• Creative joy

    The waiting game

    Waiting. For an answer. Yes or no. When all I have is maybe. Maybe. The most uncertain word ever to exist. My heart stands still while time beats on. It is still with you. Waiting for a moment in time. The moment where it will be set free. To love or to let go. The answer is not clear. It waits patiently. Thoughts and feelings come like waves, changing in constant motion. Crash, calm, repeat. All that is certain has been swept away. Abstract shapes on the sand remain. Changing with each moment. Time moves on but time stands still. I stand silent on the shore. Waiting for you.

  • Creative joy

    Painting class

    “Let’s paint!” he says, flexing fingers that know paintbrushes I can tell, as his shirt knows paint (Are we going to get dirty?) the class leaps up – limber bare-bellied girls and a trio of tatty superior blokes – my friend and I too organise easels, brushes, squeeze out small neat turds of thick glistening gloop onto ice-cream lids – red yellow blue white black (Are they the only colours we get?) crisp new white paper covers last term’s spilt paint a table is made manifest in the middle of the easel jam a red-checked tablecloth arranged a bagful of shoes tipped out painters dart from behind easels to poke…