New paintings and regular art updates.
He looks like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, but two minutes ago he and his sister were chasing each other up and down the stairs, up on bookcases and rushing in and out of the kitchen and bathroom. 
Now his sister is playing with a cat toy and is ignoring him! Does anyone else have cats that have mad half hours? Pouncing and chasing. Basically getting up to mischief and having fun. I wish I’d got some photos!
I never knew what paints she used, said the man, the pictures were always bright and colourful. I guess they must have been water based. Look here is a glass mug full of water.
Yes, said the policeman. But no paintings? And no sign of her? You told us she’s been missing for a week.
Yes, said the man. I thought she had gone away for a break. But she’s not been in touch. Not phoned or emailed me. It’s very unusual, and she wouldn’t take all her art.
The conversation did not identify any additional information.
Meanwhile, in a small costal village, she sat and painted the sea.
Finished, the colours are a bit off as I’m painting under electric light. I’ve tried to get accurate details on it although I’m still wanting it to be painterly. I don’t want my paintings to look airbrushed or filtered.
It’s the old analogue or digital argument. Everything is HD these days. But I’m not trying to get photo realism, just realism. So, now I’m going to leave this. If I have a night’s sleep I might be able to come back to it. There are thousands of craters and trenches and rills and canyons on Mars. It’s a rocky planet with a very thin atmosphere. It can be completely covered by dust storms and the details of the surface can be covered over. The carbon dioxide poles shrink and grow dependent on the seasons. In the past the surface was imagined to be covered with canals (a misinterpretation of the Italian word Canali – meaning channels). Astronomers thought the dark patches were vegetation. Now we know Mars is a rocky, desert planet. About two thirds the size of Earth with lower gravity. It has lost most of its atmosphere and water over billions of years, probably because its molten core has solidified and it now has no magnetic shield to stop solar radiation from causing the atmosphere to stream away into space.
I need a rest, my eyes are boggling.
I don’t know if I’ve made it worse or better. I’m trying to paint in craters on this painting of Mars, but I can’t keep going at the moment because I’m tired and I’m trying to paint while holding my phone. Anyway I’ve got to get it finished. Bye for now.
I usually cook food for both of us. I buy in ingredients and then cook in the late evening. But tonight he doesn’t want food. He’s happy with a sandwich. I can’t think of what to have for my meal. The stuff I’ve got in the fridge are things like tandoori paste and nan bread and basmati rice, but if I eat that there won’t be enough for both of us tomorrow. Then there are wheat biscuits, a cereal, but that’s breakfast food. There is one banana, I might have that and some custard. I might even add a bit of cocoa to cheer it up…. Yes I fancy that. I will use sweetener to keep the sugar levels down..
Weird talking about eating food rather than making up recipes. Anyway I guess I’m hungry.
Another morning, she came downstairs to the daily chore of moving stuff he’d left lying on the floor. Cups, newspapers, books, a jacket, his dinner plate from last night. There were also a pair of scissors and his slippers. He had gone out earlier. Leaving things lying around for her to pick up. I’m fed up with this she thought. It’s always the same. His stuff seems to be everywhere. Why won’t he do something?
Over the next few days she slowly collected things that were lying there. Soon she had six black bags of his stuff.
One morning she got up and he was asleep in the chair after a night of drinking beers. The chair was surrounded by six beer cans, a whisky bottle and several empty bottles and a glass. The snoring shook through her bones.
Enough, she thought, I will build a wall. She went into the utility room to get strong glue and a step ladder. Then she dragged in the black sacks of stuff. Starting with clothes she poured glue in a semicircle around him up to the skirting board on either side of the chair. She slowly piled glue and clothes upward using books, papers and bottles to help support it all. She had bought his fishing rod out of the bathroom and added bike wheels and garden furniture. As she worked she became more frenzied, trying to build before he woke. The glue was quick setting and she had fluff and paper sticking to her hands. She climbed the step ladder and peeked over the top. He was lying still on the chair, snoring gently……
After two hours she had completed the wall. It stood a bit askew but it reached the roof. What would he do? She pushed at the wall of material, solid. She went out into the garden to rest in the sunshine.
When I was about 5 or 6, I had a wart on my hand. It was bothering me so my mum said rub some meat on it and go and bury it in the garden.
So half an hour later Mom found me sitting in the garden with my thumb in the ground! Apparently I asked her how long my thumb needed to stay there.
Mind you I was always a literal child. I also remember at about the same time being on a bus and asking Mom why some people were called black and some white, because we are pink and brown? I never understood why people are anything other than people, colour did not matter, and I still feel the same today.
Life is strange, our thought processes can be confused. Sometimes literal is right, other times it’s not. It’s all about context….
I don’t think of myself as a writer. I love words, but mostly I’m more of a reader, and then as a dabbler at writing. I don’t really plot things, they generally fall out of my head and onto the paper or my mobile screen. I guess it’s just the way I am. I love being creative and since I finished work I’ve started to branch out. I feel like a little dabchick or duck. I paddle away, my feet just gently moving the water of words around, breaking the surface tension but not going deep. And what for? I’ve been told my grammar is not as good as it could be. I don’t do this for likes and views, it’s all quite low key. I don’t expect to ever write a novel. I did once try and write a children’s book, so long ago it’s still stored on a floppy disk!
As long as I don’t bore you too much.
X
Hanley town is the city centre of Stoke on Trent. We were there this evening. When we walked back to the car I noticed this building so took a couple of snaps since it reminded me of the Spode site in Stoke.
What bothers me is that such an amazing frontage has been allowed to remain like this. There is a new hotel and a big apartment block being built directly opposite the old building. And yet old buildings like this are left to rot. If it had money spent on it perhaps it could be rescued. Then instead of eventually being knocked down, or falling down, it could be restored.
On the same note an old Manor house at Betley in Staffordshire burnt down today. A lot of effort had gone into repairing and restoring it, now its mostly destroyed by fire. The world is a sadder place for its loss and people who had flats there have lost their homes.
The Glasgow school of art had burnt down a while ago and the restoration started, then another worse fire happened. Great art was lost.
The point I guess is that instead of always building new things we should save some of our history before it has gone, and protect what remains.
Rose,
Intricate,
Beautiful,
Layers of petals swirl,
Scent of softness
Cream centred
Like whipped cream
Veluptuous,
Soft,
Enticing,
Gentle,
But for your thorns.
Mallaband-Brown