Exhibition catalogue- Kapellmeister Pulls A Doozy.

Mary sat perplexed, “why, where, when? The solution seems incommunicable. Hmm, is there even a solution?” The people whizz by my window, their faces fuzzy, like dots on one of those old analogue TV’s, can’t seem to focus, can’t see who they are or what they’re thinking. I can’t even see their eye’s, why am I asking myself this?

The sun has moved inexorably along its path and can now be seen glowing, or is that glowering, through my window? Mary was writing something in a pad, on a desk. The day started in a strange mood, the sun appeared to glower through the gap in his curtains as he chewed, deep in thought, on the end of a pencil.Yep, it was definitely glowering. Her scrawl was mesmerising, the type of handwriting they only had in the old days. You don’t see that type of writing these days. People just don’t take the time to practice anymore. Mary screwed up the piece of paper and threw it on the floor, it landed neatly next to another ball of paper and quickly made friends.

She thought about her parents and her brother who was dead and she thought about her name, Kapellmeister, and where it had come from. There weren’t any other Kapellmeister’s that she knew of, but then she was living in a different country to her heritage. It was originally the name given to the director of a choir, orchestra or opera in the household of a German prince, perhaps an ancestor of hers had been significant in this way. Someone who commands an orchestra, it’s a strange position, a position of power, they’re like the metronome, the anchor around which everything else works. She wondered whether she lived up to this title.

I wonder how she can breathe in that thing? She still looks elegant though, even if her stomach is near her face and her kidney’s are in her arse. Melancholic, but oh so beautiful. I bet my hands could reach all the way round her waist, and my hands aren’t even that big, in fact they’re really small. I have tiny hands.It takes ages to paint.