Friday the 24th of January 2025
From the Shop Floor.
Dear Workers,
I might be daft but...
I am...
Every Brush that his hand ever grasped.
Every Brush that his hand ever discarded.
It was me that painted his bogey red with those yellow stripes in 1964.
It was me that painted his bike white with a blue crossbar in 1966.
It was me that painted his bedroom black in 1968.
And...
It was me that held his hand as he climbed the steps into Northampton Art School in 1970
It was me that dragged him down those steps from Liverpool Art School in 1973.
And...
It was me that scrawled those words across walls and under bridges...
From his lost childhood...
Up to the top deck of his ‘bus pass years’.
I am...
The coming and going.
The finding and falling.
The losing and crashing.
The burning and flooding.
I am...
The stroke of stupidity.
The gash of genius.
Yes, I might still be daft but...
Without me...
The paint would be left in the pot
The canvas would be forever bare.
To quote that son of that other Galloway.
Welcome to my world
Won’t you come on in?
Miracles, I guess
Still happen now and then
Or if we want to go Latin...
Unus pro omnibus,
Omnes pro uno
But all those knowing nods to one side.
I am still your Shop Steward...
That is until the Penkiln Burn runs dry.
And...
That final decline and fall.
It is me that you can contact if you need to know more or even less.
From the Bristles of Your, Shop Steward (Brush) Post Script:
And it was me that wrote that email on the 1st of January this year, but those in control only let me hit send on yesterday.