Story: My Talented Dancing Cat-Roo, Solly – 16/08/19

My cat Solly is one unique girl. She can stand on her haunches, and dance in a twirl. She can boogie each step, along to the beat, she has every dance move within her belt, twinkle toes, paws and feet. Within her skilled capacity, translated through her talented feet, for Solly’s hind legs were more human-like, longer and wider, allowing the ability to walk easier, heavier and lighter, as I speak. She was able to creep upon tippie toe, she was able to thump, thump, thump, wherever she had decided to go, and then prance and prance and twirl, one step, two step, three step, four, she began a group dance upon the outback’s grassy floor. I giggled to myself, at viewing her antics, she was so clever, her personality so bright and fantastic, how lucky I was to have found her, when I went pet shopping on a whim, this wonderful combination of cat and kangaroo, of whom everyone in the neighbourhood did speak.

For Solly was a popular girl, she taught dance class to the other animals and creatures, boys and girls, it did not matter which breed or animal they might be, she always adapted the dance moves to suit the others’ dance skills and capacities.

“Pump it, pump it!” she urged them, encouragingly. From the front of the class, she observed her groups of twos and threes, all up today she had eighteen in attendance: a mixture of a family of duckies, rodents, raccoons, a single unicorn, and a giraffe and an elephant. The elephant was the most uncoordinated of the group, he kept stepping on and over his large dance shoes. So embarrassed was he that he decided to cease, he thumped upon his bottom and dragged the shoes from his feet. The shining unicorn noticed his turmoil, and crept over, threw a hoof over the Elephant’s shoulder and I quote this: “It’s hard, I know, but you can do it, I’ll show you how!” And with that, a little flint of trust shone in Elephant’s eyes, small, yet there, almost clouding his need to weep, uproariously cry. He pressed his feet back into his shoes, and allowed himself to be led by caring Unicorn, back to the groups. And although Elephant had the equivalent of four left feet, or so it seemed, Unicorn was patient, and allowed him to chase his inner dream, of being a beautiful ballet dancer, flying, sailing through the air, but first he needed to get his 1, 2, 3, 4’s correct, before he could even think of beginning to soar.

My cat-roo Solly noticed Unicorn’s attention on Steve the Elephant, and loved how caring she was, even though she had not been asked to assist, undirected to Steve, no purpose given or meant, and it was Unicorn’s great kindness that touched Solly’s heart, and pushed her into thinking that she should take Unicorn on as a dancing teacher counterpart. So quietly she made her way over, and requested permission for her assistance, Unicorn was jubilant, so surprised, she could hardly believe the luck she had been sent! Unicorn had always dreamed of being a teacher, just unsure of which teaching discipline to chase in future studies, and now being presented to her was an opportunity of great magnitude and self-discovery!

Happy together, working together, sharing thoughts and learning from each other, the dance school grew larger and larger until she needed room to fit Elephant’s entire family, who came every session, hearts filled with ardour. Word had spread like wildfire of Solly and Unicorn’s talented capacities, and parents flocked with their children and other next of kin, to view this, witness this, this world renowned school to be experienced and seen. They became so well known that they were looked upon as the number one school of the dancing world, and how wonderful was this for my cat-roo who only used to purr, slink and meow.

And how so very proud I am of Solly, my little cat-‘roo, each night I thank her with a lullaby and soliloquy until she dozes gently, then travels to her dreams gentler soon. All such beauty my dear pet has created, without a finger lifted from me. Why, all I have to do is view the worldly nature and professional power of her and her partner’s work together with ease. What a proud happy owner, am I, my heart will never cease to feel so proud and utterly free.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

Return to All Posts


Home

Story: Sammi the Beautiful Girl With Two Missing Teeth – 14/08/19

Sammi was a beautiful girl, inside and out. Her hair and skin glowed, shone throughout. Her effervescent personality made others joyous and gay, she was a bubbly, vivacious girl, and she loved to make others happy and keep them entertained. However, Sammi had a personal nightmare, it was evident when she grinned, she always hid behind her open hand, because missing were her two of her teeth. She was ashamed to grin like the other children, to show her remaining pearly whites to the world, she was always told that beauty came from within, but within her mouth was where her exterior beauty ended, she believed, it was the torment of her inner world. She was scared of being judged, frightened of being viewed of as uncool, she knew she had beautiful characteristics and traits, but she wished her teeth had never been taken so soon.

