Venice was very emotional for various reasons this year, but we found good weather until yesterday's storm and spent most of the very hot days at the beach, reading and drawing (and swimming and sunbathing, of course). I only took my camera out at night, when it was cooler (not much).
In the house I found a trunk of my grandad's paintings, watercolours and oil, but so many, hundreds. Still lifes, portraits, scenes from the opera and cafes. I was hoping to find some of the paper he used, but didn't. He used a very thin paper, I don't think it was particularly good or expensive, but it laid so wonderfully flat, while mine tends to buckle even when I stretch it. I'd love to know how he did that. I didn't bring any of his paintings back with me, but I will next time, and I'll write a little bit more about him. Here he is (the guy standing) in a very surreal picture my mum took in the 1950s.