Weekly Diary

27/01/2013

I have four roadside alarm clocks but still woke up late on the pavement. After a breakfast poured directly on the table I donned a clockwork costume and worked all morning astride a skeleton called scaffolding – in some realities this surrounds a house. June and I had a race track meeting and were then rolled up and stuffed in hexagonal holes like honey (purportedly for working like bees). The pit stop was circling the Statue of Liberty when I sat on a cheese roll in an attempt to work out the gears. I finally got the engine going and had a brief trip out: circumnavigating the car park and then taking in the roundabout where young children evolved into old adults and the crater where overnight an interstellar shopping trolley had crash landed – complete with extraterrestrial special offers.

28/01/2013

I walked June to town after accidentally swallowing my electric guitar. We looked at the perpendicular movement of clouds while I played the opening riff of Foxy Lady using my tongue and tonsils. As a joke I pretended the clouds were building sites – the subsequent houses are sold with the catch phrase “only atheists go to heaven” – and earnestly informed passers by that all snowmen are made from concrete. I came home with two hands in my pockets and two more making pistols in the air – I secretly conceived the idea that every gunfighter is immortal and that time doesn’t exist. I had only just settled into the comfortable creative morass of my new studio when June rang asking me to collect the crocodile she was holding while she searched the swamp for more.

29/01/2013

I got up in a suit of armour after dreaming of an avenue of electromagnets – the bride and groom ran along it generating an electric current – as the bulb lit up they then went out for the day. In the real world I followed June around a field of bright clothes: next season’s colours among leafless twigs with London accents. I imagined bare arms hanging from the ceiling and bare legs rising from the floor – disconcertingly they in turn imagined me walking through brick walls with my feet in dried flower arrangements and my arms encased in swathes of over ripe fruit. We caught a train which had the Sistine Chapel replicated inside; I stroked my beard like Michelangelo and then pulled a bicycle from a sleeping tiger for an old lady who had the national anthem embroidered on her vest.

30/01/2013

When I came downstairs June was busy adding the finishing touches to the garden in her hair; she tied in the climbers as a rainbow emerged from one flower pot and disappeared into another – I always think of ships made from papyrus when the sun shines indoors and I was just going to write down a string of Egyptian names I could use as code for my first spiritual computer when the light bulb rained and a flock of starlings landed to pull bright red worms out of an otherwise grey carpet. Simultaneously a train reached the end of the Victorian pier in our Edwardian fireplace and a head emerged from the sideboard; knowing what was coming next I grasped the hand sticking out of the top drawer and squeezed it affectionately before hitting it hard with a lump hammer.

31/01/2013

I got up a little bit late, looked at the stretched out limbs on the ceiling and then watched a large furry mammal amble down the street while trying out a new pair of shoes from the Pleistocene epoch (pink was big in the Pleistocene). After a spell sitting on digestive biscuits in a world of hot tea June and I went to town. We stood like storks in fast moving water as several generations of the human family drifted by clinging to ever smaller pieces of driftwood – the little boy on the smallest piece was busy whittling it into the immediately recognisable shape of a female baboon holding its young when I threw him a rope; in return he threw me a life raft carved out of stone. I resolved to research my own past until a number of paving slabs rose revealing heads with peering eyes hiding underneath.

01/02/2013

I interviewed the toothbrush while June was still lying in bed like one footprint among many – incidentally it is impossible to see where they start or end. The sun was painted on the door as it opened to reveal the pouring rain. I took a floating goblet to the nearest city followed by the flying geese that had inspired the fifth symphony of Sibelius (they had no idea that I would spend part of the afternoon photographing signs that I found on the road). I met my father in a flower vase and pronounced my love of faded flowers. We caught a bus before it blinked and saw the other passengers draped over the seats like crucifixes – my friend the vampire took a taxi. We found entrances B and C before finding entrance A. I made up words from these while my father made up himself.

02/02/2013

I woke with the remnants of an octopus’s meal strewn across the bedroom floor. I swept it all under the voluminous skirt of a black cat fairy whose outstretched arms form part of the cycle way which circles the room like a smile on a balloon at the very point it is being burst. I removed the debris of a thousand shipwrecks from my hair and went to town with June curled up in my shopping bag sorting out the letters she wants to send to herself – she also found some she wants to send to me and pinned them to a portrait of Winston Churchill (sometime later Lady Churchill entered the room with her hair on fire). We ate a late breakfast inside a printing press – as we were being served a picture of an old man with a small dog fell to the floor – I was pleased when a young child bent down and picked it up.

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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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