The Anonymous Patron

I arrived at the appointed place (an old fashioned Gentleman's Club called 'Stag on the Moor' on the top floor of an old fashioned building in the centre of the city) at the appointed time, 11.45 am precisely.
A distinguished grey beard met me at the front door of the club. I must admit I was a little put out by the somewhat disparaging look he gave my coat. I could hardly explain that it was a couturier piece designed and sewed especially for me by Norma Jean.
He led me through a wood panelled hall, red velvet drapes and clouds of cigar smoke to a large and dimly lit sitting room. In one corner there were two Japanese men in well tailored suits sipping on large snifters of brandy. The room was otherwise empty. Or so I thought. I was led to a plush arm chair in the far corner of the room. As I settled myself my eye was caught by a distracting to and fro movement. I glanced at the seat opposite, which I had thought was unoccupied. But as my eyes adjusted to the gloom I realised that distracting motion came from the to and fro of one supremely elegantly shod foot. A brogue of dark tan leather. The rest of the figure was lost in utter darkness. Suddenly I saw that the room, far from being randomly gloomy, was in fact a masterpiece of ingenious lighting. For this one corner seat, from its rough shape I gathered, an armchair, was in total darkness.
A puff of heavy smoke issued from the darkness.
"Welcome my friend" in a rasping whisper.
I must admit, though I am usually quite socially able, this Dickensian presence was rather overwhelming.
"H..h..hello Sir" I managed.
I was in the presence of the Anonymous Patron. A rather uncomfortable silence ensued whilst he inspected me. I finally remembered my man bag and the small gift I had brought. I fumbled about and produced the little shell key ring souvenir I had brought him. I had thought it was quite charming when I bought it.
"For you Sir...A small token of my gratitude..."
"Yes yes. Quite unnecessary. Just put it on the table" he whispered
A little deflated (and I will admit, trembling slightly) I did so. The gaudy little object shone like neon against that antique glow.
"So" he said
I was startled as a waiter leaned down next to my ear "A drink Sir?"
"Oh, um yes I would like..."
"No no Reginald. My guest won't be staying" Amazing how forceful a raspy whisper can be.
"Of course Sir" replied the waiter, melting away.
"So. I have seen the video"
"Yes Sir" I replied
"It has some merit"
I was somewhat relieved until...
"BUT"
"Yes Sir?"
"Well. Production values, I don't need to tell you, were appalling. I could barely make out the figures in the background, which was a shame as I rather liked them when I realised they were references to Gauguin paintings. Also for the next piece it would be best to avoid singing."
"Yes Sir" I said, feeling rather crushed.
We sat in silence as I waited for him to go on.
"That is all. You may submit your next proposal to me through Hugo as before."
"Oh. Yes. I see."
"Goodbye" he said, issuing another puff of smoke in my direction.
Fumblingly I gathered myself up and extricated myself from the rather voluminous chair. My legs got a little tangled and I made a strange little half twist-stumble-bow before scurrying away. I could swear I heard a little chuckle as I was leaving but I dared not look back.
It wasn't until I reached the street that I realised he had offered to consider another proposal from me, and to feel a little happy about that, despite his somewhat stinging remarks. Xavier had kindly accompanied me and was waiting in our favourite down town book shop, which has a cafe attached. I ate a Ploughman's lunch, a malt milkshake, two pieces of carrot cake and had a cup of tea before I felt I could talk about my ordeal.
I was dismayed when Xavier laughed as I related the comment on my singing....he could have told me before!

Home Again, Home Again Jiggedy Jig

Ah the comforts of home. Well worn slippers, well worn paths to familiar cafes, book shops and parks, old friends. Xavier was most solicitous upon my return. He very kindly looked after Bruno, the Roly Poly Chime Ball, for me and said there was a flurry of jingling approximately at the moment of my travails at sea. Xavier credits my survival to his particular relationship with the Sea God and says I should be grateful that I am his friend and thus protected.
There has been little progress on the wedding planning but Ariadne is now sporting a most unwieldy object on her engagement finger and keeping a brave face about it. Rupert the ring designer and Xavier have concocted really a most extraordinary object for her and I am sure she will have to set it aside at some point but for now she is wearing it much of the time. She says she sees herself as a moving art work (a sentiment I am sympathetic to).
Hugo arrived at my front door yesterday with an elaborate invitation to take Tea with the Anonymous Patron tomorrow. I am a little trepidatious as I suppose he will critique my video piece. We shall see.

