Wendy McBride

Can you be homesick for a place that isn’t really home? This happens to me when I think of Scilly, and especially when I can’t get to the islands to paint. This year so far, I have returned to Tresco only in imagination and memory, and yet as I start to paint, here I go again, struck, thrown, rendered inarticulate by a certain soft grey light, a radiance. Do you dream of such a place?