The great black bird

As a child, I was troubled with a recurring nightmare. I would be on my own, in our back garden, happily playing. And I would be carried off by a black bird.

I have no idea where the idea came from, but I can remember no other dream I have ever had that recurred like this one. I wish I could be more dramatic about it, and could describe the feel of the warm sun on my skin, or a feeling of simple, innocent happiness, before being snatched by the claws of this shrieking bird. But it wouldn't be true, for myself -- in my mind's eye the image is so clear, of playing quietly and of the bird carrying me away, but I can't flesh it out with horror story detail.

Some older readers -- or kind visitors who have been curious enough to read through my archives -- may remember a post about the First Time Club. A group of people I discovered entirely at random one day, who meet in London about once a month and as a collective do things for the first time. Activities they have joined in have included Morris Dancing, poetry readings and going to the dog racing. Where I got involved was with an art class. I said sign me up, and the next thing I knew I was posing for a life drawing class with a bunch of strangers.

There's been other opportunities to meet them that have passed by for one reason or another -- but usually a combination of having to work and not having the money to travel into London on top of whatever else we would do. I might have gone to the Christmas ball at torture garden, if it hadn't been for the cost of the ticket, hiring a costume, drinks, a travelcard, cab fare home... I say to myself there's always next time.

This time I could hardly turn down. The first time is taking part in a gallery show, Hannah who organises these things has for her own personal reasons arranged for us volunteers to display our artistic skills. At first, I said no sweat, I can get a photo on canvas printed to order, and at the end of the show take it home and put it on my wall.

Except that was kind of cheating. In discussion with Hannah about it, she said that didn't really count -- it wasn't really doing something for the first time if I already produced these pictures. She went on to tell me about the other artists taking part, how one man is a life model who draws figuratively, but he is making a sculpture out of sweet tins. It got me thinking, don't I always say I want to paint?

Except I kind of stalled there. Any time Hannah wanted to meet was always inconvenient (yet another reason for me to move to London) and I was just drawing a blank with ideas. I don't get "visual" ideas. I don't wake up one day with a great idea for a photograph (or drawing, painting, whatever) -- unlike how I might get a sudden sentence or turn of phrase strike me that I want to write down. I can't draw so it isn't like I sketch idly in my free time. For weeks I had nothing. I tried asking the universe for inspiration, but much like asking it to deliver me a quid for the coke machine and the parking space at work I wanted, still nothing was coming.

Eventually I managed to arrange a meeting with Hannah, and in a dramatic break with tradition it seemed the universe delivered. I remembered having recently told Dune about this childhood nightmare, and it suddenly seemed like this would be the perfect picture -- something deeply personal and meaningful to me. A dramatic and dark picture of this black bird from my childhood dreams, and drawing on my background as a writer, the bird would be partially obscuring a block of text, explaining about the dream.

Hannah was politely supportive of the idea -- I couldn't tell you if she thought it was any good or not, as I don't think she would have told me if she didn't like it. And that doesn't matter anyway, it's not for her or for anyone else. By way of encouragement, she suggested looking into folklore associations with black birds -- although sticking mainly to English culture, so as not to get too wanky about it (I might be paraphrasing there).

In my research, I've found the usual stories of a crow circling house being an omen of death, and of the legends surrounding the ravens of the Tower of London. What I didn't expect to find was a reference to traditional folklore from Yorkshire, where apparently children are told if they don't behave, they will be taken away by a great, black bird. The idea is obviously very Christian in nature, with the bird being the devil taking away sinners -- and of course, this would tie in with my own Catholic childhood. I'm wondering now what relative would have told me about this great, black bird -- because I am sure I didn't come to the idea entirely on my own.

The art itself is making slow progress. I forced myself to sit down the other day and look up bird images -- since I would need some kind of template to work with, being unable to draw. After what felt like hours -- the more specific I tried to be with my search terms, the less relevant they became -- I found the image I wanted, and with some work put together a kind of mock up in word of what I wanted. I have the text more or less how I want it, and the bird over the top -- although in this version the bird doesn't obscure the text.

What I need now is a canvas block, or several. I need to feel the canvas to know what size it should be; I am thinking something large like an A2 size at the moment. I also need to work out how I am going to paint or print this text onto the canvas, and most troubling of all how I am going to get the bird image onto the page. Suggestions are welcome, particularly suggestions as to what kind of paint would be good to use, where I can buy canvas blocks and how I might be able to get what is essentially a digital image painted onto my canvas...