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£1400
Dimensions: 100 x 70 x 3.6cm
Medium: Acrylic on Canvas
SHORT STORY: SPRING 2016: MY HEART IN THE OVEN: INTRO: At home, in the quietest room looking at the ceiling. Lovely as it is; this time of nothingness, is the total opposite of what he believes his life to be. It was almost a beautiful day. NARRATIVE: He believed that he had no peers, naturally that resulted in not having any. The day he decided to stare at the ceiling was the day that he with great pain realised how lonely he was. He blinked and he saw that the ceiling staring exercise was not his choice. He just had nowhere else to go. He smelled the coffee, he blinked again. This time he turned his gaze away and slowly turned his body to his side. He blinked, he could see partly out of the window. The floor, the skirting, the wall, the window cill and the bottom half of the window, suddenly was not enough. He sat up on the bed he could now see outside. Not much of a view, but his trained eye was eager to find the order in what he thought to be the chaos. But really, he thinks he is trained to look. What about observing? Is that important? More important? Less? -Do you want coffee? She asked -Yes, ok, thanks Blinked and moved to the other room, with slow almost decisive steps. Looking at his feet, he counted 14 short steps and three longer ones. She was holding the mug towards him. In what seemed to him a slow and beautiful movement he reached for the mug. No words were exchanged, but then again he has no peers therefore no real reason to speak. So back to a self centered deterioration and idea that no one gets him. As she let go of the coffee mug and the weight of it left her hand, she got worried that he might actually speak. She observed how he blinked then turned his head and she felt the relief of a job well done. She could go about her daily normality with no interruptions based on an ill advised notion that he mattered more than her, that he mattered more than everyone. She had no admiration for him, she had become immuned to his presence. After some time had gone by, she had stopped at exactly the same spot in the kitchen and holding a mug on one had she had opened the oven door and there it was: her heart was in the oven! She slowly realised that, he had mistaken talent for what was actually a narcissistic illusion of awareness. e.c.vazaka
