Shine On by David Ditchfield & J.S. Jones

Author:David Ditchfield & J.S. Jones
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: O BOOKS
Published: 2020-05-14T00:00:00+00:00

“Hello,” said Irene with a warm smile as she opened the door and invited me inside. I liked her office, with its worn rugs, cozy armchairs and overflowing bookcases. Back issues of scientific journals were stacked in several piles on her desk, and several large, embossed certificates hung in black and gold frames on the far wall.

It wasn’t a messy room as such; it had more of an air of someone who was far too busy to worry about filing away the journals and tidying up. I sat in my usual seat, the soft armchair by the window and she sat in her chair, opened her notebook, clicked her pen nib and placed both things on her lap, ready. Then we started to talk.

“So why haven’t you started this painting yet?” she asked, as she studied my face carefully, her glasses perched on the end of her nose.

“I don’t know.”

“I thought you said you had a really strong idea of what you wanted to paint?”

“I do.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“What if I’m not up to it?” I said, the truth slipping from my lips before I had a chance to consider it.

“There’s a difference between feeling nervous and sabotaging yourself before you’ve even started.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” I argued. “People who paint pictures like I want to paint, aren’t like me. They’ve had the time and the money to know how to do it properly.”

“So basically, you’re scared then. Of what, exactly? Educated painters?”

I became aware of a knot of frustration in my stomach and an old feeling of resentment surfaced.

“It’s like there’s a boundary, between them and me, and I don’t know if I can cross it. I mean, how do I put what I experienced into the paint? I’m not trained to know how to do that. I don’t know how professional painters manage to put emotion onto a canvas.”

“I thought you said you liked drawing when you were at school?”

“Yeah, drawing on the back of my school books, doing the odd sketch here and there for mates. That was hardly painting the Sistine Chapel. That kind of stuff is a closed door for someone like me. Always will be. The only thing I was good for after leaving school was ending up on a course with a bunch of like-minded underachievers, learning the mindless task of how to draw slogans on badges.”

“Slogans?” she said, looking slightly puzzled.

“Promotional messages,” I explained. “Adverts. At the end of the course I got a job in a run-down badge factory, drawing the badge designs. The badge I remember most was the anti-fox-hunting one. They wanted me to write ‘For Fox Sake, Stop Hunting’ on the badge design. I thought that was really funny, but being dyslexic, I even managed to spell that wrong, so I got fired in the end. After that, I stuck to playing guitar in punk bands. All I needed for that was three chords and a bad attitude.”

We both smiled and she put down her notebook and took off her glasses.

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