Friday 11 March 2011

This Artist Is Taking A Back Seat for my website for the best known image, of Jesus being ignored on a tube train for the A Graceful Death exhibition, paintings from the end of life for the We Fund page for the A Graceful Death, the Film project

This Artist, Me, Takes A Back Seat.

I could spend all my time writing about which Art Movement Bognor is doing at any given moment. I love doing it, and am terribly inspired by how busy Bognor can be when doing a new Art Thing.  But, I need to take it a bit easy.  I have other things to do, and they won't go away until I attend to them.  Portraits will not paint themselves, houses do not clean themselves, and the Cosmic Gardner does need some kind of response when talking about taking ideas from my paintings into the garden design...Excellent, I say, excellent.  That is what I want you to do, whatever you said, that is great.  What?  The 14 Year Old Son of a Balrog has just been suspended again from school this week.  Oh you Fool I said to him.  Yeah, Well, Whatever he replied.  He was home then, just when dear Older Son Who Is Not Amused By Anything I Say Or Do arranged to meet me in London only to collapse with a fever into my arms.  I put him into the car then and there, and drove him home fast, where he is recovering from tonsillitis and being very poorly indeed.  He is thin at the best of times, but now he is a Wraith, and needs his sheets changed every day he has sweated so much into them.  Never mind, I say.  I am here.  He was scared of being alone the first night, before we got to the doctors in the morning.  It was like having the little boy version of him back, but with a beard and hairy chest.  At that same moment - the Son of a Balrog being excluded again and the Unamused Bearded Wraith falling into my arms with a temperature, my darling daughter celebrated her 21st birthday.   "I'm Coming Home!" she cried, "meet me from the train and let's Party!"  "OK", I sighed, "hooray."  We did party, a bit, with sick son on one side of her and disgraced son on the other, and a very thoughtful visit from 80 Year Old Grandma who arrived like the cavalry with dinner nicely laid out in pretty containers in three wicker baskets.  So I didn't have to cook at all, but I did have to clean up and be fierce to Balrog Boy, concerned to Wraith Boy, and jolly to Birthday Girl all at the same time at the table.  

I have been to London and back to see my elderly father who had bought the Birthday Girl a cake.  Once bought, he couldn't see how it would get to her in Brighton or Bognor, from London,  so I said Let Me Come And Collect It, It Will Only Take A Day.  Lucky I did so, as I was able to scoop Wraith Boy off the street in Kingston and get him home and into bed before he became but a whisp of smoke.  My father is terribly generous, but having had a couple of strokes, doesn't always remember things, and can get into a bit of a muddle.  Going up to collect the cake was a pleasure, spending time with him is always good news.  He is terribly witty, and always makes me laugh.  Possibly, I need to go up and see him more often.  

And what else?  I am designing some Invitations to Olivia's new book launch.  Oh wow.  I am fundraising for the A Graceful Death film, and I am going to a school in Yorkshire next week to take one hundred Year 9s on a Jesus on the Tube workshop day.  Bear in mind my innocent little Balrog Boy is Year 9.  "You won't survive," he says helpfully.  Well if I get the real Jesus along, that will keep them amused.  Actually, Wraith Boy is very tall and bearded and other worldly at the moment.  Maybe I can get him to drift about a bit outside the window and look enigmatic.  There is a chance, I will say then to the Year 9s, that Jesus is with us as we speak.  And when they all point mutely and with awe to the figure meandering outside the window in his beard and sandals, I will say But I See No-One.  That will make them behave.  I must remember to tell Wraith Boy not to light up when being Mysterious and Divine, as the Year 9s will smell a rat.  "He's not Jesus, Miss!" they will all cry with vigour, "he's just a bloke with tonsillitis and a fag."  And so as not to lose face, I will have to pretend I still can't see him.

I am extremely tired at the moment.  I want to sleep all day and all night, and eat bread and butter, and be a blob.  I find it hard to stir myself, and so people have been telling me I look older these days.  However, I had a haircut this morning, and now I look beautiful again and everyone will tell me so.  If I prompt them.  With a pointed stick.

Bognor is going to be Fauve.  It will explode into colour and passion and I will tell you all about it in the next blog.  Goodnight.

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