In the pines, in the pines, I can hear you driving to Designer Outlet

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In the pines, in the pines, I can hear you driving to Designer Outlet.

There is a song and it was sang by a man who was dead, and then a man sang it who was not but he would be soon and he was wearing a cardigan when he sang it (I think) and there is a video of him doing it.

(Applause.)

Oh there is a song sang a man, and he was singing it wildly as I walked in the woods beneath him, watching the sky changing light through the trees.

And I was wearing what I was wearing, and I was thinking what time it was and how I would look when I was dying in a bed. 

I do a lot of this because I see a lot of it and I have to remind myself that it is a section of the whole and not the whole of it. 

So I get in my car afterwards, and I put on Julian Cope and I think about making things and look closely at pictures I like and try to make my own versions of the things I am looking at that I’m interested in. 

This is of the woods that I walk in some mornings when I have time. We live in a bungalow that a man is renting to us, but he might not sell us it, so it might be that I don’t walk in these woods much in the future.

The bungalow is close by to the woods. The light through the trees looks like fire sometimes. There are these ducks in the woods that are often in the same ditch, at the same point, and they fly off into the trees when they get the sense I am approaching. 

(Further applause.)

There is a man who sang a song into a machine and made a recording which another man played on a tape machine driving through Germany maybe, and he said he would sing it himself, and he did, and all the people gathered round and they didn’t know it but they liked it and it made his voice crack. His voice cracked when he sang it. His cracked voice.  In the silence at the end of it.

Acrylic on mount board