Sticking with it…

I’ve been rehearsing since Friday. The new moves that I have needed to make have been whirling through my mind steadily manoeuvring themselves into an orderly sequence. I’ve rehearsed a few times with my long-suffering prototypes and discussed at length my intentions with my long-suffering friends.

Finally I’ve steadied my nerve and made my move and the results are better than I could ever have hoped for. There are still errors in the framing of this artwork, that I can never undo, but the result is something that I have been dreaming about for 3 months now and I am really very happy with Helen.

The zinc corner bracing is perfect and gives the best finish to the acrylic panes even though Helen is still very fragile and likely to damage easily if not treated with the utmost care. Already a few scratches have appeared but I really don’t mind. I cannot be overly precious about how she has turned out. All I can do is respect where she is now and continue to guide her into a beautiful and delicate future.

I cannot achieve my greatest desire because there is no way I can achieve perfection with Helen, and nor would I want to. She is a beloved sight and her beauty (even before my framing disasters) wowed people who have seen her. I cannot wait to get her into an exhibition.

The aim was, and is, always to reflect on Sappho‘s words and it is these words which will form the entire body of my artist’s statement:

“A troop of horse, the serried ranks of marchers,
A noble fleet, some think these of all on earth
Most beautiful. For me naught else regarding
Is my beloved.

To understand this is for all most simple,
For thus gazing much on mortal perfectino
And knowing already what life could give her,
Him chose fair Helen,

Him the betrayer of Ilium’s honour.
The recked she not of adored child or parent,
But yielded to love, and forced by her passion,
Dared Fate in exile.

Thus quickly is bent the will of that woman
To whom things near and dear seem to be nothing.
So mightest thou fail, My Anactoria,
If she were with you.

She whose gentle footfall and radiant face
Hold the power to charm more than a vision
Of chariots and the mail-clad battalions
Of Lydia’s army.

So must we learn in world made as this one
Man can never attain his greatest desire,
[But must pray for what good fortune Fate holdeth,
Never unmindful.]”



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