Weekly Diary


June and I had our own clouds this morning; I think mine was slightly larger and followed me like a dog – it was fairly well behaved except when another cloud walked up the road on a lead.  We all went out to dinner half way up a very tall tree (I fell out just after two) and then laid on a tropical beach watching the icebergs slowly drift by; one had several figures standing on it, the tallest of which was dressed all in gold.  I came back to the plastic construction kit house and walked the dog along the pelmet of a Victorian window showering the crowds below with gold coins.


I first measured the dog’s tongue to see if it was long to enough to cover the entire perimeter of the garden and then went out (June and I were each carrying an enamel bath in our pockets and I threatened to sit in mine in front of the open fire).  We all ate under a rather low ceiling and then returned like redirected letters to sit in someone else’s sitting room.  We checked the backs of the Cyclops as they left the cave not realising the sheep were hiding underneath.  As the light faded I wondered if I could a roll a model car under the legs of the table as it started to float.


June went to work as normal; I hopped about the battlefield inside a giant sock which was lost when the ogress did the washing.  I went to town along the dorsal fin of an ichthyosaurus, bought a field of cabbages and then came home with the only working alarm clock sunk in a pail of unpasteurised milk.  I took the pale white stairs to my studio, ignoring the clenched fist pinned to the door.  I worked in a fossilised wood (which is kept on the top shelf next to the fossilised flames) until June came in with a medieval knight over her shoulder.  I dropped his sword in my tea.


I slept in a sugar bowl and woke up tired.  With my eyes half closed (some would say half open) I signed my name on a roll of bandages in eleven different languages – none of which I could speak.  I had to go the workshops to get a new cauldron and then a lipstick to scrawl a message on the dressing table mirror.  After a spin in a toy car I found myself in a wood embracing a length of pipe; I held my ears to the ground but couldn’t hear the water flowing although I did hear two sets of footsteps merge into one.  I  walked home inside one leg of a pair of tights.


I got up before June and found a tunnel last traversed by a pilgrim family looking for a shrine – I started the propeller I was wearing in lieu of a hat and found the very top of the sunflower where rain clouds congregated like black sheep.  Me and the turtles talked for some time before I had to find a person inside an ice cold flame; I worked among the hot icebergs for some time until the paper smiles turned to frowns and I put my crayons to bed.  June came in wet while I waited for the rain to fall; she had a map of the world in her sandwich box and handed me a crumb.


A very early morning and I had to tunnel out of bed like a trapped miner. I followed a vein to the father node and then sat motionless as a Toby Jug filled up with trinkets.  My father showed me his memories trapped in amber.  I thought of Jurassic Park and considered my own memories, resembling as they do a balsa wood glider tossed out of first floor window.  I came home by horizontal parachute, travelling just a few inches above the ground.  I landed in front of a choice of front doors – I chose the one which looked most familiar; not noticing the figure with fifteen arms.


I sloughed out of bed, pulled nuclear missiles out of my hair and went out to interrogate a log – it didn’t talk. I made a pyramid out of broken branches and then scrambled about like a collapsing house of cards trying to find the King’s tomb – it wasn’t there.  After a lunch of paper hats I met June outside a shoe which had been hastily cast aside.  We toured the entrails of a mystical beast and then came home clutching our bags.  As the garishly painted curtain began to descend I saw a group of fictional characters standing at the front door, one of which handed me a note.


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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