John Martin. Plains of Heaven (1851-3).
William Quiller Orchardson. The First Cloud (1887).
Atkinson Grimshaw. Liverpool Quay by Moonlight (1887).
Lucian Freud. Girl with Kitten (1947).
Ian Hamilton Finlay. The World Has Been Empty Since the Romans (1985).
Helen Beatrix Potter. Simpkin at the Tailor's Bedside (1902).
Eric Ravilious. The Greenhouse: Cyclamen and Tomatoes (1985).
Last night during one of my 2am conversations with Sanne, she suggested I take the Sunday off and out of the house. I took her advice to the letter, needing a pick-me-up after one of the weirdest weeks I can remember going through. So by 11:30 I was packed and ready, marching to the tube station. I spent the morning wandering around the Tate Britain, jotting down pieces I was drawn to. One of the great bits about London is all the major museums are free so you don't have to go to a cafe and feel obligated to pay for a latte to have a place to sit and write. I tucked myself away on one of the plush benches in a cavernous hallway and wrote for about an hour. Then while munching on the hummus and cheese pita I packed, I strolled along the Thames from the museum to St. Paul's. Which is a bit of a trek, but it was such a beautiful day in London (despite the fierce cold).
Do you have any favorite free places you like to go to sit and write and gaze and whatever?