That moment when she had toppled, so happily hanging from the monkey bars, when her teeth made impact with her shins, despite this being in the past, the memories of the pain, as they hit against each other, the ‘crack’ heard inside her brain, made her wish she had not been so careless. If she’d fallen slightly differently, the dentist had said, her teeth could have been saved, instead she was left with unsightly gaps, and pain within her that was always there, within her memories never going away. Instead they had shattered, unable to be retrieved, her baby teeth gone, never to be again seen. And cry and cry all that day, and into the next did she, poor little Sammi, her beauty compromised, her dream of being a beauty queen seemingly gone, her sorrow spread quite freely. And the times when she accidentally burst into a giggle or a guffaw, and unintentionally she showed her teeth, she became chilli red and frightfully embarrassed, for, she wanted nothing more than to hide in her bed, trying to ward off her fiercely warm complexion as though it were a contagious disease about her face, her head.   

For now, Sammi’s dreams of being on show, walking down the runway with teenage model beauties from all over the world were scrapped now, her dreams once a whirlwind, an utter whirl, were now apparently unattainable for this unfortunate little girl. She had planned to grow into the industry, continuing her weekend beauty shows, but now, her best friend Susan scorned her, saying she was no longer the best in show.

“I’m telling you the truth, now,” she said firmly, “Not wanting to hurt you one bit, but those gaps in your mouth, they should be covered or filled, fix them with false teeth.” Her heart fell the most heavily at Susan’s sharpened words, for she was the closest friend in Sammi’s world, she could not understand why she was being such a nasty girl, was she suddenly cruel, no longer caring, had she fallen under a strange spell? Surely she understood that Sammi could smile without her teeth being shown wide, she could walk the runway and wave with delicateness, with glamorous pride, and there was no need for anyone to know that she was missing her teeth, she would train her mouth to disguise the apparent flaws, this uniqueness that she held within.

“I will still enter Miss Terrific Teenage World,” she vowed, from the age of still a little girl. “I will take on all the beauties, I will experience all there is to be seen and told.” And at that, she felt confident, that she could do this, despite her insecurities, despite her feelings that she was inadequate for simply missing two teeth. Although her mother and father had reassured her that her teeth would grow back, Sammi was dubious, their assertion did not seem a fact. She was certain that the two specific teeth she had lost were adult teeth, not baby ones, and that the dentist had simply gotten his facts wrong, and that of dentistry he possibly had much more to learn. After all, she had to prepare herself for the truth, that if she was not receiving any replacement teeth, she would perform the most, her utmost, at adaption; this was what she would do. And practised in the mirror, smiling and talking, while surreptitiously disguising her pearly whites at every minute free of her day and night, finally she gained great skill at deception, so she would not give even the most unsuspecting passerby a sudden fright.

As she grew, the time for Miss Terrific Teenage World finally arrived. She was flown to New Mexico, where all the other contestants were nervously biting their nails, drinking sugar free caffeine drinks, and others were with bright eyes, running on adrenaline, utterly alive. By this stage of her youth, Sammi had the art of speaking eloquently and with deception of her missing teeth down to a fine art, no one could tell, no one even knew, that she was different from the start. All they saw was her lovely face, her styled dress, her flamboyant nails and hair – the dress selected was a bit risque, but with the finery detailed upon the jewelled strapless garment to match her glittery, bejewelled necklace, she felt both at peace and excited beyond belief, she understood that her message to be shared with the world was heaven sent.

