The shapes and shadows flowed round and through each other. They twisted and built, circling and lengthening before unravelling and contracting in a constant rhythm. Even in the contractions there was a promise of growth as the eye came to expect a new explosion of evolving complexity with each breath and cycle.
Intimations of an organic centre began recurring in the shapes within moments. They suggested limbs, then the curve of musculature before the next collapse and intricate new pattern’s birth.
Then, without warning, there was a humanoid form standing there in the space; the patterns of shapes still wildly mutating and shifting from moment to moment but now always to reinforce the base pattern of two arms, two legs, a torso and a head of indeterminate form.
“They read your site you know” I was warned – albeit a couple of days ago – of a vicar joining us for a family Christmas Eve meal at a favourite restaurant. I never know quite what to make of comments like that. The site is here to be read: it’s kind of the point of it really.
Today’s grand meal at The Italian Orchard has been a set piece of gathering together to enjoy fine food, good wine, and good company. Even with my mother deciding to stay home as a winter cold triggered her asthma there were eight of us around the table and we all enjoyed the little bubble of relative luxury and pampering that such a setting allows.
The warning – such as it was – came of the other family joining us, the vicar of the parish that my parents are part of and her husband and son. Quite what this warning was meant to highlight is something if which I’m unsure: I’m told that my writing was found enjoyable, even if the route by which my blog was directed to her attention is as yet unclear.
“I love your drawings” I was told – and so we went from there. As the afternoon drew on my fingers began twitching for paper, so Lady M provided a notebook and I doodled away to let the daemons out – but quite why a warning was required in the first place I’m still not entirely sure. Perhaps there was a concern that I would be taken aback by someone knowing something of me – and of all the many things I talk about here it was nice to have it just be about my need to draw and illustrate.
My biggest frustrations come from having to throttle my creative impulses, so talking about my process, both conscious and unconscious, was relatively relaxing and eased us then into our respective small huddles if conversation as we indulged in the food and atmosphere before us.
All in all, talking about my artwork rather than my stories, or my relationships was probably the least contentious approach for all concerned. Perhaps the warning was more one to me of keeping the conversation to safer waters than delving into polyamory, mental health, or any other aspects of life around the dinner table.
Who knows – it was an odd injunction but a lovely meal and set of conversations where grand nonsense flowed and a great time was had.
And now for a quiet chill out and companionable silence as Lady M and I nurse our cuppas and collapse a while.