Look, A Reflection

Painting by Isaac Levitan

Look, Some Waves

Painting by John Constable

Cats

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.

Look, Some Lightning

Painting by Gaspard Dughet

Pencils

“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…
Poor Noris…

Look, Some Sheep

Painting by J.M.W Turner

Joggers

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…

Look, A Lake

Painting by Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot

Bribes

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…

Look, Some Waves

Painting by Ivan Aivazovsky.