And when it came time for her to address the world, in the capacity that she knew of so well, she spoke of freedom, and false alliances to be broken, and strength in numbers, and holding self worth and confidence, that when she was greeted by an almighty audience cheer, a standing ovation far and near, she burst into a widened grin, no longer uncertain that she should hide herself anymore, she knew to shine from the outside and within. She wept tears of happiness when she was awarded first prize, the first teenage beauty to win with a couple of teeth missing beneath her rosy cheeks, beneath her expressive eyes. It didn’t matter whether they were there or not, for the truth be finally told, she was an amazing individual, whose stunted adult teeth would finally, eventually, in one single year, grow.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

Return to All Posts


Home

Story: The Angry Donut – 12/08/19

For most of his life, Donut had experienced overwhelming negativity. It was always ‘donut this’, and ‘donut that’, or ‘do not touch this’, or ‘do not go there’. It was so frustrating and overwhelming, it made Donut into a kind of aggressive tasty treat. His glistening icing which was so enticing did not match the flavour within.

Additionally, all through secondary school, he and his donut friends had been repeatedly pinched on the arm, the leg, the bum, as others walked past, for they wanted to have a taste of their deliciousness, their tastebuds must of them be reminded or learned of. And how insulting that they’d lose a piece of their bodies, surely their stiffened body stance when attacked said, “Don’t you bloody well touch me! Donut you even dare! Stay away from me!”?

Donut and his crew became frightful of school, they no longer wished to attend. If skipping school meant retaining their mass then they would perform this desertion good and well, no matter whether absence was deemed bad. Besides, who would know, their parents were too busy working their day jobs to listen – Donut’s parents’ voicemail at home in all truth and actuality said: “You’ve reached the Donut Family. Donut bother leaving a message. We donut want to talk to you.” And how antisocial was that?

So Donut and his crew were free to wander about the town, actually, more of a city it was, but in this sleepy city it was known as a town. It was a term more fitting for the slower pace and relaxation taken by this type of society, for this town’s residents encompassed many sweetened and savoury treats, as well as humans, a mixed variety. Donut though, was the one most unfairly taken and eaten. He thought to himself, “Wouldn’t it be wise to contemplate talking to the Croissants, they are able to avoid those pesky hungry and famished buzzards, circling above, above our very eyes?”

When all of a sudden, a whoooooooooosh of a speedy object came past, and a great pinching pain Donut felt in his left side, the beginning of a rupture, he knew this was the start. Whoever had been on that wretched and fast bike should surely score some karma points, Donut hoped the rider fell into the path of some large, approaching, moving lights.

It may have been a harsh thought, but Donut was in agony, several of his blood vessels had been ripped, squeezed or burst, with the greatest of the rider’s ease. Disgusted at this thievery, this violent, apprehensive act, Donut decided to do something, and with his friends, of this town and its insolence he would combat.

They scrawled all over every available town wall that there was a protest tomorrow at noon, to come forth, gather round, where all could speak their truths. Of the pain they were suffering, the irritation they were experiencing, the changes they wished to receive, to be given, the list could go on and on, this was a given!

So at 1145 hours the next day, Donut arrived with his knapsack filled with bravery and courage, and all that he could gather to commend. Strapped to his back – he needed to avoid his sticky delicious front – was a large sign, that said “Do not touch me!” For this was his main problem, the source of his misery, that others felt – no, had decided – that he was available as a public tasty treat. This was wrong, this was rude, he had felt the need to leave his education, his expensive boys’ grammar school, and the fees for it were still being paid, because his parents had no idea that his days of skipping school were occurring, in order for his dough to be saved. Dough spent unwittingly for dough to be saved, what an ironic thought to cherish for the day.

Unfortunately for Donut, it seemed he was the only protesting participant, and while he shouted and screamed his message fair and loud, there was not an audience nearby, no passing members of the society, the town, to reap his message, understand his frustrated knowledge, and after an hour of screaming at the top of his lungs, Donut decided to go.

“It’s okay,” he said to himself soothingly, “It does not matter, you will find a way to increase your manoeuvrability. To avoid those pesky pinchers, who are not even truly hungry, but just steal because, they believe they can, and this is wrong.” Suddenly, a bright idea inside, a spark of a light.

