Goncalo Amaral intends to appeal against the Mccann’s £500,000 pay out.
So for Steve’s birthday doll I wanted to created something a bit more masculine. After a bit of thought I decided to base his doll on some design ideas that he developed for Vaudeville Hippie in the early days based on zombie jugglers.
As mentioned in an earlier post, Steve and I enjoy practising circus skills, which includes the art of poi spinning. Now am I not sure, but I think we were heavily into The Walking Dead at the time, which sparked the inspiration for the zombie juggler range.
To create the artwork, Steve whole heartedly threw himself into this project, posing with a range of circus props in different zombie stances and facial expressions.
These were then hand drawn and then adapted in Illustrator and Photoshop with filters so that they could be prepared for a silk screen print for T-Shirt printing.
I tried to…
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It’s amazing how you bring out each doll’s individual character from their facial expressions.. Gwyneth has a lovely smile and wonderfully expressive green eyes.
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Book 4 in the DI Jewell murder mystery series.
There is a tide in the affairs of men.
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows and in miseries.
On such a full sea are we now afloat,
And we must take the current when it serves,
Or lose our ventures.
Julius Caesar Act 4, scene 3, 218–224
I wish I could go back to this morning but dusk is approaching and when darkness descends, the nightmare will begin. The buried memories lay dormant for many years, but that would change by early afternoon.
Such an ordinary morning too, filled with sunshine and bird song. The kitchen played out its usual breakfast noises, the boiling kettle competed with the radio and. beyond the confines of domesticity the garden had sprung new blades of emerald grass glistening with dew, confirming a subtle change in the season.
Now everything seems irrevocably altered. Outside, the elements rage. A gale force wind is rattling the budding branches against the windowpanes. It’s unnerving and perhaps prophetic. As the storm intensifies, it encourages illogical thoughts and morbid imaginings.
Like sitting in the train carriage destined to derail, or boarding a plane headed for the bottom of a vast ocean.
Derail is the applicable word. Is that what has happened? Has life derailed? Perhaps it’s too soon to know. Is it destiny, or karma? The answer to that question will puzzle more than a few people for a long time.
The trouble is, all this obsessive analysis is exhausting. There’s one certainty though, time is not ours to manipulate.
Going back to this morning is impossible and the prospect of going forward is intolerable.
If I decide to read until three in the morning I will. Surely everyone has a right to enjoy reading late if they want to, by whatever means, and accept they might be tired the next day.
God almighty, what next?