Zanzibar had a secret yearning to paint... Part 2

Part 2

Finally, Zanzibar was ready to create his magnus opus...


He brushed the table with a nasturtium wash
The colour was pretty in the bottle
But somehow it changed
Seeped into the woods in parts
In others
The colours seemed to globulate and sheen

Zanzibar shrugged
And decided to continue

He thought he'd better outline his fantasy shapes and figures

He used a tiny paring knife
So he could control the black outline
But the knife seemed to have a bad habit of scratching into the wood
And dots of black seemed to appear in the wrong places

Zanzibar was a little frustrated by this time
He really wanted to use the beautiful colours he had made
So he used his pieces of bark and twigs
Trying to put the colour inside his black outline
But the black had not dried and seemed to wash into his colours
Worse still
Bits of bark and twigs were becoming stuck in the colour
Zanzibar tried to pinch them out
But only succeeded in leaving his own fingerprints behind

By this time
Zanzibar was feeling some rather grim rushes and waves of despair
In short
He felt depressed

Finally Zanzibar decided it was time to give up
The colour
The bark
The table
All seemed to have a mind of their own

Zanzibar headed forlornly to bed
It was late
Later than he realised
He had missed the sunset
He had missed tea
But that all seemed so irrelevant
So far away
He was just so tired
And so sad

Next morning
Zanzibar woke with the sunrise as usual
His friendly wren greeted him on his window-sill
Zanzibar smiled
But only for a fleeting moment
He knew he had to face the painting
On his breakfast table

Well
He had to go out there sometime or other

Out Zanzibar went
Very slowly

Quietly
Very slowly
He approached the table

And just gazed
And gazed

Before him was indeed a painting
But nothing like the one he thought he had created
Indeed
A lot of the paint had seeped into the wood
But some had stayed
Creating magical outlines and shapes

Is that the face of the daughter of Neptune
Zanzibar wondered
Or is it really the face of Helen of Troy
But if I stand over here
It seems like a mermaid basking on rocks

In total bewilderment
Zanzibar walked round and round the table
Getting more and more excited at the fantasy puzzle unravelling before him

A cloud shape looked like coral looked like foam on the sea
Looked like a white-haired wizard
A window shape looked like a mirror containing a secret garden

Hunger at last overwhelmed Zanzibar
He was starving
Hurriedly he gathered any berries close to his doorway
And dashed back inside
He'd drink his coffee cold today
It did not matter
Somehow he had created something that really entranced him
And he was going to bask in the glory
Of his unbridled skill
The wonder
The magic
Of his unique artistry


Correction...
Somehow
Something beautiful had been created

And he felt very humble


Moral #1 - Don't try to copy another's imagination... You never will...
Moral #2 - I'd love to see Zanzibar's table... But I won't copy... Promise...


Happy Birthday Ray

Zanzibar had a secret yearning to paint...Part 1

Pic by Gemma Wiseman ~ Picnik fractal of a rain riddled wooden table at a Mornington cafe
~

Part 1

For so long he had admired
Egyptian murals etching out
Daily life
Royal occasion
Star gazing
And he admired some of the newer expressions
Watery blends of unchartered hues
And even the stark black and whites of old rugged huts

But most of all
Zanzibar admired
Portraits
The frustrated glimpses of inner minds and characters

Lost in ambling thought
Zanzibar had inadvertently been gazing fixedly
At the sole decoration in his tiny humble room
A sepia-toned print
Symbolising the character figures from Lord of the Rings

With a jolt
His focus captured the gruff bearded face of the central figure

Beneath the tall battered hat
Zanzibar could just make out
A kaleidoscope of well-weathered lines beneath piercing eyes
His right hand grasped a strong taut staff with authority
But his left hand rested protectively on the shoulder of a child
Another misty figure sat to his side at his feet
But before him lay
Sprawled tiny figures
Struck down in various antics of death
The partially shaped form of a scruffy mean crow looked on

The whole seemed to be captured in the framework of a cathedral-arched window
And that framed with a smaller series of fantastical vignettes

Zanzibar's eyes wandered back to the only colour in the print
A white-blue coloured sky
The bare substance of white-blue snowy peaks
And the bare touch of white-green grass in the foreground
The pale watery wash of colour
Framed in
Darkening
Receding
Sepia tones
Leant a disturbing mystical dimension to the print

Zanzibar decided
That's what he would paint
Fantasy figures and faces
So no human might be offended
That Zanzibar had created a secret portrait of him

Zanzibar had much to do in preparation
Drying flowers
Pressing flowers
Soaking flowers in water
Storing a whole range of coloured liquids in separate jars
Easing sap from leaves
Gathering damp bark and twigs

There was just one problem
He had not quite mastered the art of making paper for canvas
So Zanzibar looked around his room for a possible alternative

The walls of his room were rough and textured
Besides
Zanzibar knew that he had no particular head for heights
So he did not want to stand for hours on a chair with his arm stretched upwards
He had no wish to claim the fame of Michelangelo or Leonardo da Vinci
(Who was it that painted the roof of the Sistine chapel anyway)
Zanzibar glanced at his own roof and shuddered
Too many cobwebs

At length
His eyes strayed to his old wooden table
Really it was quite a solid bench
Made a long time ago for him by a tribe of cannibals in the New Guinea highlands
But that's another story

Yes
The table would be ideal
A regular surface
And best of all
Zanzibar would need no particular gymnastic skills to complete the task...
~