Last summer, I went to a workshop in a small fishing village turned tourist spot in Estonia. The workshop was held in the local museum, a long, low building with a mish-mash of local memorabilia in it. Apparently it is often used for small conferences and the like – someone said that Zizek had been there some time in the recent past. It was a great spot – there was a good room for the presentations, and we were able to have our meals in a boat drawn up the beach but looking out onto the water. After my presentation, on the second day, I took a brief swim in the Baltic.
The room in which we worked was full of a lot of smallish paintings, all on identical boards, all of a range of seascapes in various shades, colours and degrees of haziness. I don’t speak Estonian, or German, or Russian, so I couldn’t talk with the guy who ran the museum. I think, from what other people said, that he painted the same view out of the museum over and over, at different times of year and day, in all sorts of weather.
And so I find myself sat at my desk, looking out into a field with the Didcot power station in the distance. The towers themselves fade in and out of view in the haze, but the clouds look best in a clear sky. Sometimes they rise straight up, sometimes they head off like the tops of some ocean steamer, sometimes they form huge clouds. I’m not taking a photo a day, but all the same, my camera is very rapidly filling up with pictures of the power station.
Zeelite 
Where is the Like Very Much button on your page?? You’ve caught some very evocative images – ironic that something with such a dull name should be so fascinating.
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