Painting
Presently I am painting a house. Well, actually, not a house, more a building conversion - converted for the cause of lost souls and those in search of comfort, peace and reflection. I apply bright new almond scented paint over the old pastels whilst singing along tunelessly to the Rolling Stones and The Beatles.
Mostly I think. This activity of covering over the old, changing one set of ideas for another new, improved and more colourful version, seems to sink into and blend with my thoughts. The first layer goes on slow. Time is taken masking, edging and evenly applying. But the result is thin, the old colour shows through like badly applied make-up. I hate this stage, can't wait for it to be over. I reminisce about old love affairs turned sour, jealousies and unspoken regrets rise up to the surface and float there, old paint, old colours.
When a room is covered, still the old room, but covered, I turn up the stereo and start grooving to Helter Skelter. It's not conscious at the time but there is a sense of impending completion, of that smooth and total coverage that no longer looks like a covering but takes on itself the newness - IS the room. A new breath of life in less than a millimeter of pigment, latex and water.
I slap it on freely now, firmly rollering back and forth, feeling optimistic about my future, making plans. I sing, stop occasionally to admire the green-blue view and to visualise myself in a tender embrace amid cacti or tall cedars. When it's done I peel off the masking tape earlier than is probably wise - patience being a virtue I have never possessed, at least not in this kind of context - in order to get the full effect of the room. Familiar but different and radiant, the colour moving and changing in each corner, like the changing memory of my father's face.
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