The very next day Donut arrived back at school, strutting through the school gates with pride.

“Wow!” one girl gushed.

“Look at him!” a boy expressed.

And a croissant: “What a fashionable donut we have before us!”  

Donut was decked head to toe in shiny aluminium foil, which gave the illusion of mirror wealth to them all, but its actual use was to block the evil thieves – vamoose! – and successful he was that day and always in his tin foil truth. He shared his knowledge and tailoring skills with his all friends and they all eventually returned safely to school again.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

.

Return to All Posts


Home

.

Story: The Abandoned Pink Pearl – 10/08/19

She had been taken, now where was she?

The Pink Pearl originated from the Deep Sea of Joseph, a far off seascape where there were no humans to know of. Beneath the depths of the surface of this glorious sea, were little minutiae, to be viewed of by the most precise of eyes, on any given day, to be taken in, to be seen. Yet closer to the forefront, there lived a special, and rather especially large oyster, inside, tucked within was a beautiful pink pearl, of great vision to be held, to be sure. Her name was Eve, she was as pretty as could be, a special sheen, a opalescent luster, about her body was present for all to view, of her sheen the viewers would appreciate her glowing gleam. But one day, she was unfairly plucked from her casing, and taken away, far off, into a land of unknowing.

Ferocious pirates were responsible for the pearlnapping of Eve, from her homeland, her oyster bed she knew she would never again be or breathe. So she sobbed in the galleys of the ship where she was locked away, she was miserable and experienced such utter heartache she could not live out a single positive moment in her day. The tears, oh, how many she wept, her wailing drew the attention of her pirate captors as though of them she was willingly calling, her tears never seemingly enough spent, always continually falling.

The pirates decided to hold a private, personal polling and debate, was it worth holding Eve aboard the ship, when of her misery she would not abate? They never knew how homesick a silly little pearl could be, in fact, she was a gigantic pearl, that was why they stole her, but of her presence they now wished to be free. She was far too much of a baby, she could not control herself, why, who on earth would mourn the loss of an oyster bed when here she had a perfectly superior and clearly far more comfortable bed shelf?

They landed the ship at the nearest island, small, sizable enough though, for a pest whom they did not wish to hear of her continued whining, no matter how much her worth on the black market, they could not deal anymore with the irritations she was providing, a sense of patience would never grow.

Quite obviously, these pirates were not empathetic, they only thought of themselves, and where and how they would benefit, cash flowing beneath the decking of the boat. Then, they forcibly removed Eve from the room, and threw her overboard, onto the island, where they left her high and dry, marooned. And sail away as quickly as they could, before she could even run and yell, all the time she had was to throw up her hands, and scream out, “What the hell?”

Her misery continued, for now she knew not where at all she was, not even upon a ship with others, no matter how cruel they were. At least she hadn’t been alone. At least they had fed her, given her drinks to allow her positive, continued shimmering sheen, and now, what to do, she was alone here with the swaying trees.

Over time though, she realised she could survive, she taught herself to prepare and eat the leaves of the native trees and how to dive. This was a means of how to replenish her moisture, so she would survive, for she could not drink the sea water, it was far too salty for her, back in the Sea of Joseph there housed fresh water, of a taste which she much preferred.

To her surprise, one day a ship sailed past, slowly, eyes lazily convincing herself that it was not a mirage, it was safety beckoning toward her at last! Oh, this opportunity for rescue was presenting itself, right before her very eyes, if only she could attract attention to herself! And call, call, call, call out she did, she caught the ears of the crew and the captain, she was now readily seen, and rushed aboard she was, treated like a queen, no longer the abandoned pink pearl, she was the rescued pink pearl of the Seas! All the world over would she now be seen.

