Weekly Diary


I typed the start of the day in a bold font. I meant to stand with a long shadow on a vast plain but came in from the non-existent sunlight and sat in a hypothetical hay loft watching moments of my life return under the control of some other being. I gave all the animals their very own jigsaw piece and then read about a forest connected by fungal mycella. June had promised to sit under a table in a remote spot and didn’t return until after a procession of anthropomorphic baked bean cans had noisily rolled down the street.


June disappeared aurally some time after she had vanished visually. I grew a beard several metres long in between the time I woke up and actually got out of bed. A falcon sat on the post at the top of the landing as I rolled up the strands of landscape visible through the arrow slit window and put them under my arm. After walking the dog (we both wore ball gowns) I stood on a step ladder and waited for another reality to come along like a London bus – my preferred reality took the underground and was last seen metamorphosing into Arcadia at Golders Green. While on the ladder I touched a small roof (the small roof touched a large one).


I started the day as a tape loop, breaking free when the dog grew wings and my nose turned into a shaking hand. I climbed to the ground without sneezing and made art works out of my shoe laces – after which I absent mindedly tied them together. I had to row up and down the garden before I could fit like a six gun cartridge in my white knight studio. In the black knight evening I let the dog mow the lawn while I sat on top of the wardrobe thinking. In the margin of my bald headed note book I drew a picture of an endless rope being lowered into a bottomless pit.


After giving a house spider my latest love sonnet (written in Braille) I marched all the way round the keep before climbing up into my studio like a fugitive. I removed the bandages I had written the first act of a play on and sat in the audience watching myself. I performed like this all morning finishing something important and starting something else. June descended like a deus ex machina in the afternoon just as the manikins were clearing up from the Bird Of Paradise party. I said I wanted to be reincarnated as a Begonia Rex to the shadow in the corner.


The sun felt warm on the back of my head as I rode a giant toad up and down the garden. After a salvo of trips I sunk to the bottom of the goldfish shaped pond in a miniature submarine I had made from an old fashioned slipper – from here I saw an imprint of the fairy world on a sculpture constructed from several pairs of ladies tights and a large container of black treacle. The silent head trapped in a butterfly net looked on as I taught a pair of turtles a rudimentary alphabet and they taught how to express myself using only non-Euclidean geometry and an egg whisk.


I went out early; carrying my friend, the fully functional robot prophet, under my arm (there was a scale model of the ark in my haversack). I met the old demi-god in the lion’s mouth and we ate breakfast between giant teeth and a retractable tongue sofa before I ran out into the garden pursued by cardboard bear. As the cellophane clouds were crumpled up in readiness for another warm day the demi-god and I discussed robot divinity. Looking at the top of his head (in years gone by rented out as a cinema screen) I read the secret of the printed circuit board.


I woke up, looked in the mirror and noticed I had the head of Beethoven – he wasn’t smiling and the two griffon ornaments changed position. I composed a symphony of plant names as I walked the dog ending with a hedge woundwort finale. I met June beside a porcelain cat (one of its ears was chipped); she showed me her Mick Jagger lips. After watching a group of children picking boa constrictor fruit off the trees by the railway station we went home to throw stones in a glass house. At no time did a train come in and no one was waiting on the platform.


About Gerald Shepherd

Gerald Shepherd is a painter, graphic artist, sculptor, digital/multimedia artist, photographer, writer, curator and arts administrator. He has also been involved with science art, performance art, conceptual art, installations and environments (as well as peripheral creative pursuits such as garden design).
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