The Waning Day (2019)

About this artwork
Artwork Type
One of a kind
Dimensions
35.4x31.5 in
Techniques
Oil
Support or surface
Canvas
Framing
This artwork is framed
Bill was bossing a huge warehouse . . . i was working on a painting hanging up on one of its north walls. he looked the same old self but very much concerned with the logistics of the dark oak wooden crates being moved in and out of the joint. we ignored each other. i painted, he directed traffic. i’s curious as to the crates’ content but i thought it best to mind to my business and paint. occasionally Bill could be heard asking questions to what i assumed were his surrogates, questions somewhat...
Bill was bossing a huge warehouse . . . i was working on a painting hanging up on one of its north walls. he looked the same old self but very much concerned with the logistics of the dark oak wooden crates being moved in and out of the joint. we ignored each other. i painted, he directed traffic. i’s curious as to the crates’ content but i thought it best to mind to my business and paint. occasionally Bill could be heard asking questions to what i assumed were his surrogates, questions somewhat political in nature, hypothetical questions regarding the consequences of outcome as opposed to the benefits thereof. “yes, it’ll fatten up the eastenders for a session but piss off the southlings. And guess who’se gonna pick up the slack.” Exactly, lord sanctimonious Himself. No that won’t do. Move those fucking crates and leave the thinking to me, he shouted out, his eyes suddenly assuming a fiercely glare, unsettling to say the least. He then moved towards one of the main pillars crossing the immense Prussian blue scarlet expanse above, and sat down resting his back against its greyish crusty flat, pulled a cigarette from his shiny silver holder out of his arse pocket instantly lit by a snow white black haired girl in tight leathers by blowing on it with pursed lips. The stench grew unbearable. What was he smoking? It smelt organic and rotten. It smelt like all the guts and mucus and snots and every living thing that oozes cringed and gasped for an unlikely whiff of oxygen. It smelt of death. I looked Bill’s way. Our eyes met. I felt extremely uncomfortable within the horrid surroundings but feared him not. I knew I held the upperhand and so did he. We stared his damnest stare at me. I sat looking back with the serenity of innocence. I would not yield. He got up, approached me, picked up some brushes threw them up in the air, but I would not react. I don’t like him, said his wench pointing her finger at me, at which time I told her to shut the fuck up. That this was between Bill and me. She vanished, I presume forever. Bill’s eyes were on fire, red like coals, but I didn’t fear him. He wasn’t completely possessed, not quite yet, not quite done for like the dead creatures inside the crates doomed for the farthest edge of the southerlies. He ran the joint which meant there was still a chance for an escape. Cut the hissing and sit, I told him. He raised his head towards the seemingly infinite darkness of ceiling above and shouted to the top of his lungs. I couldn’t quite make out what he was saying, his diction a mixture of syllable, spittle and dribble and cough. MAKA, MOKR, MOCKR , , , Did you say mocker? Mocker? I swear I never mocked you Bill, I was never derisive. The fire left his eyes, but not the madness. He looked at me grinding his teeth grabbing on to my jacket. Never mocked you Bill, I swear it, though I did believe you were delusional. Delusional? He yelled out. Is this a delusion to you. Yes I said. The whole thing is just a dream Bill. Step out. Let the devils be and they shall flee from you. He sighed and let go.

Upon awakening I looked at the canvas hanging on my bedroom wall.
It was white. Painted white. A keeper.
AND THEN CAME THE WANING DAY
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