It’s a dismal day or so some would say. Grey wet days on the Thames are a common occurrence. The only bright colours are the orange pod on the Eye and a few red streaks behind it. I can’t remember what they were. The drizzle, the eye and the view are what I remember. Walking, along the Southbank, on this grey February afternoon. The sky has a mind of its own. Blooms like rain at the top, through mottled blues with splashes of pale gold down to heavy, misty white bleeding into browns.
A single line defines the edge where the sky connects with the Urban rooftops, suggesting the buildings below. Hinting at what they might be but only the Houses of Parliament and the tower of Big Ben give away any real clues to their identity.
Like before, I’ve played with contrasts the busy water flowing, rippling past the geometric walkway, leading to the covered landing pontoon. Or the railings and handrail along the South bank. The wheel itself a cris-cross mechanical engineering marvel. Delicate but solid, your eyes follow the line upwards.
The London Eye looms large and seems to be toppling precariously ready to tumble into the Thames. I often retain these optical effects caused by the camera. In reality the brain filters them out. That marvelous ability it has to edit out the inconvenient truth and present us with an acceptable version of reality that our minds can trust.
