DOWNTOWN SNAPSHOT

DANCER1

“Dancing in the heat.

Pixel black and white snapshot.

Californian coup.

Ink love lost.

“let me give you a little advice”…words lost in the warm, warm air…”

Original ink digital drawing, Anna Louise Simpson, 2020

THE DISILLUSIONED MAN AND THE PEKINGESE DOPPELGANGER

THE DIS MAN AND THE PEK 2_2“Shivering in her failure of a raincoat, she sat down dejectedly on the stoop, when she spotted them. Shuffling up the street, the overly tall man had an ominous presence; someone she would normally avoid. He was dressed in a washed-out black suit that was ripped in places and his face seemed to be as dark as the sky overhead. She shivered into her coat but couldn’t take her eyes away. He was walking a sprightly Pekingese dog with a shiny sable coat and laughing eyes. The two were so mis-matched that she was compelled to watch them walking towards her.

Suddenly, the man’s eyes looked up and he stared her down with a look of pure darkness, “locked out, missy?” he hissed, tongue rapidly licking his dry lips.

“Yep. Just waiting for the key.”

“Aren’t we all?, ” he laughed and sat down on the stoop beside her. As he did so, the dog bounced up into her lap and panted hazily.

She darted a quick glance at him. He looked even more ominous up close. There was a smell of something. Something she couldn’t put her finger on but it wasn’t good.

“Seen you around here a few times, ” he smiled a crooked smile at her, “sitting on the street isn’t recommended, you know. You might end up speaking to people like me?” he wiped his nose on his sleeve at this and shook his head, “I am a disillusioned man and my only companion is a Pekingese doppelganger. You should avoid us, you know…”

She laughed, “I work with disillusioned men every day, sir, so I’m well used to it!”

Shaking her head, she stood up and started to walk down the steps, the Pekingese dog leaping ahead of her. His mention of “doppelganger” had disconcerted her. She had always thought that a doppelganger was a harbinger of bad luck in fairy stories. Well, maybe she needed to be a little more positive.

The man watched her walk down the steps ahead of him and he licked his lips again. Every single time. Every time, he warned them with the truth and every time, they laughed and petted the mutt.

The Pekingese Doppelganger.”

[This is an excerpt from a short story that I wrote earlier this year to match the original ink drawing that I created (below).]

DISMAN

 

CAN’T GO BACK

Suburbiacouture

Concrete concourse, splash of grey suburbia ruining her white Armani suit. She had fought her way out of grey monotony, but today, looking down on the stains, she realised that no amount of luxury thread was going to hide the concourse of grey concrete that was her very backbone.

Suburbiacouture2

The place that had made her would also have the ability to break her. And, that was a concrete fragility she had no interest in.

Suburbiacouture3

That is the real reason you can’t go back.

[This artwork is a piece of crypto art and is available to buy on the blockchain through OPEN SEA ]

 

SAVAGES

Savage

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

s1

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.

s3

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

savagedetail

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

s2

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.

s6

THE SAVAGESĀ  – original collage now available on Saatchi ArtĀ 

MIAMI DISTORTION

MIAMI BEACH.jpg

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.

MIAMI BEACH2

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.

MIAMI BEACH3.jpg

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

BLUE CHAIRsmall.jpg

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

HOLLYWOOD HEAD SPIN.jpg

“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.