Over the course of a year or so I gathered bits and pieces of rust that I found on the ground during my daily walk. I gradually assembled them into what I called rusty angels. I had good intentions of exhibiting them and even ordered wooden cradled panels to house each one. I left all the panels in a pile in my studio for another year or so. The fun of creating was spent and the tedium of preparing them all for presentation just blew my mind, so I blew the project off. Until this weekend, that is, when my sister-in-law blew in from Quebec and had the brilliant idea to suspend the angels from our crabapple tree.
|(No angels were harmed in the Photoshopping of this image!)|
Angels in our Midst
Whee! It was a particularly windy day and the angels twirled and swirled with great enthusiasm.
Another air-related sight we experienced this weekend was the labyrinthian wind farm atop the local Kent Mountain. Back roads, dirt roads, rutted roads, deep puddles and a warped sense of adventure on the part of our driver got us there and, eventually, back out. There was no map of the place, which seemed to go on forever. It was pretty impressive but, quite frankly, if you've seen one giant windmill, you've seen them all.
See the little people?
Oh, look--turn down another dirt road-- and there's another windmill!
Or sometimes even more than one!
And this is what it looks like inside one of the blades, which was on the ground, not spinning around in the wind, much to my sister-in-law's disappointment. . She blew up some great plans for a theme park, interpretive centre, souvenir boutique, and tower-top restaurant while she was cogitating inside that blade.
Ah, but she may as well try and catch the wind.
Donovan sang it first but let's have a different version.