Tomorrow in Chideock.

I cut the hair at the nape of her neck. “There’ll probably be a bouncy castle, too,” she says. “At the church?” “No,” she says, suddenly serious. “Afterward, at the wake. But, yes, the way things are going, it won’t be long before the vicar is on the castle herself. Up and down, up and … Continue reading Tomorrow in Chideock.

Float On.

The old man passed over the rooftop of Brinton farm and Middlely. The night orange hiss glowed above the county towns to the north. The countryside. He threaded the stars orange spangleblue and white. There was a sound that followed him. Not the hissing electricity sparking from the shoulders of the pylons over the towns … Continue reading Float On.

Mirror 9 – JMW Turner [Shields, on The Tyne, 1823] postcard.

Lunch was a joyless chore in South Shields. The allowed hour was passed in that miserable and stifled staff room of P. Marsk Hairdressing, where the legend We Make You Look Good - that irritating and irksome italicised 'Good' - bearing down erroneously from the brown wall behind him, into him, through his thinning crown, his dimming mind, … Continue reading Mirror 9 – JMW Turner [Shields, on The Tyne, 1823] postcard.

Mirror (8): Pale Airman.

8      [photocopy of a snapshot] I cut Lillian's hair every twelfth week, dry it every sixth. It grows. I cut it. I dry it. It has become grey by increments; city pigeon to autumn noon, fading print to cigarette ash. Each accretion of tone slowly highlighting further her pink brittle cheeks, the pools … Continue reading Mirror (8): Pale Airman.

Mirror (7): Three Christmas Mornings.

7      [postcard]: portrait photograph of Walt Whitman (credited to Mathew Brady, 1860) Casey A thoughtfully sent this from Seattle. In the border frame she has written, brilliantly - v v Double ewe u u w Thoughtfully, because she is a good listener and, brilliantly, because marginalia is where she blends her work into … Continue reading Mirror (7): Three Christmas Mornings.

Mirror (6): Distant Bells.

6      [business card]: Kelly Jayne, BA, MA. Artist. Art Psychotherapist.   *   Distant Bells. Parade of grave shoes. Their shadows shrink and loom. He believes he sees them, so he sees them. He watches them askew. They hover and pass, never ending. The shadows were drawn to this place, he imagined, by … Continue reading Mirror (6): Distant Bells.