Category: Painting

Verge

I dreamt of you last night. We were lying by a river (have we ever done such a thing in all our lives?) in the shade of a weeping willow. Your head was in my lap, and you wore a white dress that spread out across the grass like a bride’s train. The warmth was […]

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Magic

People write about magic a lot; but they don’t write about how it feels. I guess that’s because they think it’s too hard. How do you describe colour to a person who’s always been blind? How do you describe the sensation of a muscle moving in your arm to a person who doesn’t have limbs? […]

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In a Gallery at Midnight

It’s my face. I don’t know how I can tell. Her features are obscured, just impressions of lips and nose. She is sand-blasted with shadows, and long black hair covers her eyes, something between a veil and a blindfold. Her head is tilted back, her long neck taut, immersed in the calm ecstasy of being free, […]

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Quickening

The first moment when your baby kicks is called a quickening. You suppose there are people who know that, instinctively, the way you know what the word bark means though you don’t remember learning it; people for whom babies and all the peculiar words that belong just to them aren’t a foreign language. The word […]

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What Do You Feel?

“But what does it mean?” “Well, what does it make you feel?” “That’s not what I asked.” “I know.” “It must mean something.” “Why do you have to define everything? Just look at it – doesn’t it make you feel?” “It makes me feel like I want to know what it means!” “Well – isn’t […]

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I believe…

In the beginning, there is a voice. The words touch a place of nothingness waiting to be, and somewhere in the shiftless emptiness a single sound pulses. A second close on its heels and then a pause, so long it seems no sound could follow, that nothing could breathe or speak in this primordial quiet. […]

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The Heart

When I was five, I painted a picture of a heart. It was the first thing I’d ever made. My family wasn’t an artistic one – we didn’t have crayons, white paper you could leave your mark on. I played with blocks and Barbie dolls, but Plasticine left stains on white furniture, markers might be […]

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Once Upon My Fairy Godmother

You’d think having a fairy godmother would be great. Everyone loves the scene where the fairy godmother takes a mouse and turns it into a man for an evening; or that bit where she turns a puppet into a real boy. No one talks about the other scenes. The one where she turns a man […]

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And She Tells the Story She’s In

The crushed poppies beneath his bent knee gave off an aroma not unlike burnt sugar, as he held the apple in his outstretched hand. He had kind eyes but a wicked smile, and he touched the knot of his tie with the uncallused fingers of his off-hand as she examined him critically. “Just a bite,” […]

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Fate is Hungry

They say that fate is a tapestry. Three women upon a loom, our lives the complex threads of a grandiose picture. This is a lie. It is meant to pacify us, to soothe us. It tells us that we are part of something important, that we are the integral materials of a great work of […]

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