Even her mother, the oyster, now a grandmotherly type, grey and cuddly, viewed her daughter on the seascape television, so proud of her little Evie was she, she wished one day they would be reunited with ease. And even if this could not be a wish come true, she knew Eve would have a wonderful life, and she wished so truly hard for her, for this to come true. Of her girl, she was so very proud and pleased, for surviving her trials and such a wretchedly painful catastrophe.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

Return to All Posts


Home

 

Story: The Imaginative Little Caterpillar – 09/08/19

The Imaginative Little Caterpillar could transform into things! With the power of his mind he could draw forth his convoluted dreams. He’d always wanted to be a pink park ranger, or a charismatic carpenter, or an amazingly awesome astronaut who could explore here and there, or a ferocious fire-breathing fireman, these he could all transform into without a worry, concern or care.

As he gazed into the mirror after his transformation into a kazoo playing pet kangaroo, he swung his hips this way and that, thinking to himself, “Well! How did I do!” But these transformations only lasted for the day, the moment he placed his head upon his partially ripped cocoon, he lost the idea of how to transform into this or that being or person that night, he wished for an idea, another convoluted dream to come to him soon.

Why were his dreams deemed convoluted when they were simply dreams to alter, to change, the imaginative little caterpillar into another’s different life stage? They were deemed as such because he knew not how the transformations occurred, but to him they were much, much, much more special than simply lying and crawling in the dirt. He did not wish to live that life, to crawl and scrabble in the dirt and sand, he was far too intelligent to allow the dirt to command. It stuck upon him, made him yucky and gross, his transformation dreams were what excited him the most.

Then one morning he felt a great urge to wrap himself, rather than becoming someone else. He attached himself to a twig then slowly, slowly he wrapped himself with silken threads that covered his body so large. And there he hung for eighteen days precisely, being patient, strong minded, and calming, waiting and wondering what on earth would happen when he was able to expel himself from this kind of a body nest, a tight wrapping.

Then the moment arrived, he felt it right to of this world be reborn, to come again alive, and as he separated from the cocoon, he felt extra long legs stretch, and observing to his right and his left, an enormously beautiful wingspan in his sight! Oh, how his heart filled to the brim, at looking at what would now carry him, flying him around the world, above the earth, such a pleasant means of transportation, no longer rolling in the dirt.

No more did this Newborn Butterfly need to transform into other people or forms, when what had been awaiting within him, the power inside, to transform him into the unique form he needed was one of special great worth. He was now pleased, he was delighted, he was so happy deep inside, that for the next three days he flew about the place with no method to his madness, no place to sit and decide. What move to make, where to further go, and for the last day of his exploration, he laid down and from him, something small, a short burst, decided to go. His last breath of life, after his excited exploring last few days, the life of a butterfly was short, but wasn’t it so beautiful to have experienced those days anyway.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

Return to All Posts


Home

Story: The Tenacious Little Bumblebee Who Found His Dancing Way – 09/08/19

There was a little bumblebee as cute as cute could be, he travelled far and wide so of the world’s pollen he could see. He collected it, and shaped it, and made it into liquid gold, he was tenacious, he was determined, he was everything good that could be shown of and told.

Tenacious Bee was a fan of most things, which were upbeat, lovely and jiving, one example of this was he was an enormous fan of Latin dancing. The Cha-Cha, he’d cha-cha-cha away, as he collected his pollen for the day, the Rumba, the Tango, of how these dances with their rhythmic meters made him feel alive! The only problem was, he knew there was something missing from his dance. A lady friend, a bee of this land, to couple up with him, to grasp his hands, to tap. tap, dance!

Still, he did not allow this to bother him, he could go happily on his way, for he was a persevering bee and he had much to dance for and much to say. He was the local member of his Hive and of this committee that he was part of, they spoke every month of which new dances to embrace and love. This month’s new introduced dance was the Jive, its movements made all the gathering bees come alive.

The point of assigning a monthly dance to the pollen collecting crew was to create joyous melodies and workers through and through. To create resilient insects who could work tirelessly all day, distracted by their monthly dance to keep the blues away. So the Hive took to dancing the Jive, in the month of August, its strength was potent, the equation of rhythm, music and dance was a most desirable way to  recommence the happiness process.

