A summer day in London with an old friend. We walked for hours, we walked the canal. The sun was on the water, a sense of the partial eclipse in the light. I kept stopping to take photos. Water as a pattern everywhere. Back home on my computer I blended a few photos from that day resulting in the image above. This Guy in London. Made from a good day. Timeless. ___
Un día de verano en Londres con un viejo amigo. Caminamos durante horas, recorrimos el canal. El sol sobre el agua, algo del eclipse parcial en la luz. No dejaba de parar para hacer fotos. El agua como patrón por todas partes. Ya en casa, en el ordenador, fusioné varias fotos de aquel día y el resultado es la imagen de arriba. This Guy in London. Hecha de un buen día. Atemporal.
MOSTO The dusky plum of grape must fermenting after the vendimia, the last of the harvest turning to wine. OLOROSO The deep amber-mahogany of an aged Oloroso, the sherry that gives Jerez its name. MEMBRILLO Quince, the orange-gold fruit ripening in gardens this month. ACEITUNA The green-grey of olives darkening on the branch as the October harvest begins.
Use them however you like. A wash of background colour, a single brushstroke, a filter, a frame. The prompts this month and every month can be found here.
Esta semana llegó mi primera muestra del calendario COAST of LIGHT 2027.
Doce piezas inspiradas en Andalucía, llenas de luz local, algunas con palabras de sabiduría, todas seleccionadas a mano por mí. Encuadernado con espiral, 14,8 x 40 cm, listo para colgar. Una cosa es ver el trabajo en pantalla. Otra muy distinta es tenerlo en las manos y colgarlo en la pared.
¿Te interesa?
Ya disponible en la tienda en coastoflight.etsy.com.
El próximo viernes se revela el calendario A4 / A3.
The creative process continues. My love of maps has led me to create this one (shown below), inspired by The Aesthete (worth reading to understand the beginnings) and further inspired by a photo of a wall in a car park in England (See above).
I didn’t know when I took this photo in the summer that it would become a map. That’s what I love about the creative process.
This one is still not quite finished I don’t think, but i wanted to keep it simple and try only including what was in the poem.
The colours were inspired by the creative practice colours for August and it was created using Acorn software (similar to Photoshop) to enable layering and curving of text.
PONIENTE the warm west wind off the bay as the heat of summer begins to ease. RETORNO a quiet, settled green marking the return to routine after the busyness of summer. VENDIMIA the amber-gold of grapes during the September harvest around Jerez and El Puerto. HIGO CHUMBO the vivid magenta flesh of the prickly pear, one last burst of colour before autumn.
Use them however you like. A wash of background colour, a single brushstroke, a filter, a frame. The prompts this month and every month can be found here.
Artwork: The Beat Goes On. From the COAST of LIGHT collection.
Spoken Light is an unreleased, ongoing collection of writing by Clarence Greenway. It has no publication plan and It may never have one. It feels good to share some of it here on the COAST of LIGHT blog anyway.
This piece is from August last year. (2025)
Roasted Aubergines
All of a sudden, the middle of summer and extroverted and olympic sized heat paints glitter on the trees, the streets are alive with limbs and the fluted masses grow like weeds burnt and backlit by a sun that never seems to leave the sky. It’s August says the collared dove.
All of a sudden, the fluted masses tip and tilt the planet against our favour in a bankrupt prance we cannot give up, better to have than to have not when in the oven as we are roasted aubergines and rice, simmering in stock with a lid on. Sanctions on our movement are ordered by the nearest star. We continue to be upbeat, lunch is served with a dollop of cool yoghurt. Can’t imagine the winter now. Can’t imagine the winter yet we are already backspinning towards it.
All of a sudden it will be that most wonderful time of the year. For some. I am reminded of time, defined by time once again as I catch a glimpse of myself growing old but the same. The outgoing heat leans on me, defeats me, defines me but what can we do but be defined, be defeated and carry on.
Two colours. One horizon. A sun that glows like a coin.
All That Glitters is one of those pieces that came together quickly. The warm orange and red of a southern Spain summer sunset, layered and blended in vitamin sea.
