Angel Eyes

I find myself seated with a blank sheet of paper in front of me, a brush in my hand. I have watercolour paints on my right and a pencil too. I pick them up and begin working (I notice that I use my right hand which is strange as I am left handed).

I am not sure what to do - I have no image in mind – so I begin to paint content just to see what will happen. A portrait begins to emerge; I find my attention drawn in by translucent flesh and an elegant jaw line.

A mans face is forming, he is beautiful: I look into his eyes and feel myself falling in love for the very first time. I think how he looks like an angel.

I become aware of a distraction off to my left. My father is there and he keeps asking me something. I try to give him some of my attention to see what it is that he wants. He is prodding me in the side saying, “Do one of those drawings you do, you know, like a caricature”.

He keeps on prodding me “go on, go on” and I find myself loosing faith in those beautiful eyes. I try to think what it is Dad wants, I have a vague recollection of what it is he seeks: but my attention is now divided and I am rendered unable to act. In a rage I throw my sketchpad across the room with a scream that rips me in two.