Can it really be possible? I feel like the guy in that film.
The time machine.
The man who sits in the magic chair, selects a date and whooshes forward.
Or backwards.
Hurtling into a time zone scenario of impressive strangeness.
Right now I am expecting flying cars zinging past my window.
Sleekly.
A sublime post-capitalist utopia awaits. Or possibly not. Maybe a hellish dystopia? With giant laboratory-bred insects keeping order.
I just can’t tell.
I think it’s best to keep on painting. I will try to produce something fit to go on a wall somewhere.
If I get stuck, which so often happens, I’ll draw.
Pencil on paper – sitting in my magic chair.