Wasteland – Day 206 – Dave McKean

Another one of my favourite artists is Dave McKean:

Her mind was a dumping ground. She was barely visible through the rubbish and weeds that took over her thoughts. Every bad thing someone said and every negative thing she’d read festered there. I tried planting a few compliments but they never lasted long in that wasteland. Eventually, I left. I was terrified the weeds would reach over the pillow and strangle me at night. I remember the way she looked at me before I went. Her eyes were barely visible, roots dangled over her brow and empty packets dripped residue onto her eyelashes. I could see a tiny flower hidden in the mess, but it wasn’t enough. I knew only she could restore the balance and let things grow again. That was the last time I saw her.


Frail – Day 203 – Andy Goldsworthy

One of my favourite artists is Andy Goldsworthy:

Everything he does seems precarious, his twig hanging things especially. 

I watched a doco where he made one, and when it got blown over he really kept hist cool (I would be so frustrated). So here is my attempt to capture these hanging sticks in a story. 

His spindly twig frame carried his dandelion beard. He might be scattered by a light breeze at any moment. But he wasn’t frail.  He had the gumption to experiment. Life was a cycle, and he always rebuilt as something new. Frail people stayed broken forever. Next time he’d be butterfly wings and straw.