Glimpses of a new artwork, painted in the warmth of the studio, called 'Tangents'.
Once, long ago and far away in the north of Norway, I heard how the people would wait for the return of the sun. Six weeks they had to wait to see it again, counting down the days. When the day came, the children from the school would be taken up the hill to catch the first sight of the returning sun. With a picnic.
Here in Berlin the sun is not so lost, but it has fallen behind the apartments across the road and is not yet back. Any day now, I think. I am measuring its rise each day, looking up to where it shines on the balcony above mine.
The sun line - like the tree line (on mountains - the height at which trees stop) or the water line (the height of a flood or tide). It is elemental, embodied, essential. It matters when choosing where to live.
Today I found the sun on bridges over the railway and then in a surprising park created by leaving old railway lines and sidings to return to nature.
With temperatures below zero, the ice did not melt in the sun but at least it was visible.