“The Burglary” Pen, watercolour and gouache in A4 sketchbook.
The Burglary When the Cubist Seers broke into the first mansion they caught a poor thief’s glimpse of reality. They spotted shards of absent light, dull grey brown, dim yellow and pit black edges of formless voids. They were spurred on by hoped for visions of spacetime, promised by Einstein. A multitude of confused distortions, a chair from every angle simultaneous. Infinite points of view redrawn in dirty black charcoal over and over itself. The front page of Le FiGaRo, perched haphazardly on the eternal threshold. A violin broken, disjointed, soundless. A mandolin non-played by the silent crouched musician, her features lost in an analytical phase. Unsure and misdirected she doesn’t play in the myriad dimensions propounded and bounced about. They were lost these burglars, in the lowest and darkest corner of the basement. But on the dusty footboards in the broken mirrored reflection of a shattered looking glass faintly, they thought they had joyfully discovered the lofty heights of sculpted plaster angels trumpeting from the rafters. They picked and barked their tune, believing it to be the primum mobile hymn of a new world disorder. Beyond the dingy dungeon they floated through, lay to them as yet an undiscovered bounty. The many shining sweetest coloured crystal light streams. Stained glass platonic solids of the boldest dreams. Vermillion, turquoise, lemon yellow, ultraviolet. Chandeliers of gathered moonbeams, oily auroras across the galaxy house glazing. As the star shot burst with asteroids of iridescent fountain pools. The traveller in this mansion spun past the ice blue and lime green seas of Venus. Along the intergalactic mind thread, inside the cosmic stellar line. Their view was not mine.
THE CRYSTAL PATH 