Natural Blue

THE PROCESS: Inspired by a documentary film made in the 1950s, showing the arguably-talented, abstract-expressionist artist Jackson Pollock at work in his studio creating a ‘drip painting’, I came up with an idea.
Shown below, is a demonstration of ‘How I Write’. This is a ‘LIVE’ event, spread over the forthcoming months. I will write a short, ekphrastic story (a story based on a picture) and update the post each time I add something more. I will continue with editing (I edit all the way, as I go along, right until the end and then some more) and I will show the customary notes I make underneath a developing story, deleting them some time after they become either absorbed into the story – or rejected.
Like a snowflake landed in the palm of your hand, this exercise is a temporary beauty, only. As, when the story is complete, I will clean all this up and it will look like a usual post.
A warning, time traveller: this is just the beginning and may turn out to be a long and winding road. All mistakes and numerous errors are left in, until they are edited out. I live with a medical condition, one that the country’s best doctors have diagnosed as, ‘being stupid’. Therefore, your patience is required.
Now, by ‘LIVE’, I don’t mean I will literally be writing 8 hours per day with time-outs for vaping and half an hour for lunch. No, and anyway, I have a job, rent and bills to pay, cat food to buy. Time is money.
Suggestion: Maybe return after a week each time you visit, to see how far I’ve got. Any questions, such as why am I doing this, please leave a comment. For deeper musings of a philosophical nature, ask someone else.
Of course, Pollock said afterwards that he was deeply unhappy with the documentary film, that by revealing his process in some way’d had a reductive effect – that he had ‘lost’ something.
Anyway… I am not so precious and have less to lose, I would surmise.

Here’s the start of the story:

If you take a jolly good look around – and I mean a rootin’-tootin’ good look around, there aren’t many women in the world with naturally blue hair. Very, very, few, as borne out by the facts. Hair scientists say this rare phenomena occurs as a result of a specific genetic defect caught unawares, buried deep, about halfway down within the spiral structure of our DNA.

Conversely, as a committed appreciator, I say it is a scientific, biological wonder, invoking a sense of much awesomeness. No less, I say, than a heavenly blessing from God’s can’t-leave-it-alone tinkering fingers. Still, to this very day, I can recall in reasonable-to-fair detail, the circumstances in which as a young teen, I saw my very first one.

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When Life Plays Out Like a Roy Andersson Film

Folding clean clothes
in a front-facing bedroom, now spare
through the window listless I stare

Until I spy
riding high
upon a small bicycle

This pink-faced giant of a white-haired old man
stopped with his pedalling
a’coasting and a’buzzing

Leaning into a sharp loop
he pulls up outside the tavern
attempts a quick and clean dismount

Nay! Something’s amiss!
Something goes wrong
he’s caught up in the waver of a mid-air kiss

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Bessie’s Aim

Bessie waited impatiently as the paper target neared her, carried along by the antiquated, creaky rope pulley-system. Meanwhile, a twisting plume of grey-coloured smoke wisped out slowly from the barrel of an H&K semi automatic Universelle Selbstladepistole Elite 45, left abandoned on the counter top before her.

As the light bulb overhanging her shooting booth flickered briefly, she heard movement coming from behind.

“Do you think – perhaps – that you might need glasses?” A male voice rang out into the desolate aural soundscape.

Startled, Bessie spun around aggressively, to find herself staring directly into the rich brown-coloured eyes of a man several units of measurement taller than herself. The stranger had a kindly face. Immediately, she believed his words of wisdom had emerged from an altruistic place, quite probably released from deep within his velvety heart.

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We met at the exotic Le Jardin Tropicana beach resort, on the island of Guadeloupe. It was love at first-sight for me seeing Danny there, sat on the grass giving his money away. I mean, he was literally throwing it up into the air for anyone to catch and keep. Our meeting on that day had seemed fated. You see, my name’s Danni too, now how about that!

Of course, I already had a boyfriend, one much closer to my own age. Danny is my age times two-and-a-half. Yes, I know, totally mad! Anyway, I had to think of an excuse pretty smartish to break up with Roberto. We’d only been together for three weeks, first meeting on the plane and in the airport, then sharing a taxi to here.

Italian, tall, blonde and handsome, it turns out Roberto is an amazing dancer, but an extreme disappointment between the sheets. I’ll spare you the details, as far as to say he is very fast out of the blocks. Within minutes of meeting Danny, I’d sent Roberto a brief text explaining that it’d been nice and thanks, however I’d met someone new. I imagined there would be some sadness at the disco tonight.

Continue reading “D1D2”

Dry Lips Kiss

As a spectacular, high summer holiday sunset splashed red across the sky, a glockenspiel-version of their joint favourite Ramones’ song played out from speakers, atop the departing ice cream van. However, already all was not as well as appearances might suggest, evidenced moments earlier outside the door to number 12A, Fulchester Lane.

Tom was no fool and had read a significance into their most recent kiss. If honest with himself, it’d begun to bug his brain. Managing only to poke his tongue into Brooklyn’s mouth for but a brief second or two, their dry lips parted, leaving him momentarily lost for words and uncertain what exactly to say next.

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Frozen Ball

“Doctor, how do you expect me to take you seriously? It can’t be who you say it is.” Nurse Anna Kuznetsov declared. “It’s the year 1955, was he not supposed to have died nearly ten years ago to-the-day and in such a fashion as to leave no trace of his body?”

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"Listen Doctor Wong,
You've got it all wrong.
No benefits are gained from 'Chinese medicine' concoctions."
"Blue-eyes, I object.
Counter, in effect.
Our recipes are handed down through generations."
"Maybe as you say,
But Mao Zedong had his way,
in 1950 driving forward their popularisation."
"Young scientist, think you're hip?
Well, just you regain your grip!
To suggest political necessity and conniving motivation!"

©Brinkinfield 2020 All Rights Reserved
Part of the Ekphrasis Project (story inspired by picture)
With special thanks to the Covid-19 Lockdown