All the time they seemed to be skating in fanthomless depths of air, so blue the ice had become; and so glassy smooth was it that they sped quicker and quicker… with the white gulls circling about them, and cutting in the air with their wings the very same sweeps that they cut on the ice with their skates. Virginia Voolf. Orlando. 1928
The winters of the 50-ies were often rather cold in Denmark, and the ponds on the fields, the small rivers and even the salt sea froze to ice, so you could skate on it. The clothes and the rubber boots many of us wore, were quite cold, but the lack of comfort was driven away by the feeling of the air, the lightness of running on the ice and freedom of childhood. When you came home to your mother, the chicks were red as old apples and the feeling of weight in your body just wonderful. I don’t keep my childhood hidden in a guitar, but maybe in a pair of rubberboots and iceskates.
This painting shows a very characteristic landscape with the island of Nekseloe in the background.