I have this piece in Penelope's Halloween contest, a simple acrylic on canvas, as clear and direct as a death rattle. The rest of the field is all over the place, from the professional to the amateurish (my favourites tending towards that latter downward slope, like the child's drawing of a two-headed, orange dragon further scorching an already blackened skeleton). Anyway, it's all just fun.
People are always telling me that my work is too dark. So I've put up this sunnier story, but even it has a shadow, as its original publisher – a fine Atlantic Canadian literary magazine called the Gaspereau Review – is no longer in business. ---------------- It was a simple enough thing and that thing was simply this: Edmund Kelley was a gentleman. Of course his mom called him her 'little gentleman', as in 'Oh Edmund, you are my perfect little gentleman,' which did seem to hold to a certain logic that these type of things often follow, considering her affection for him and the fact that he was, after all, only ten years old. Still, Edmund himself was not particularly fond of the diminutive aspect of that title. Gentleman was enough; gentleman summed up the whole thing rather nicely, thank you. He was definitely a more refined version of your average child. He lived in a state of perpetual Sunday m
Love this !
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