• Vol. 08
  • Chapter 03

The Fighting Temeraire

I’d been to the market and had stopped for a waterside picnic before returning home. The blue sky had turned to a summer haze, the light looming sleepily as I gazed in to the distance at the ghostly vision of colour. I can still smell the oil. My first encounter with the brushes and canvas, a sketchy memory but I soon mastered what was required. Of course, the original was something else.

As I stood up, I noticed that the hole in my string bag had released the oranges, now rolling and floating into the water. An uncaptured still life. I wonder what ever happened to my painting by numbers picture.