thru ev’ry beating of events and every season

I find on my way

still there  ….

 

the burden of an eternal sentence of regret i do not want…. Beethoven —you understand 

   

awkward not awkward Chapter 14 Bran and Beth

 

Chapter 14

 

For a moment he stands there between myself and the heap of my baggage and it isn’t awkward, it isn’t like that. It is something else. And I look inside there in search of …that familiar thing –that thing, you know, that would tell me…tells me within the moss what I …

“I haven’t forgotten about your other project,” he says instead of what we both know he was really thinking

And what we both are really thinking. I guess it may be the years; how many have gone by …too many to wish to blow any moment on something stupid or to presume some notion that –some notion that… and here I just get stuck

“my other project,” I say repeating his words

“The …about the family history you are tracing,” he hesitates

“It’s …it’s for a story I’m working on but actually, it is about another area even though the family name is Welsh somehow …it was connected to an area where the Vikings invaded, there was a family and a theory from my dream about a man from the village,” but I babble.

I babble for normalcy. To take the pressure off of our more pressing present

Only now I fear I trivialize the present by even saying this now and it confuses me as to what to do or say but mostly because of his eyes; the seaweed that wraps around and pulls, and wraps you inside its hypnotic sappy embrace of its fire-kiln, brilliant glaze.

I say,

“um.”

He looks silently at me reading my eyes. He slowly smiles,

“a man?”

I look away,

“it was…” I laugh feeling stupid as I have to tell him the rest now, “something that old psychic told me. Before the boat…. You know the life about –”

“The one from your painting, I know, and forgive me if I don’t want to make silk screens of your vampire whatever the fuck he is because—”

I reach for his hand without planning to. It was just the instinct to --and the impulse took over. And my hand melts within his large one making me aware of how much bigger his is. But his hand is warm and familiar as it closes around mine

“Anyway, it has lead me to a new story that takes place sort of connected to the industrial revolution, so it is exciting that the paint pigment comes from an old coal mine. It feels like a sign. I think the two projects can work together as I will be getting more ideas but I may want to explore other areas closer to say—where the history calls… so it’s cool, right? Win win, I do what you want for your business and I can work on my thing at the same time.”

“Would you like to see your studio?” he still holds my hand and smiles as he begins to pull me towards the hallway that leads to all the doors.

And so I let him. I like the feel of his hand on mine. Around it. It fits so well in his. And as he leads the way down the hall I do not ask myself anything about what anything means, I go blind as one about to jump

 

It is a studio. A very large and very functioning studio. He stands in the doorway and with a shake of his head urges me to walk in.

And as I walk around, I see the perfection of the layout. The area for screen printing; the area for paint mixing, deep sinks and counters. Several long work tables and sectioned cabinets for different mediums.

 

Once I have inspected everything he walks in now and goes to a door I had not noticed. It is white like the walls of the room. But he stands outside it and just opens the door by pulling the handle and uses his head to suggest I go in.

It confuses me when I go inside because it is a private apartment. Fully finished and fully furnished with a kitchen, a dining room that lets out to the back courtyard, a bedroom and private bathroom. But nothing has been used.

I feel confused and look at him,

“I don’t understand…”

He glances behind where we stand to suggest the older part of the house,

“to get the boys used to… things… and for us as well. I thought –you might enjoy a new space for us to work in together on those long project nights…” and only now does he move close and stand near enough and long enough—

 

 Or so I thought until a very loud voice shouts something I don’t understand with a great deal of vehemence

 

“Ioan,” Bran looks at me regretfully, “that’s his animal starved boy cry, I’ll bring your bags and get him sorted,”

 

he starts to go but –something surprising happens without warning; he kisses me fast on the mouth …unexpected as I realize he stops himself stunned in mid kiss and looks at me,

“I didn’t mean to assume, sor—"

But I kiss him back before he says more and I suppose it would have lasted longer if another bellow had not then occurred

 

 

Chapter 13 Bran and Beth (new stories); alluding colors

 

 

His first question had been: can you draw me up your monthly expenses? Bran

and as it seemed not entirely out of nowhere, considering his last request of me, I had to ask,

“are you offering me a job?”

 

To find myself stepping back into Bran’s house again…. all these years later

How did this even come about? I even ask myself this as I stand upon the very said threshold looking in. While I may look at my surroundings, I see the bare bones of what I remember instead of what I am looking at. Because he has lead me to—not the front of the house, but off to the side because the front of the house is under some kind of remodel or construction. And while there is no time to ask about that, because I do remember him saying something about how he uses his house for his work too, as he had done in past, but back then it was this part where we walk towards. It was a kind of add on or dormer, I guess someone may call it. Back then anyway.

 

The ‘dormer’ is now actually the largest part of the home as I realized while walking down the path towards it. And notice too that now there is an entire back court yard kind of landscape with a stone table and chairs in the middle and surrounded by a garden path. To the side of the ‘dormer’ where once was just the side door has had an addition built to the side; there stands a glass green house with arched windows.

 

Once inside though I stare at the old memories.

 

I see those first.

 

But then I realize that what I am looking at is revised with similar things…. The deep and rugged settee with the scratchy wool mulberry tone upholstery is moved to a far deep corner further away now…. because now the room is much longer and much bigger by three times what it was. Now I notice there is a long hallway further down that has doorways to other rooms or ways out

I guess the need for –normal?—had me say as I stood there,

“how are Dylan and Crystal?.... sorry I forget the other one’s….”

“Ioan,” Bran says as he drops my bags into a neat pile on the floor along the path towards that hallway.

 

So the nature of why I am there…. This is the man who manages to get us credit to stay at random places  in Rouen and Paris and make a Frenchman want to buy my Wavegirl painting for his shower curtain line he never meant to have.

 

So the answer to this about how he got me there has something to do with ….Six Bells Ochre and….

     my particular use of this unique red pigment that is only found in this one place in Wales which seems essential in—the present running of Bran’s newest line

…. and what he used for the reason for the visa

 

“Do they—” I look around for teenagers or evidence of…. But Ioan would be something like twelve….?

“You don’t have to worry about them—the boys live mostly in the old part and Crys lives with her mother….”

He says all this simply. And then he walks over to me

 

We had talked about this. Some of this. But some things we didn’t really say much about… and the overwhelming emotions which surfaced after finding I had agreed to his offer… work… ? which was not complicated to do; mix colors, run the screen printer, etc. and definitely a job only I could do as it was my unique shades he was employing. And my art particularly.

It is not strangers we are stood now looking at each other. From my jet lag and over thinking nervousness all the way from the airport to here rambling on and on about stupid things that happened on the way to avoid  that realization of… life changing… what did I just get off the plane to do?

color mixing without rules

it was the funniest thing, this one day —I was mixing paint beginning with my shade of terra cotta ….i put it on the picture I was working on; it was to be a picture of a terra cotta vase in a lovely solarium gleaming in morning light in a room full of garden tools and clippings in jars growing roots and such 

so there was my shade of patina which I had toned down with—yellow ochre

I was so absorbed within the brushstrokes and …. the shading as I imagined sunlight and shadow 

   so lost in my colors 

      it is why I learned to separate days for painting and days for mixing 

 …. it was the weirdest thing ….but I watched the colors —end up ….like the other !!!! I had instinctively found my way to the color spectrum laws and demonstrated for myself how opposite colors have the other in it but inverted 

I could spend weeks doing this alone. 

Like watching how black bleeds every color as you wash it away slowly but if you add yellow to black you get green without even needing blue

where it’s possible to converse across the street in midday traffic by the corner book shop