![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Jul. 5th, 2015 07:21 pmSometimes, I wish I was an artist.
I have ideas for a series of paintings or a photographic exhibition, but have neither the means nor the expertise to do more than think of it.
Today in church, I looked at the rows of white haired or balding heads in front of me and imagined a photograph of everyone, and then another in which their places are taken by small children. I imagined the old man with a steel-grey comb over shrink to a square set little boy with a shock of dark brown hair, his wife next to him became a willowy ten-year old with her hair in two straight plaits and so on and so forth.
I turned the priest into a schoolboy, all bony angles and scraped knees to go with his rough-around-the-edges scouse accent.
It was a good thought. It humanised. It humbled. It brought good things back to me- junior school faces and junior school daydreams.
I have ideas for a series of paintings or a photographic exhibition, but have neither the means nor the expertise to do more than think of it.
Today in church, I looked at the rows of white haired or balding heads in front of me and imagined a photograph of everyone, and then another in which their places are taken by small children. I imagined the old man with a steel-grey comb over shrink to a square set little boy with a shock of dark brown hair, his wife next to him became a willowy ten-year old with her hair in two straight plaits and so on and so forth.
I turned the priest into a schoolboy, all bony angles and scraped knees to go with his rough-around-the-edges scouse accent.
It was a good thought. It humanised. It humbled. It brought good things back to me- junior school faces and junior school daydreams.
