Natural Blue

THE PROCESS: Inspired by a documentary film showing the ‘not bad’ abstract-expressionist artist Jackson Pollock at work in his studio creating a ‘drip painting’, I came up with an idea.
Shown below is demonstration of ‘How I Write’. This is a ‘LIVE’ event, spread over the forthcoming weeks and (probably) months. To do so, 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 absorbed into the story – or rejected.
When the story is complete, I will clean all this up and it will look like a usual post.
A warning (imagine, at this point, the wind picking up, a cloaked and hooded individual, face obscured, one hand holding a wooden staff, the other pointing off towards swirling, inky grey and dark black clouds, slithering across the horizon), this is just the beginning and may turn out to be a long and winding process. All mistakes and several errors are left in, until they are edited out.
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, get in touch in the usual way, via the contact page.
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 good look around, there aren’t many women in the world with naturally blue hair, very few in fact. Hair scientists say this rare phenomena occurs as a result of a specific genetic defect, caught unawares, buried somewhere deep within our DNA.

Conversely, as a committed appreciator, I say it is a scientific wonder of genetics invoking a sense of awe, no less than a blessing from God’s can’t-leave-it-alone tinkering. And still, to this day, I can recall the circumstances in which as a young teen, I saw my very first one.

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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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Coming Soon: exclusive interview with artist pedrov_dog

Shortly re-tune-in back soon, to find out more about this shadowy character from a shadowy planet, in a revealing, world premiere interview arranged for orchestra by Brinkinfield.

Excerpt:

Brinkinfield: We worked together for nearly five years, you’ve contributed all the artwork for my writing since then. I don’t think I’ve read an interview with you, over all this time. Can you explain to your fans, where your inspiration comes from, exactly?

pedrov_dog: Well, that’s a very good question.

Brinkinfield: Thank you.

D1D2

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.

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Katie and Bradley

Katie’s story:
“After we kissed for the very first time, I felt a little lighter, less blue than before. It was the first French kiss I’d ever experienced and admit, it’d seemed rather novel, leaving me feeling somewhat mysteriously stirred and happily bemused.”
Katie giggles.

Bradley’s story:
“When she agreed to a date, I determined in my mind that should she give consent, I would kiss her with my speciality, slow-repeater tongue-tip poke, kiss technique. I already knew it as a winner, with all the other girls I’d tried it on.”
Bradley beams.

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