Travelling back from a sad thing, being upbeat en route, offering, inviting, welcoming, does not deny the inner truth. It just holds it in stasis, no, not that, too final, more like a controlled pause. Arriving home, to a safe place, however lonely, proffers a safe house, short term. I say that short term thing, even as I could have wished for just one single short term in the yawning tedium of my long terms at school, or should I say schools, of which there were a few. None of those changes were my fault. That’s me convulting up my crimes, and I’ll say more. I was of that green and awkward period of evolution in the so-called middle class bollix, when who you looked like told everyone who you were. There were so many lies underfoot, it was hard to walk without 6 inch heels.

It thinks me. We’re still doing it. Oh yes we are. I knew and moved among those with big money, estates, privilege, command, all of that. I never believed in any of it. If we believe we own land, we are already lost. The wise know this. However, there is, as always, an in-between in the changing times. And In that in-between, there is loss, fear, I get that. I could ask, where is the support for those who only knew a purfling convolute, the pretence, even if the young knew nothing of any pretence?

In art we like to present an image with a surround. No matter the purfling of the inner message, we like a frame.

Why is that?