drawing the coast

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I like to walk down to the small boat harbour here in Keflavik. It reminds me of family holidays in Cornwall, Wales, Scotland. Always visiting harbours though we never had an interest in sailing. Perhaps walking round a harbour is the land lubber’s way of sailing vicariously, peering through dark portholes, craning necks up to flags whipping in the wind and turning the names of boats on your tongue.

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It’s a small harbour for small boats; a whale-watching hut stands nearby, with few signs of life this time of year. It’s a quiet place and when the wind drops I have enjoyed going to draw there. One side runs into the town, and the other becomes a small cliff marking the coastline for a long while. There’s a hotel going up just above it, which will produce a small swarm of tourists, I imagine, on sunny summer days. They will outnumber the boats.

There’s a tide line on the rock piles guarding the harbour, below which the rocks are covered with beautifully draped seaweed. I find this hard to draw.

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East of the harbour, along the coast are car washes, warehouses, offices. Behind them I found this little rocky outcrop to perch on and draw. It was so incredibly windy that day.img_20170328_152703.jpg

In the other direction, a path runs along the cliff edge, a safe distance away should there be gusts. But yesterday there were none, and I could sit down in comfort to study the rocks and creeping plants that clung to them.

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Over the sea is the city, and a string of mountains on a clear day. There are birds to learn the name of. There is peace to find.

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