Dos colores. Un horizonte. Un sol que brilla como una moneda.
All That Glitters es una de esas piezas que tomó forma rápidamente. El cálido naranja y rojo de un atardecer de verano en el sur de España, superpuesto y fusionado en vitamina mar.
A year after the pandemic, Spain was still slowly shifting. Life returning, but carefully.
The Hours was written by Clarence Greenway in that period, between 2021 and 2022, in the bay area of Cádiz and briefly in England. It’s a book of observations, one hour at a time, from the garden, the beach, the woods, the towns nearby. Nature, light, the ordinary made strange by paying attention.
Here is one hour, from August, at Playa de Valdelagrana: (You can buy the book here.)
VIPALGE 500 Playa de Valdelagrana | 08:52 to 09:52 | Aug 3rd(2021)
In the shade of VIPALGE 500, I sit slunk at sea level on my beach chair. I sit eye to eye with the fairly distant, tiny little waves. The sand, well-combed by a giant rake, is a little chilly underfoot.
Cádiz across the bay is covered in breakfast light. The day is opening up and the shoreline is a string of well-spaced, bright pink, turquoise, electric blue and yellow beachwear.
The sea is a blue sheet elegantly tucked in to all curves of the bay. Sheets praise sheets, say the waves. A fisherman flings his hopes beyond them. The breeze tickles my elbows.
The shoreline is a long glance, a stroll, a ramble, a promenade and a tramp; a child runs to keep up with his dad; a runner checks his watch; a baby is comforted in their buggy; a man speed walks.
Over and over, over and over says the sea. The breeze tickles my left knee.
On the horizon there are five or six white acrylic paint splodges or what look like tiny feathers from pillows in between the headlands of Cádiz and El Puerto. The towns are like crab pincers guarding the bay. I am sitting in the middle, as if I could control them, ready to bite anything that dare enter. I am backed by a number of cheering palm trees.
To my right, pine-tree green comforts sandstone and to my left there is a ceremony of paddle boards floating out to sea like clouds. The sun is creeping towards me as it rises over VIPALGE 500 behind me. The world is as flat as a coin with little ridges of life and development. There are oblivious seagulls out near the horizon enjoying the blue snake-skin sea. There is more coloured beach-ware now. Rituals and routines say the waves.
I see the shadow of my head first and then my knees as the cool blanket is pulled from under me like a tablecloth, leaving me on a hot shiny table. The sun arrives on my neck and I immediately warm up like thawing toast out of the freezer. Above me, the temperature drops a degree every 100 metres.
My world comes alive with Andalusian light, a high contrast of seaside hues. I am sat on golden brown sugar, the sea is blue icing, the sunlight is butter mixed with olive oil and my mind a mixing bowl. Repeat, repeat say the waves.
I stand up, the wind thick with the smell of churros. It is 82 steps to the shore where an old man floats on his back in the shallows. Summer sizzle summer say the waves, welcoming my ankles. My tummy rumbles. I think of tomato and pate on toast. Here, food, says the sea.
A trail of smoke rises from Cádiz across the blue icing, a last extinguishing of night and the first suggestion of life, as the grindstone of the city gently starts turning. Second breakfast? Shouts a seagull.
I walk back over two patches of tiny shells and small stones, from hard wet sand to soft to slunk again. The shoreline is vanilla and bronze. It is body shapes of intent and contentment wearing hats. It is shirtless, long flowing, tight-fitting, hanging, untucked or rolled up and is that someone famous?
An overweight human wanders in and washes and bathes. A sail boat appears from behind Cádiz to hold the balance. The heat rises and three beach cleaners zig-zag past me like robots.
Nell arrives on her bike from down the beach, undresses and slips straight into the endless loosening blue knots of the sea. The day is really waking up. It is primary colours and now a partly blocked view by custom and habit. Cream treacle wash explore and figure out challenge sweat says the world. My neck is burning and a ferry is churning between Cádiz and El Puerto.
I walk down to the sea (now 65 steps) for a swim. The sun behind me starting to sting like a jellyfish.
