Told you it was time to get messy!
I bought some poster paint, screaming fire engine red. The bottle is smaller than a can of Coke. Perhaps unwisely I placed the cards upon the floor, albeit with newspaper underneath.
The card sandwiches were pleasingly gooey, slick and tactile between my fingers. They only needed a gentle rub. When I pulled them apart, each displayed scarlet crime scene splodges.
The corner of the playing cards was a perfect scalpel to run through the mess on their brothers, even if my lines were wild. During the carving pressure built in the air. My hand worked not at random, but as if the lines were already planned out, and it was my job to engrave them.
I took a break to let the cards dry. Looked out of the window. Clifton was dark and quiet. But something hides underneath, or round the corner of the alleyways. I thought about the words ‘cast in iron’ at the end of last week's extract. Even for the Butter Mouse, this is a weird turn of phrase. It ties into my ‘old technology’ thesis.
I sat thinking for a full hour. By this point the cards had dried. River-like lines trailed from the central stain. You can see them on all the images this month. They provided an instant idea for this month's story. When I saw those lines, I thought of someone cruising down the river on a boat, a handkerchief over their face.
You can read the final product next week.
Did the Butter Mouse plan this? Did he know this is how the paint would dry? Or is this exclusive to my effort?
The Butter Mouse's tasks always appear so random. But that smell of kids paint took me all the way back to primary school. And my primary school was in Clifton, Bristol.
A coincidence, I am sure. But whatever paint people use will remind them of a certain time in their life. Is that the point? That this spark of memory will spark creativity in turn?
By starting this year long project, I have stirred a rockpool with a stick. I know there's something there, but it is all a swirling blur. I need to let everything settle, and see what’s inside.
