JOHN REID

​Frames

Rocking here on my chair by the window I watch her, just above the fir tree I like in her garden, she’s naked, not naked but nearly, she’s not yet naked but nearly but she will be at some point, here on my rocking chair by the window, sitting here waiting for some point I wonder, how do I capture it, how do I stop it, how do I that when everything moves?

Well, painting Marie is easy when it was easy that was easy now

it’s made altogether at once more challenging far-off difficult when everything grinds to a

other words nothing moves, paints merge together THAT’S THE impeded made altogether at once more challenging far-off difficult when Marie dies now Marie’s dead you

‘130 mph,’ I say. Marie says nothing. I sip my wine. ‘A bloody reckless speed to be driving, Marie.’ Marie says nothing. I sip my wine on the smaller sofa in my new apartment. Everyone wants my paintings but there’s nothing I can do about it. The cling film behind me is wrapped too tightly. When I wrapped the cling film I wrapped it too tightly. ‘My face is that repulsive?’ Marie says

everyone wants my paintings but there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m facing Final Portrait. I sip my wine from the smaller sofa in my new apartment. The new sofas smell of PVA glue. ‘We sold out last night,’ I say. ‘Every single one.’ Marie says nothing. The phone rings again. I check the time. It’s 4pm. That’s another thing I’ve started doing I’ve started

nowadays the phone never stops ringing. The voice on the phone would be thrilled to have more from me. ‘The moment it’s ready,’ they say. ‘Will do,’ I say. ‘And,’ they say, ‘may I just personally

I leave the phone on the peninsula and cross my new apartment to sit down. I sit down on the smaller sofa. ‘Look at all this white grey Mars Black PBk11 surface space look at all this galaxy granite look at all this electric hob look at all

the coffee table between us is bare apart from the TV remote and the ashtray. My easel and chair are behind me over there. ‘What were you thinking?’ Marie says nothing. My wine rests on my knee. It’s from the Province of Treviso. ‘That was rhetorical by the way.’ Marie

Final Portrait, I’ve named it, very original. I told Bill not to glass this one, I don’t know why. He stared at me when I came to pick it up, my framer Bill, he looks like a Viking. ‘You all right?’ ‘I’m okay.’ ‘Good.’ Then he grinned. ‘Bit different, this one, eh?’ Bill has started grinning more often recently. ‘Whereabouts

Bill asked me whereabouts I was planning on selling it but here you hang in my new apartment. It’s opposite the smaller sofa. I check my watch. 9.35pm. My easel and chair are just over there. My easel and chair are just over there and I’m meant to have – amendment – I sip my wine. I sip my wine and sit here staring from the smaller sofa at between the frame, staring into the midst of all that

– amendment – the coffee table is bare apart from the TV remote and the ashtray, but also the wine bottle and a packet of biscuits and a selection of

everyone wants

to sell it yet but I didn’t. I stood over it in my old place when I’d finished, it’d taken a week. I still hadn’t replaced the lampshade so the bare bulb overhead was bleaching the living room, my hands and face and hair covered in chemicals and sweat. I wasn’t wearing my apron. I wasn’t wearing anything. I stood there, panting.

I sit here, staring. The cling film is wrapped too

at Final Portrait and

L-shaped while the other is simply

in the midst of all that chaos I stub my cigarette and I think: something isn’t right. I set down my wine cover my face with my hands and now the coffee table is bare apart from – amendment – I set down my wine cover my face with my hands and stare through my fingers at Final Portrait.

I think that’s what it is. That’s what’s wrong with this whole thing, that whole reckless speed. There’s

something missing from Final Portrait more is needed but what it’s unlike the others so messy so mute so physical could it be that it’s too messy too sprawling too splintered too ragged too swarming too physical/bloody/difficult could it work without the mistakes deficiencies globs patches warring optics portions proportions infelicities but ‘NO’ I say underneath I remember what’s there and that’s what’s there, bodily fluids and fingernail greens and smudges of Phthalo Turquoise PB16 Burnt Sienna vertebrae prints swollen reds

and I am staring through my fingers thinking back, back to when I first saw her, saw her, saw her, because I’d seen her before but back to when I was bare chested four years ago in March

‘Do you remember when I was bare chested four years ago in March?’