Gauguin's Storm

The storm swept towards me and even in my dismay I was transfixed by the watercolour wash of golden light behind sheeting rain, bruised thunderheads and open ocean. But soon the horizon was lost to me and all about were heaving mounds of water and it grew very cold very quickly. The rain reached me and I wrapped myself in a sea stiff and rather fishy piece of sail cloth from the fore of my little vessel.
I am quite partial to a storm when I am sitting up in bed, beneath a tin roof, nursing a cup of hot milk and honey. It is quite another thing entirely when one is consumed by its elemental fury. I felt every lightning lash and thunder rumble in my blood, and bones and stuffing. Darkness was a moving beast. I experienced a moment of communion with all those poor souls who have foundered since humanity first lashed some logs together with vines and set tentatively out onto water. After that I became almost peaceful, and though it's hard to believe, I slept, and it was as if my sleep soothed the Sea God's savage temper and I woke to dawn breaking on a flat horizon.
That red and gold glowing green enamelled sky was the great awakener. For suddenly I knew why I was there and why I had to suffer the storm, be humbled by it and live through it. Gauguin was present. I did not see his regal nose, nor read that wild and barbarous look in his eyes, but I know he was there. The colours revealed him and he them and all the great raw symbolic possibilities surged through me, riotous, as I realised I had survived. I floated in this beatific chromatic state for some time when the skiff scraped against something and I became conscious of the slip of land towards which I had been, trance like, moving for some time.
Practical considerations took hold. I braved some rather treacherous footing and managed to push my coracle over a little reef and into a clear lagoon.
The atoll curved around the lagoon, a sandy strip leading to a fringe of palms. I stumbled up the beach. Coconuts were strewn around, Poseidon's apology perhaps. I managed to break one open and feast on it's sweet milk and white flesh.
It wasn't long before the rescue party, mounted by Mrs Piko, found me. Though it seemed impossible, I had not floated far from civilisation, yet I have travelled far and seen much.
The rest of my trip was a dream. I was able to harness new energies and produce this video which was the pretext for my journey. My thanks of course to Mrs Piko and to the Anonymous Patron. I have tried to capture the moment when one comes through the storm to calm waters. It is my homage to Gauguin, to the sun, to beauty and to the turn of the seasons which is life.

Return

Hello Friends!

A long hiatus I know and to those few who know me I do apologise. My Art Junket turned into quite the adventure. As you know I was bound for places tropical with the spirit of Gaugin filling my sails and escape from the city on my mind. And escape I did into the sweet tropical airs. I sat beneath swaying palms, I sipped on cocktails, I wore my hibiscus shirt (kindly stitched by dear Norma Jean). The water was an aquamarine revelation, the greens archetypal, the sunsets led the way to heaven and the moon my guardian as I slept in a hammock, kissed by gentle breezes (and somewhat prey to mosquitoes). I shall never forget, on the evening of my arrival, wandering down to the beach and as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, the overwhelming sense of vitality as I looked upon the sand, the plash of the waves, the ubiquitous palms, the green hills, dark and full of life.

Not long into my trip I decided to hire a small dinghy and tootle around the bay. The sky was blue and the sea unruffled. I took a small hamper, packed for me by Mrs Piko, the hotelier, and ventured across the glassy inlet. The chicken and sweet pickle sandwiches (of which there were rather a lot and I admit I gobbled them all) conspired with the sweet pineapple juice, the flask of tea, the excellent fruit cake and boiled lollies to induce something of a soporific lull in the late afternoon and I dozed beneath the brim of my straw hat.

ALAS!

Somehow my barque had discovered the one small channel between the reef and the open ocean and I awoke beneath glowering skies, a fresh wind, the island a dwindling speck and no sign of other vessels nearby! Tomorrow I shall continue, but I am still weak and must rest...