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

January 02nd, 2014

2/1/2014

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At this time of year I usually put myself into a metaphorical padded cell.  Dark and silent, with my fingers stuffed in my ears and my eyes shut in case anything intrudes. This is because for some reason I get very depressed and annoyed by the media Reviews of The Year (their choice of what they think the masses were interested in) or the Predictions for the Year Ahead (what's the point?). 

But if
  you can't beat them (or block it all out) you might as well join them.  So here's my review of The Year Just Gone By...

It started in a depressed way with seemingly no outlet for my work. It felt as though I were working in a vacuum.  And an alien, friendless, isolated vacuum at that.

But if you have to paint, you have to paint.  Even in a recession and in a town where it's not easy to sell art. So
I revamped this website, got the proper name for it, started the blog (ok I know - I hardly ever post! But that's because I find it so hard to talk about my work...)
and continued to investigate venues where I might be able to show my paintings. 

It's not the Oscars but I'm going to use this space to thank those who have encouraged me, believed in me and given me hope during 2013.

Thanks and applause go to the lovely people at Ilminster Arts Centre - Sue Bishop and Ann Palmer - for their encouragement and for the wonderful show last September and for the friendly atmosphere of their gallery and cafe .  Thanks also to David at the Cafe and Gallery on the Square Poundbury for taking my work and showing it so beautifully that it has sold.  Thanks to Bryan and Christine at The Island Gallery Portland for their encouraging words and advice.  Thanks goes to Weebly for hosting this website and enabling a rookie like me to build it and because I have sold through it. And thanks go to The Woodland Trust for having artists' tree paintings on their site. 

Thanks go to all my friends who said nice things and were encouraging ... and lastly but not least to my family - who tolerate my extravagant painting addiction.


Predictions for 2014 - finish the Durdle Door paintings (see above the first one), start the backlog of new work which has piled up in my head,  a show in May and June - during Dorset Arts Weeks.  And hopefully some others... watch this space!





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