to when I hadn’t seen anything living in my old apartment on our street for one year but that morning the phone wasn’t ringing and I was bare-chested because I was ironing my shirt, I’d just set down my coffee to iron my shirt, my easel was still in the bedroom, my coffee was set down and my easel was still in the bedroom gathering dust because nothing was selling apart from my

wait fetch the radio fetch the old splattered radio plug it in turn the switch twist the dial there’s a song on a guitar it’s gradually getting slower, slower that’s better I twist the dial back a little just a little but I

the radio was playing throughout when everything

Nothing is – amendment – nothing was selling apart from my car my trusty old Punto so I had an interview at Morris Western Security Solutions: Your Security, Our Priority, I’d already planned what I was going to say, ’... admire what ...... hope ..., unrivalled ..., give me ... job’, but I never made it to the interview because that morning was the first morning of ironing in the living room standing at such an angle, standing at such an angle being my only option, it was my only option to iron in the living room standing at such an angle for my interview that morning because that was the only room in the apartment with adequate space for an ironing board

not like this

not like the houses across the road which would have room enough for an ironing board in every room not that I cared much about the other side of the road AT THAT MOMENT IN TIME but there in the grey block building on my side of the road there was only room for ironing boards in the living rooms. It was sunny and breezy, so people had washing out the windows on my

– amendment – it was sunny and breezy, so the fir tree satisfied me immensely that day, satisfied me because when it was sunny and breezy and I squinted my eyes the fir tree melted into a rippling, pulsing, breathing mass of four or five greens that pleased me more than the many individual branches twitching jerkily, twitching jerkily like that when in focus, jerkily twitching like individual branches in a tree, but not that day, when I squinted my eyes and the tree came to life, that day I liked it a lot. I turned the sleeve over for my interview at Morris Western Security Solutions: Your Security, Our Priority and when I raised my eyes I saw movement in your window, I was blamelessly drawn to the movement in your window. I focused my eyes. It was you. You were walking across your room with a cream towel around your head. You were walking slowly across your room with a Naples Yellow Light PBr24 towel around your head, and a white one around your body. You reached

chord sounds fuck off a chord sounds

chord sounds on my laptop on the larger sofa I’ve got an email I look at the screen. J. Kiran Gallery Rose (I don’t know) – Follow Up Congrats on exhibition other night (I don’t know), Paula was there (I don’t know) and said... (I don’t know). Just wondering when we can expect to receive more more 

more I reach over slam the lid

?’ Marie says nothing. I turn to look over my shoulder. My easel and chair are in the glass corner over there. My easel and chair are in the glass corner over there forlorn and ornamental I’m meant to

The palette sits on the stand. The cling film on the palette on the sheet of newspaper on the stand is wrapped too tightly the knives and the 170g jar of what used to be low fat horseradish sauce is no longer on fire it’s hard when you’re not

painting is

‘Forlorn and ornamental?’ I ask. Marie says nothing. I sip my wine, check the time. ‘Time for bed

shit yes you

were facing the bed, even from my ironing board I could see that your golden skin was glistening with gold your back was still wet with droplets the sheen coming from your metal skin still wet from the shower, that little opaque window beside your bedroom window you just came from there, of course, you have an en suite. For a moment facing the bed you stood there doing nothing but facing the bed and then you turned around and started moving towards the window, even your face was dripping with gold, you reached up a hand to shield your eyes from the glare as you moved towards me, towards the window, my window, towards

I looked away, pulling the shirt taught over the board to iron the collar.

notions of you already, quite vague, vaguely mid-forties, vaguely nestled somewhere in or around mid-forties, vaguely nestled somewhere in or around sandstone over the road, white jeans, tennis racquet, blonde cut quite short, naturally darker? Don’t know. Sometimes driving kids to school, BMW? I went on tip toes. BMW on sandstone drive, beige leather, two dogs, same breed, what breed, can’t remember. Man? Been a while. Name? Name?

by the name of MaryMarieMaggieCassandraAlisonCla

‘You posed for me for four years but didn’t tell me your name?’ Marie says nothing. ‘Didn’t tell me

nothing about you so far on the radio I don’t know if it’s big enough news when right now there’s protestors in Venezuela or Chile or actually Hong Kong, ‘the movement has had its first martyr,’ I twist the dial, a man has fallen to his death trying to climb a building so as to unfurl a banner for the cause and he has become the movement’s first martyr, the radio is a great thing it really is the radio was playing throughout, the radio is a great thing because it doesn’t wear out my eyes and the radio is a great thing because it bends around

looking at Final Portrait thinking back. ‘What do you say, Marie? Do you think that man was really a martyr? If he didn’t mean to die, if it wasn’t intentional? I would say that hardly makes him

lifted my gaze and the right-hand curtain was closed already, from where I was standing the right-hand curtain was closed already and you were halfway to closing the other one. You were reaching out your hand to close the other one, reaching out and I could see the white towel around your body was starting to slip, it was about to reveal your right breast, left from
where I was standing, and I was fully expecting your nipple to be Terra Rosa brown, judging by the golden tone of your skin I was fully expecting your nipple to be Terra Rosa brown, I’d prepared myself I was ready but then the curtain closed and you were

so early, looking at the sky it was so early I could tell, I understood. There could have been anyone walking down the street you didn’t want to show yourself to just anyone, students, commuters, traffic wardens, the mailman, the milkman, the fishman in his van with the horn like a war cry that occasionally delivered fish to your

