Walk Jamie C

Cupboard, Mind or Memories.


I open my cupboard doors, looking for my lucky-special stick. My childhood hero; Garfield the cat, once said in a cartoon strip that “everyone should have a lucky-special stick”. And I will find mine.
First point of call is to move everything else out the way. I had my stick at the end of the last term, but inevitably whatever you need the most sinks down beyond the things you have never used in years.
I dig out my old sketchbooks, and dared’nt look, for I always spot mistakes, surely not there before, because no matter how good your work, it pales in comparison to the project of the moment. This too cast down for new interests to appear.
Spare canvas roll next, bought in Atlantis in bulk, and shared between a group of us. It seems more important when it was part of something bigger. I always wonder what is going on a few inches off the frayed edge of my own piece, what colour is on the other half of the thread I now own. How many masterpieces once lay on the same thread? Cut into many squares, once growing in a field. Oh yes, my stick.
Move some folders, full of bits of paper thrown at us with great importance by last years tutors, but never used, thank you Patrick.
Plastic bag. With “Cass Art” shop written on it, plus addresses, given to me by David. Kept telling me to go, but I never have. Must remember I leant him a book.
Large acrylic pad. Given to me by a woman I know, said she will never use it. Unfortunately, neither can I, for I have tried a couple of times with these pieces of paper, but I have never done anything I like on them. So I have deemed them bad luck, and shall never use them. It says “Galeria” on the cover, whatever that means, maybe it’s a curse. Stick Stick Stick.
Also consigned behind this is a painting board that shall never hold paint. Nothing seemed to work (artistically) after this was primed, but things have improved after I started using it as a cutting board. Maybe there is some thing deeply symbolic in this, but no matter, I have found my stick.
This is not my first of my talismans, of course, remembering my yellow-sheep-sharpener that was present during school tests. Maria, the little doll I made, wonderfully creepy, and with me still.
I have found my lucky-special-stick. A short piece of wood, stained blue from when it was part of Eleanor’s drawing machine. I twirl it therapeutically as my once-majorette cousin taught me, and I am happy with my work when it is propped up on the table. Its power proved by a few awful paintings, which forced me to find it again. Having found it, I place it back again, I shall need it soon, but it’s best to have it where I know it is, beneath the stuff I never use.