Portes Vertes

Brittany in March and the blustery forms of jagged clouds race across the sky, now and again tearing apart to reveal an intense blue infinity far, far out of reach. Down on the quayside of the Port of Brest it is quiet. It’s lunchtime and not much comes between the French and their lunch. The port is immense, industrial, with silos sitting on solid docks ready to export and receive grain to and from the cargo of passing ships.

Inland from the water’s edge are small clusters of buildings; they appear to be residences, but may just as well be offices for the port staff. Running alongside are the parallel lines of a double track railway, buried into the tarmac, ready to ferry the incoming and outgoing loads from one end of the port to the other. The port is huge, but under the Breton skies of spring, the immense clouds dwarf the industrial ensemble reducing it to the size of a small working toy model, as if waiting for the hands of a child to rearrange its pieces.

Artist’s notes:
You can’t beat a Breton sky. I really believe they are like no other. For some reason the skies seem ten times bigger than anywhere else I have been in the world and I think it must be to do with the formation of the clouds. On this particular day the clouds were low and menacing and their were so many layers, each one its own shade of purples, greys and even yellows and reds. I marveled at how these natural forms could reduce such a huge industrial landscape to such a small insignificance. It is at times like these that I can only respect the wonder of nature and its powerful presence and honour its existence with my brushes.