for the morrow and, then, a shifting of postgraduate co-ordinator admin, composing email rants, and developing my research self-appraisal further. A bit of John Martyn’s Solid Air (1987) (a very sexy, sultry album for listening to on dark winter evenings with a glass of Vimto and good company) to ease the pain.