Weekly Diary

09/02/2014

The morning started as a question which I wasn’t able to answer. Instead Poppy and I had our customary horizontal stairway walk, coming back beside the laying down telephone poles and vertical river (which was close to overflowing). As I climbed the railway hill I anthropomorphised the weather and then rudely refused to shake its hand. The train went into the station as I looked back to see Ares hold his wounded side and then Athena change herself into a cat I once knew and loved. Light went in through the window as I went in through the door. June was balancing a planet, only slightly smaller than the Earth, on her middle finger: having taken off her rings to do the washing up. The small figure hiding in the cupboard retuned his guitar and then played a violin.

10/02/2014

It was raining in the urban test tube in which June and I live. We talked of ladders coming out of top hats and then took the Babylonian slave girl (who is actually a princess but none of us know it yet) to town; bringing her back again with hanging gardens issuing from our top and bottom pockets. June then made a tent out of an unread book and proceeded to read the marks on a bare wall. I in turn retired to my studio to paint my jeans and wear my canvases – I plan to walk into an art gallery one day and take them all off! As the weather brightened I walked into the garden to watch people who insisted they came from the future disguised as the past take off from the launch pad beneath the wild life pond – the wild life occupants of which having built a civilisation far in advance of our own.

11/02/2014

I woke in a house made of old shoes dressed only in brightly coloured socks (they covered all parts of my body except my feet) and then imagined myself in a world where I walked while over people ran. Poppy and I went out for an appropriately slow motion walk; I counted the number of tree branches that touched the ground before jokingly trying to touch the sky. I walked June to town on my return; she had a model of an Italian hillside town on her back and I carried all the hunch back bags – the couple in front of us were holding mirrors in front of their faces and appeared to talk to themselves rather than each other. I came home with my bags full of unexpressed thoughts while June waited in town for the afternoon to introduce itself like a well known confidence trickster.

12/02/2014

I made a copy of the day before deciding to go forth in the original. Several versions of June were holding hands with pints of milk – delivered by the coal man for a change (of course in our rain running down window reality we no longer have coal men just small figures comprised entirely of points of light; some of which are supposed to sentient in their own right – I wondered if all light is conscious and then stepped out of the shadows). June walked to town in the pouring window rain to meet an old friend; I stayed at home painting fire escapes on the side of fire engines and collecting breaks in the clouds as if they were divine. In the afternoon the weather got worse and I drew a line on the carpet but decided in the end not to walk along it.

13/02/2014

I got up on the razor sharp edge that divided morning from night and then cut myself on the paper (which I no longer read). An albatross flew over head after accidentally spying an ancient mariner and the radio hidden in the trees had turned itself on to the classical channel. I arrived at the lunar lamppost in time to watch the smiling bus (and non smiling driver) crawl up the hill. As I got off I touched hands with a man covered in black and white squares: he was still waiting for a lady with chess pieces so he could finally say checkmate – although I wondered if waiting was a game in itself. I waited a short while myself, meeting a lady wearing two pairs of shoes and then the old man with a golden eagle eyrie in his hair. We had a high altitude talk before I travelled home by cirrus cloud.

14/02/2014

I talked to my pillow who purportedly had only just returned from time in a leper colony (I didn’t believe its story that it was cured by a man with a beard painted by Michelangelo on his face) and then talked to duvet – most of which was hidden under the dog. June was laying on a rainbow, which itself was balanced on a two pots of old coins: none of which were now legal tender. I painted Renaissance figures in every room with appropriately worried expressions – they were waiting for the person in the mirror to reach out and grab them – As a preemptive measure I reached into the mirror and grabbed the figure first; he admitted to being me and I let him off (the ventriloquist’s dummy however admitted to being a horse last ridden by the Duke of Wellington immediately after the Battle of Waterloo).

15/02/2014

I walked out into the garden after crawling under the door. The trees were talking among themselves in very small voices, although some did get larger as my shadow approached. A figure with eyes that reflected landscapes touched the top of my head – I imagined a crown of seaweed but June said it was the algae that grows in sloth hair. After this and a quick chat in a glass dome which once housed an over ornate torsion pendulum clock, the three toed sloth and the harpy eagle went out for a meal – it wasn’t large enough and I filled my boy scout haversack with bags. June and I went in separate directions as the pattern of ancient water meadows became a smile. By coincidence the first person I met on my way home had a map of the entire universe on his forehead – I couldn’t see our house.

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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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7 Responses to Weekly Diary

  1. your imagination always amazes me !!!

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