L.A. GIRLS

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“L.A. sunset glows against the old muscle car. The L.A. Girls rule this part of town with their disintegrating beauty, always balanced delicately on the edge. Neon stiletto teases the beer can on the ground which in this hazy glow sparkles like diamonds. They are owned by no-one and their freedom is carried firmly in their beatnik sneers and dark red lips. They learnt a long time ago to trust no-one and to love only this wild urban landscape.”

AVAILABLE ON KNOWN ORIGIN – HERE

AFTER HOURS PLATO

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He was always more of an After Hours Plato. Always going on about this law or that one, in his posh voice. She was never sure if he had actually been a lawyer in a former life, but eyeing up his shabby Tesco carrier bag and faded brown suit, she doubted it. He used to prop up the bar where she worked after school; it was a tiny old man’s pub, boring as hell but she needed the cash.

She never paid him much notice until one hot afternoon on the housing estate. She had been laughing with her mate about flunking school when the old man had suddenly stood up and shouted at her, “hey Tracy!, ” he pointed straight at her, “don’t you ever laugh about screwing up your school years. Plenty of us did that and look where we are now!” at this he slumped back down and slugged back his whisky.

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She tried to laugh off his outburst but it really niggled her. She knew that she pretended to be thick at school, so she wouldn’t get bullied but how did he know that? She started talking more to him after that. Asking him about the stupid laws he was always going on about, asking him about philosophy and politics. Once her curiosity had been awakened, she couldn’t contain it. She had a thirst for knowledge that shocked her with its ferocity. No-one from around here ever talked to her like that and it was her secret. She had confessed to him that she would love to have been a lawyer one day but poor girls like her, with scruffy accents could never become lawyers. “I’m from the estate and it is too big a jump for someone like me. It is just a pipe dream.” He just shook his head at this.

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However, their talks had given her a strange confidence to tune in at school. She had been shocked to discover that she had passed all of her exams with flying colours. She was actually the top of all of her classes. As she ran into the pub, breathless, desperate to tell him the great news, she was perturbed to find his usual place vacant. She asked the manager where he was. After Hours Plato was always in the pub!

“Dunno, love. He hasn’t been in all day.” the manager just shrugged. Well, he didn’t turn up all week and she was now seriously worried.

It was on the Saturday that the pub door opened and a very official looking man in a suit walked in. He spotted her straight away and came up to ask if she was Tracy. Handing her an envelope, he nodded and pushed a crisp white business card across the bar at her, “Call me once you have digested the letter and I will make the necessary arrangements.”

She opened the envelope, reading the letter,

“My dearest Tracy,

I know you used to call me “After Hours Plato” behind my back, so I am leaving you two things. The first is one of his most famous quotes:

“Οι καλοί άνθρωποι δεν χρειάζονται νόμους που να τους λένε να ενεργούν υπεύθυνα, ενώ κακοί άνθρωποι θα βρουν έναν τρόπο γύρω από τους νόμους.”

“Good people do not need laws to tell them to act responsibly, while bad people will find a way around the laws.”

You see, Plato believed only that there were good people and bad people and in between we had laws to govern both. You, my girl, are a good person. You are not defined by your childhood or your accent or the estate where you grew up. You are defined by your drive, intellect and ambition. Law knows no class. Law knows no accents. It is much much purer than that.

So, I am leaving you something else. I am leaving you my estate which is substantial. Wealth, for me was inherited but money only brought me unhappiness. I hope that my wealth will enable you to go and be the lawyer you were always destined to be, but always remember your true wealth is your intelligence and that will never leave you.

From After Hours Plato to a Future Female Plato.”

ART AND WRITING BY ANNA LOUISE SIMPSON

SAVAGES

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The Savages came in their hundreds, war-worn and brutal, pouring over the barren landscape.

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She watched them from behind the barricade of pretty words. She was “harder to reach”, “distracted, but “available”. “She wanted flattery”. Apparently. But the words could not hide her for long.

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Their eyes were hidden behind masks of rips and tears. An army of broken humanoids.

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They had an easy mantra – “Savages, Silence Yourself” and they would hum it over and over again as they poured through the battle grounds.

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She wished she could see their eyes; search for some kind of humanity left. But it was futile. The Savages were here to stay and her hiding places were running out.

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THE SAVAGES  – original collage now available on Saatchi Art 

HAUNTED BRICKS

Forgotten bricks, stones of old, grey landscape for days like these. Closing her eyes to the whispers from the past, she traces ancient symbols with cold, long finger tips…

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Tree branches track her course, stretched out to try to reach her, to no avail. She is not of this place; she is a spy from another time. Goddess blood flows through her veins and these stones know it. They can feel it in their deep, dark matter.

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Her power is not to be constrained and certainly could never be owned by stones like these. As she opens her eyes, grey silence meets her stare. She smiles slowly, stepping carefully back into the past. She has haunted her future for far too long now.

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“HAUNTED BRICKS” is available to buy as a digital collage on SUPER RARE 

MIAMI DISTORTION

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She was a wraith of sorts; black leather looks with an attitude to match. She hadn’t always been this way but all that mattered was the present. She had no bandwidth for any other scattered moments of time. Ascetic goddess of the future, she ran a tight ship. There was no room for error.

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However, in the faded lacuna of remorse, she would sometimes allow herself the luxury of daydreaming of Miami Beach. It was long gone now but she had walked it’s plastic glare in her childhood and it’s memory was more real that it’s reality.

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All she had left was that memory; it was a Miami distortion. A 3D projection of a lost reality and a different life.

THE BLUE CHAIR

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She had sat here, on this small blue chair so many times. Yet, this time felt different. She was a grown woman now, with towering stilettos and a towering career to match. Yet…

When she sat on the blue chair, she remembered. She remembered what it was like to have grandiose dreams of being a Hollywood starlet or a famous singer, going from show to show, leaving a trail of hearts in her wake. Or maybe she was a artist living in Paris, drifting from painting to lover and back to painting again. She had forgotten what it was like to dream. And no career would ever whisper dreams to her, no matter how big the promotion.

She gripped the blue chair tight as her heart and head fought the battle. Her soul watched smugly from the sidelines, already knowing the war was won.

All it had taken was a small chipped blue chair…

HOLLYWOOD HEAD SPIN

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“A West Hollywood flickering sunset light lit up the motel room as she sat nervously waiting. She paced up and down, peeking through faded nets at the window but there was no sign.

She opened the door into fading twilight and walked outside, pitching against the gritting harling of the motel building. She lit up a cigarette, hands shaking uncontrollably. She watched the bright red neon sign flash on and off as she smoked. It was always like this. He always sent her into a Hollywood head spin and this time was no different. She sniggered to herself…if he could see her right now, she would have a grey cloud of smoke and pixelated thoughts all smudged into one. Right above her head. She took another long drag and pressed herself harder into the motel building.”

This is one of a series of Digital Paintings from a new series that I am working on called “Hollywood Pixelations” about dystopic, pixelated lives in Hollywood.