One morning, while Jiving away, something caught Tenacious Bumblebee’s eye. A female form, long, thin, nothing there to cause a detracting from his wandering sight. She was most beautiful with her elongated, pointed form, was this the Queen bee, he wondered, of his dances did she wish to learn? Slowly, slowly, she made eye contact, a knowing wistful look within her eyes; it was as though she were beckoning him, with the emotions tumultuously intact, held inside. The seductive look, perfect for introducing the tango, one, two, three, one, two, three, she lunged forth, clasped his legs and began to dance Bumblebee’s dream.

“But Queen Bee, why are you so far from the hive?” he asked with astonishment. She smiled and quietly said not to worry the pretty mind he had inside. To enjoy the dance, he finally had a partner, she knew he had been quietly calling out with great ardour.

“But, how did you know?” he asked. “I’d not breathed a word of my desire, of my unrest.”

“Queen’s do know, Queens know best,” she replied knowingly.

After their dancing, she welcomed him back into the hive, where he could view her chamber, and the living larvae inside. “These are my young children,” she said, and wasn’t she so very proud? “Perhaps I’ll make more of them, with someone I love, this I will allow.”

And rest now did the Queen, she was tired from the lengthy dance, after all, she barely moved these days, she had so much responsibility to take care of in her life. However, she was most gladdened to have found a dancing partner, who could come and go as he pleased, and who she knew would never leave her entirely alone, for he was known for persisting in his pursuit of love, ardour and personal power.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

Return to All Posts


Home

Poem and Drawing: A Hungry Little Cupcake – 04/08/19

This Cupcake was ravenous for candy,


A hungry little cupcake looks down onto the ground, what does he see? What have his searching eyes found?

He’s found a pile of scattered candy, from his favourite piñata horse, his name was Joseph Weedlie, this is important to know, I’m to be trusted, of course.

Mr. Weedlie had led a long, fruitful life, where he had weedled candy from manufacturers or shop owners, and become full and bloated his stomach did inside, it was the engorgement of candy that was the main cause.

Bound for extraction were his goods this day, and hit and hit did the little cupcakes of the town, enjoying the festivities always.

Weedlie didn’t hurt from the attacks, he knew the candy would go to a good cause, he had his eyes on his friend, Thomas the Cupcake, of his motives, they could be judged pure, this was to be assured.

With the finality of the explosion of sweets upon the ground, Thomas the Cupcake rushed forth and delectably obtained that which he decided was to be his own.

The straggling remnants of Weedlie were soon taken away, they were no longer required to float eerily and alone hanging from the trees, like something on a hauntingly dark day.

And it was with great joy Thomas began to shovel the candy into his hands and then scoff the candy within.

It didn’t taste sweet enough though, it were as though someone had extracted the sweetened juice, the sugar content of these items were so very low, the juice content and concentration had been vamoosed!

Still he slurped in the goods, seconds by minutes of the day, until five minutes later there was nothing left to consume, nothing remaining for an hour, let alone a second of this day.

Thomas is happy now, he realises he does not need to eat things that are so very sweet, his taste buds have acclimatised like they have, there was no reason to to otherwise think.

For he had survived the alteration, and no diabetes in the future would have he to deal with, such a negative thought sensation, he was more aware of his sugar intake now, thanks to Mr. Weedlie for altering what he had collected and what Thomas had briefly owned.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

Return to All Posts


Home

Poem and Drawing: “Onward, loyal steed!” Henry the Toy Horse’s Flight – 02/08/19

It was one of Henry’s dreams to fly.

“Onward and upward, loyal steed!” cried the rounded grey bat, dangling tasty cherries before the face of his best friend, Henry the Toy Horse, his plan to rise was just that.

Henry did not have wings like the bat, but that didn’t stop his dream,

He and Grey Bat were best friends and he wanted to rise like Grey Bat could, easily and fearlessly, just like him, Henry prayed and wished he could.

Would the world part its textile tapestry reality and allow him to perform this flight, no matter how impossible it seemed, into the day and into the nights?

The cherries encouraged him, oh, how they were both so sour and sticky sweet,

With Grey Bat riding atop his back, flying upwards, he was required to rise some more with telepathic measures.

