The Painting









The painting is in a small old room, recently
renovated and now so white and clean.
Brown carpet, large window and other paintings
surround this; the most special painting of
all. Glowing, dwarfing its surroundings,
it even diminishes the larger, more ostentatious
paintings alongside.

A desk in front seems strangely emptied,
like an unwanted child in its parents’
bedroom, with a canvas that has come home
to master all it sees – the ceiling, door
and other works of art.

This painting is called “Coming Home”,
strangely enough, yet it is empty, so empty.
Colours glow like obscene rainbows across
dark menacing windows in an endless
block of conformity. Here there is no respite,
no comfort. Coming home to nothing.
All is ephemeral and the darkness repels
the light. No people, no objects, no life,
just endless inanimate oblongs,

endless inanimate oblongs … … … … …
… … … … … … … … … … … but…

the dream of the painting is for people,
life, animation and birth. For behind the
deadness, its subconscious craves movement,
feeling, hope and the concrete possibility of
continuity made positive. It dreams
that illusion will give way to truth
and an ever-expanding reality. It
dreams that colours surrounding the
blackness will converge, merging and
disappearing into an endless positive
hope for an eternal future, future,
future, and the painting dreams on
and on and on into the night…

… … … … … … … … … … …


Léonie Scott-Matthews
Pentameters Theatre



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