I woke from a dream that took a while to decipher, or at least work out where the images came from. The bit I remember took place in an outside loo, well small bathroom really. I was standing inside it watching a small baby who had been placed, naked in a sink feeding itself from a bottle. It was struggling a little and I thought to help it but it righted itself and the milk started to drain. It had one eye in the centre of its head, an issue that at first I thought nothing of, until staring at it the one became two.
There’s a butcher’s shop on the corner of Bridge Street and South Road. It’s a ramshackle affair, half-soaked really. You know the sort of thing, discarded egg trays and ropes of onions in the window, a half-filled glass-covered counter and a sign on the door saying closed Wednesdays and Thursdays. Well of late it’s looked even emptier. And then the other day I saw a row of cards by the till. Retirement cards. Six or seven of them at least. So he’s gone (though the empty egg trays are still there). Sweet that he thought to display the cards. It saves questions and explanations, I suppose. Will he be missed? I hope so.
I drew the wasteland outside yesterday, in between the showers (I was caught, trapped in the car during a long one). Unsatisfactory, really, but I must keep going. I need the momentum that real studies – that is moving objects – give me.