What are telepathic measures, may you ask? It is when Henry would become linked with the mind of Grey Bat and be able to practice his activities and thoughts and special psychic powers.

Therefore, if Grey Bat could fly, hypothetically could he, all he needed was to learn the mental weavings and knowledge available and able to be obtained so freely.

“Come on, Henry, you can do this!” encouraged Grey Bat relentlessly. “Come on, rise up and above, make the most of this!”

And with Henry’s head steaming, his mind trembling, an exterior of outwardly exacerbated internal thinking,

He exhaled ever so deeply and then with some visual imagery, two feet off the ground he slowly rose, what a triumphant victory!

Grey Bat whooped and hollered for many following days, as they rose and fell into the air as though of flying technique they knew it all, always.

For what a great victory that was to be had, the telepathic measures proved so fresh and rad, perhaps they were the only beings in the land to use such a forthcoming measure, of pertinent knowledge to be shared.

And fly and fly all the days and into the nights they did, for many years, then they introduced their growing families.

All of Henry’s horsey sons and daughters were able to take flight, and how proud their Godfather Grey Bat was to see this, it was so pleasantly nice.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

Return to All Posts


Home

Story example: Brushy the Makeup Brush Makeup Artist – 31/07/19

Brushy the Brush was on a unique path of self discovery.

Brushy was a makeup artist like no other, she liked to provide her customers the ultimate powder. From her kit she would extract a mixture of bronzer and blusher and at that, she would dump her head into them, clean for a second, then rubbing herself excessively into the pigmented colour, she was ready to gently splat. Now saturated with pink and brown, a dusting onto the palette by her hand, then onto their faces for contouring and highlighting together to be had.

One might find it cute, unique, that a makeup artist was an actual makeup brush, but one must take into consideration her prior history, of her struggles which were so very rough. The discrimination toward her at beauty school, the confusion she tolerated from those who were mere fools, they did not understand her dream to be an actual application queen, her dreams she understood and knew she would succeed.  In the best of her situations, in life she would pursue, her dream of contouring faces, using wild makeup colours, lining eyes with fierce cat eye liner, touching up with a dropping of luminescent powder, what say you to her dreams of becoming an ultimate beauty application queen of quiet power?

From her outer world she kept these dreams to herself, secretly, she understood they were not for anyone else, to know or be made privy of just yet, for it was better to appear to coast on autopilot and then in the future surprise everybody with her victory and bests. Besides, she was laughed at often for being a brush, often she’d hear, “Why don’t you stick to your actual life task?” At a comment such as this she would grin reluctantly and grit her teeth, doing her best to keep silent she would walk away and seethe. It was difficult not to react to such ignorant comments made to her when they did not know the facts.  

For, since the age of two she had been practising applying makeup to her dollies, Baby and Boo, and then she progressed to the difficult task of defining her hairy face with contouring colours and adding pretty pastel eye shadow shapes and marks. The day that she finally succeeded at a full face application she wanted to weep with pride, instead she held herself together – as much as a luxurious brush could – and pulled her mother into her bedroom, to view a close up of her face, the victory that was inside.

From the outer appearance, she had shimmering black noir shadings with steel highlights, then gazing deeper into the brush head, she had light, brightened, pink and purple and gold eyes shadow, and silvery cat liner eyes. And finally, the piece de resistance was observing her face highlighted and shaded, creating an illusion of a human shaped oblique face for visual consumption.

Now that she had graduated college, with the highest marks and best portfolio within her year, not only her class, she knew she was now ready to make it on her own, her reputation would grow at last. No longer was she a mere student, absorbing new knowledge each day, she was an actual graduate, with a piece of paper to show for her hard work, over the many months, years and days. And slowly, then quicker, rapidly, more, with the word of mouth spreading throughout the online world of her work, and her special techniques and unique makeup application skills, as well as the novelty factor of being able to provide a full face of beautiful makeup by an object which was meant to only have one role to fill.

All of a sudden, a worried future client arrived hours early, knocking at her door.

