ANGELAGOODMANART
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It was during the dream time. The time when we were suspended between universes, between light and dark, life and death. The time when I saw the falling star and the fox.
 
The world was in semi-sleep and dreaming, but as always with dreams, the dark mares flitted with manes like black water, through consciousness and unconsciousness. Tales of horror and trauma infiltrated those almost silent sunshine days. Echoes of far off battles, corridors and machinery, exhausted running feet, precious breath, the push of the ventilator and the beeping of monitors… the valiant and the dead… yes that was there, even in the quiet of the night and even in our deepest sleep. We were there, and not there.
 
Death waited in the touch and in the breath.
 
I had trouble sleeping. Woke at four each morning with heart pounding, and speeding, circling, go-nowhere thoughts. Fear prowled the room. What if. What if. Guilt blacked out all hope of dawn and made the future dark. I was alive. Did I deserve it. Would it even last? What if. What if. I rose. Made tea. Tried to read. Went to a window and watched the sky to the east and waited. Weeks… months… we were all waiting, so what was one more hour, to sit and watch and wait? We also serve, who only stand. And wait.
 
I thought of the Bristol churches with their watch towers looking eastwards, the faithful watching and waiting for another kind of dawn.
And waited.
And looking eastwards, there it was. My first ever falling star. A lonely Lyrid, falling… falling… briefly a light to our world.  Out there was hope perhaps.
 
As the sky greyed, things took form outside.
 
A moving shadow caught my gaze. It stopped. A glow of white fur under the body and face. Darkly silhouetted ears, inscrutable eyes, and stillness. Our eyes met through glass: the human being, trapped inside, locked in my own darkness and the small fox out there in the dawn. And I heard her, as if she spoke to me … no… not heard… sensed?... a message without words.
 
This is not a dream.
 
There is always hope.

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Pandemic

April 24th, 2014

24/4/2014

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If I haven't been blogging since January it's because I'm too busy painting! 
In the end I made two Durdle Door paintings for the commission and to my delight - and relief - my nice client decided he would like to buy both.
Commissions are wonderful when you get them and then the initial joy disintegrates into an agony of self doubt and worry.  It doesn't matter how much you enjoy making the painting, - you still agonise over whether the commissioner will like the finished work.
The commission agony has now been transferred to worry about my upcoming show.  It's not a good way to paint because painting has to come from the heart and from a deep desire to do what you do no matter what the method or the end result.  Producing work to order can be very inhibiting so I am having to keep telling myself that I must just immerse myself in whatever i am doing and enjoy the problem solving without thinking that it has to be framed and hung on May 15th.

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    An artist on an alien planet.

    May 19th

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