The cats gather round as he approaches. He has the air of someone important about him and a glow to his fur that draws their eyes, even at this distance.
They know him well, he had been one of them. Just a simple alley cat. But he had made the big time.
He was a house cat.
Here for his annual return to his roots, complete with cat food gifts and endless tales of the high life. Regaling the rapidly growing crowd with stories of free food, sleeping on the sofa and unconditional love.
He epitomizes their hopes and dreams. An unattainable feline deity.
His presence runs a fine line between adoration and resentment.
An idolised celebrity.
And his fall from grace was all the more dramatic for it.
“Please no” the pencil murmurs as the sharpener rapidly approaches. “I’m small as it is…”
A nearby pencil case cackles cruelly at the pencil as it’s cries fall on deaf ears.
Oh how he wished to be a sharpie… those guys were so cool, with their ever lasting ink. His work could be brushed away with a simple rubber.
“it’s what’s inside that counts” His mother had always said, completely unaware of the irony. His grandfather had been Shakespeare’s pencil. He was just downright average. He just didn’t have the creativity of the rest of his family.
The sharpener slowly and cruelly shaved away another chunk of wood reducing his length ever more.
Forever under appreciated…
It seems odd that when you see a jogger out on the street you always assume they jog every day. I see a guy in full kit with his fluorescent trainers and just think that he’s a pro…
This obviously is not true, when i jog outside once in a blue moon, struggling for breath as I stumble across the streets of London, I think people see me as a pretender. In truth I probably get lumped in with the pros. I feel that this is unfair on them.
Because of this theory, i have taken to standing on street corners and breathing heavily while wearing full jogging attire. This way members of the public think I must be a marathon runner, or similar, pushing myself really hard. See below.
They probably just think i’m asthmatic…
I hand the loveable nitwit another wad of cash in return for his ego soothing but clearly false flattery.
“Please Mr Art, tell me, how you achieve such perfection” says the small child
Another 5 pounds well spent.
It starts with a blank canvas.
A work surface on to which my creative juices can spill, much like when you accidently put the straw all the way through the capri-sun packet.
And then comes the idea, represented here as a thought bubble. This originates spontaneously. Inspiration can come from anywhere. Sometimes the inspiration can be the idea itself, this is known as the ‘idea of an idea’ paradox and puts the artist into a beautiful but inescapable artistic hole. It is thought that Van Gogh cut off his own ear just to escape the loop.
I achieved the loop in this particular piece I call “Woman in a Parka coat” or “Fur Hood”. You can choose.
I turn to face the boy again, expecting awe and wonderment
“Well there it is my beggar companion. Perfection. Here is some more cash for your trouble”
But alas he has gone.
And so has my wallet…
Sometimes I am fearful of my own creativity.
This picture of a bucket and spade at the beach is a good example and it’s not just the world class artistry and the amazing attention to detail that make me think it.
It’s hard to compare myself to painters of the modern age such as Geoffery Chaucer, Bruce Springsteen and Barack Obama when my art is essentially from a different planet to theirs. The heading “Uncategorized” on WordPress was originally created for my artwork, before gaining wider blogging usage.
I call this piece “Angst in A minor”. It’s second title is Quit Beaching as can be seen scrawled across the page… It tells the tale of a lonely bucket that just wants to move to Hawaii. She hears there are tropical fish, beautiful sunsets and sandy beaches.
Instead she is stuck on a dirty shale beach in Blackpool, crossing off the days until the annual two weeks of summer rear their cloudy 15°C heads.
P.S – I have added some more ‘art’ to my portfolio tab on the main page. Take a look!
Bernard has been asked to stay.
His final challenge of obedience school, Bernard must make a dangerous choice.
Does Bernard want the unconditional compassion of his loving family
or the plate of cookies he is being tempted with.
The final test.
The family tense.
Bernard’s dog mind slowly clunks.
Bernard inches forward.
I love St. Bernards. I mean look at their stupid lovable faces.
I’ve always struggled as a world renowned artist and critic to get people to see my work. People avoid my exhibits because they are worried about it being too crowded and this is why there is such poor attendance.
Here is one of my pieces for your eyes to digest. I think the meaning is obvious. Some people suggest to me that I should stop doing Art altogether. Maybe this is because I am too good. If I produce enough it will replace the art in all the galleries, this would be a nightmare for storage as where would you put all the old stuff? Maybe you could put my art on top of other art as shown below.
Or I could just paint over the old ones.
I’ve sent an email to Picasso to ask for permission.