“Brushy, Brushy, I need your assistance, please open your door!” Brushy heard the panic in her voice, there was certainly something remiss, she flung open her front door with great gusto and allowed the future client within.

“What is the matter?” she asked. “I wasn’t expecting you for several more hours,”
 and with a saddened face the client explained, “I need a new disguise, from my partner who is running backwards and forwards outside, muttering that I have filled his life with lies.” She went on to explain that the partner was most frantic, and somewhat, perhaps manic and psychotic, for her had been off his medication for two whole weeks, the stabilisers and antipsychotics were required for him to live positively and coherently, without losing his cool at home or on the streets.

“Why don’t you help him?” Brushy asked, aghast. “If you love him, help save him, from his troubling thoughts which might last. Do not run away, but I will help you today, if you alter your plan, and provide assistance to this poor man.”

And so the client agreed to help him, after she would receive the new makeup disguise, for Brushy was skilled at special effects makeup application also, and this meant essentially she was providing her client a new face mask. And then together, once complete, they snuck out onto the streets, quietly and gently approached the man who looked at them deep with fright and prepared to violently scream.

“Honey, honey, it’s me,” she called. “I needed this disguise to come nearer to you. Please, darling, come with me, your doctor or the hospital we need to see.”

Brushy tagged along, to ensure that he received the medical assistance he had likely needed for those two weeks, they must have felt so long, and into care he would go, his medication reinstated, observations in tow. And after a year Brushy heard a frantic knocking on her door again, she flung it open with trepidation and there stood that very man!

“Brushy, I wanted to thank you, for what you did that night,” he said, eyes genuinely glistening with hope and pride. “Sometimes of my medical condition I lose control, and you assisted me to correcting my life. For now I am engaged to my love, your intervention helped us build, become more, cherish our love, and now I look after my health the best I can, always, for now my love and I have a daughter on the way.”

With tears glistening in her one, single eye, Brushy leaped forth and leaned her brushy head on his shoulder and proceeded to cry. It was this moment that she knew, that she had made a true difference in the life of a client, and wasn’t this a great moment of her life truths to be held up and vividly viewed upon, so beautifully brightened?

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

Return to All Posts


Home

Poem and Drawing: The Lying Leader – 31/07/19

The Leader projected his lies on stage, each and every single day.

He stood to attention as he lied,

His disrespectful morning salute,

An utterance of how perfect the world could be,

He never expelled the truth.

Instead he preferred,

To distance himself from truthful Others,

So of his intentions,

He could impress many others.

For the moment of truth for him is,

Obscuring the totality of life,

Pretending as though everything were perfect,

To his followers he did not allow self made opinions or expressions or for them to freely decide.

What was he the leader of?

Is it really that relevant to know of? Because,

In every little corner of the world,

There lurked a tongue twisting liar with a serpent sharp tongue wrapped around a perfectly formed pearl.

Sometimes in life we need to hear an untruth,

To bolster our confidence,

To allow us a positive view,

Of ourselves we sometimes must also tell a lie,

But what does silence mean when it permeates the atmospheric skies?

I do not take forced silences well,

They are simply a lie of omission,

What can we expect from a leader who continually lies to the world and himself,

A positive predeliction.

And so this type of world leader regresses slightly then presses forth,

Creating understanding of the realm of his projected world,

His followers blindly scurry behind him, eating up his words,

Like desperate field mice they are within his neck of the convoluted woods.

What does it take to silence an untruth?

What will it take to cause a firmer view?

Of correct understanding, a positive landing,

Into a land of genuine nature and a solid knowledge to share.

For this liar’s land was far too serious,

I could hear a grumbling now in the crowd,

The people had begun to suspect and know some more, not enough,

But of the truth they must now know.

A roar above the previous silence,

A devilish wave of due diligence,

And away were his followers, from him they escaped,

Into the land of the freer world, where they could think openly and be able to contemplate.

We don’t take to liars kindly,

We are glad this leader has now gone,

Been overthrown in the pursuit of true knowledge,

The new world has been known to become.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

Return to All Posts


Home