For reasons that might not interest you, I’m not cackling with delight. Or well, here goes: I was assaulted by a demented and suddenly very violent family member — this after many years of his confused tranquillity, so I was totally unprepared and took quite a beating. And in order to prove to myself that I’m still alive, despite all evidence to the contrary, I drew this:
Ink and aqua colours on paper, A4 (≈ letter size).
It is anybody’s guess why the hen is so sad. But I once had a boat with red sails, one of those lost paradises that one might have. And this boat was resting under alder trees, so between the deck and the hull they often tried to root, little catkins and all, so they brought inspiration to this piece.
But I still can’t account for the crying hen. This is a very small detail, less than three inches high.
But it’s Easter Monday, and I’m still in pain. Note to self: The ulnar bone most likely has a crack in it, something near the tailbone also hurts, so I’m not wagging it. I’ll try to see doctors on this Tuesday, when Easter is over, and if they want to send me home with painkillers — as if this wasn’t how I spent Easter, the Holiday of Pain in the first place — I’ll raise Hell.
But frankly, I’d like a Hen Boat to just sail me away.
