Love At First Sight

It was love at first sight you see doctor: I found it hidden it a
snug little corner and I wanted to take it home. Make it mine. I've
always wanted a semi-circular table with tiny hooved feet and curved
legs and the delicate elegance of a tray shaped top. I wanted it though
I knew the labour of love that lay ahead, the demands for my time and
attention; aching for love I knew the madness of possession when my
eyes alighted upon it. I was sure, instantly, of the colour scheme,
Prussian blue and a soft antique cream, egg shell. I would ensure it
looked roughened by time, by age, by life itself. I know exactly how to
pay homage to the lost.

Love at first sight: Over the years it seems a lot of people have
glossed over the varnish, spoiled the surface; now I can see how easily
it might be chipped. Where are you ? You should be here with me now,
applying a tinted glaze to the waiting wood, calling out the names we
love; Burnt Umber, Ivory, Yellow Ochre, Raw Sienna, Prussian Blue, the
colours of our love. I need you here with me taking this delicate piece
back to its bare wood, though we can never agree on methods, flaring
up, blowing up; I can see your taut arms now in my mind's eye, hot air
gun poised against the flakes of old paint, waiting now for just a few
seconds, then paint softened and pliable to your touch, you peel it
away with your shiny scraper.

Sometimes, you prefer to use a blowlamp, but I struggle with my fear
for the wood. It's in danger of scorching, but if that's his mood
Doctor Moonshine, I always lose. Personally I think a chemical stripper
can be an absolute boon; load up the bristles and brush away at the old
paint, then watch as it falls away with ease, unfurling slowly,
revealing.

Don't for God's sake forget your glove, my love, might get burned !
Good strong gloves, a ball of wire wool, a tall bottle of white spirit.
The magic of life with you. Then for speed, liquid stripper lashed over
the legs and scraped with vigour will yield a swift expose of the raw
wood. I'm after a slightly distressed look in truth.

Sometimes I simply hate myself. It's just a bit of junk really and I
know this, deep down in my heart, but I hope somehow that I can bring
it back to life.

It's been my downfall, this urge to nurture, fix and embellish.
It's not just old wood, it's my whole life. Pass me my water nurse.
It's the sound of words, adding a little warmth or colourwash here and
there. I like the immersion :To marble is to marvel, and although it's
a fabrication, I love the creation. It took me days to formulate that
bright yellow marbling, Raw Sienna and Titanium White and an incy bit
of Raw Umber. I can do this table on my own, but I want to call
you.

What about the garden? Those evenings with the Cosmos Daisies and the
Roses we trailed up trellises with the night scented stock. It's just
not fair. You are everywhere, in my head, in my garden, in my head
again and in my fucking bed.

I'm tired of it all Doctor. No wonder I'm sniffing the turps. and
buying the wax gilt cream. No, you don't see Doctor, but I do. I need
it to highlight the carved area in gold or maybe silver tones.

I guess I've got a broken heart. Our bed was ours but I can't sleep in
it now you know. That was our world, where no-one else could be; in
that bed all our troubles fell away. My favourite thing is to lie
closely against him, as the Sun sets, and to close my eyes as he kisses
and holds me tight. I might still fall into his arms and kiss the
veins, I'd be tempted I know. But I can't bear the pain. I want it to
stop.