​‘130mph, Marie. Just because I made

alluring pose, you have to admit, and with you so alone for four years alone with your husband having left you for that trainee nurse

and when your husband left you for that position in oil

and when your husband died of leukemia

the phone

the phone rings again I rest my cigarette in the groove and run across my ridiculous new apartment to the peninsula, the apartment that I can afford because of her and her exposure of herself to me, her nipples and such, which I thought would be brown, ‘Do you remember Marie?’ I thought they’d be PR101 not NR9, judging by the tone of your skin, judging by the
tint of your flesh I now live in the apartment with room for ‘Yes, hello?’ I would say ‘Mr Who?’ at a push ‘Exhibition where?’ eighteen or nineteen ‘Let me call you back’ ironing boards. I head back over

apart from the expected objects. The coffee table is bare apart from the expected objects and a selection of newspapers. ‘You’ve been criticized, you know, briefly, soberly, in TheTimes, The Herald, TheGuardian, among others, I’ll read you some ... tragic ... whilst ... condone ... children

another glass. ‘It’s outlasted you.’ Marie says nothing. I suppose that’s normal. ‘I suppose that’s normal it’s outlasted you, Final Portrait, I mean, it would be unusual for it to be otherwise.’ Marie says nothing. ‘They were asking after

in the gallery I was told I had to be there last night in the gallery I was cornered by a group of

‘Do you ever wonder if people

here’s what I do – amendment – did, leave it to dry and start another, a blocky first layer it’s just so easy, then another, dry refreshed in about 72 hours covering everything, ironing board, gas cooker, bedside table, floor, desk, both shelves in the oven, mangy old sofa, just any surface space cover it all with boards of various stages and sizes of you I’m speaking, fuck, I’m speaking, what am I saying, ‘Not always discernible but she’s there and it’s all they can see, meaning you, EXACTLY what I saw, EXACTLY what I wrestled with and it will gnaw at them, meaning you, believe me, the questions will–’ I breathe. Strange faces are circled around me, I’m wringing my hands, I swallow my entire throat the gallery is silent the sold out anyway it doesn’t matter you’re in a few more houses now I’ve taken you all over do you appreciate Marie that I’ve taken you all over the

curtain closed I shivered bare-chested and started buttoning up my shirt then I looked again, why not, I thought, but I saw nothing, and I knew I wasn’t going to go get the job at Morris Western Security Solutions: Your Security, Our Priority, though at the same time I needed money desperately if I intended to continue living in my snug and cozy old apartment with its view of the fir tree and the window above which I have to say very much

But all I needed, and I knew this, was supplies. I used my creaseless shirt and headed to the train, and then onwards to the art boutique, and there in my creaseless shirt I was changed or I don’t know, visible, I think I was visible at least, the conductor was ‘tickets please’ looking at me visibly someone stood on my shoe someone breathed in my mouth someone closed the window knocked my earphones out which was okay, because I was I wouldn’t say assured of myself but Christ, I don’t know, less envious of others, not too mistakable or at least not a mile away from a parent or a plumber landscape marine architect biologist or a

minded the gap when alighting from the train my footsteps audible on the

and when it’s dry I can touch her with my fingers, in a way, feel the textures, the ridges, run my cheek against the grain, and she stops being one thing and starts being another, now it’s Sunday morning so it’s tennis with Daisy and your mum’s just pulled up in her Nissan Micra (she’ll be tending the garden when you’re out did you know?), and also Adam was crying when he walked in from football I forgot to mention I think it was Wednesday

okay? Did you ever find out if he was okay

when that happens to me. I look around. It’s so high up here. It’s so high up here it’s like being underwater if I try I can hear some sirens faintly. I eat a biscuit masturbate my easel and chair are just over there. My easel and chair are

that first night when I got home from the boutique I moved my easel from my bedroom to the living room when I got home from spending all I had it was the first thing I did. I moved my easel to just beside the living room window or rather the first thing I did was go to the living room window to see what I could see and then I went to fetch my easel and the stool I had been using but didn’t much like because it grieved what I deduced to be my sacroiliac joints. I fetched a sponge and filled a bowl with soapy water and washed the grubby on the inside living room window then I turned on the radio and waited, and waited, and started indulging in fantasies involving me, and a new chair, one of those strange rocking ones that keeps your back straight, like a motorbike minus handlebars, sort of, and minus metal, plus wood, although

the radio was always on, I liked hearing about who was stuck on the desert island I liked hearing about who was getting lucky that week with the weather I

finally it got dark

the only light in my living room was coming from the TV. I’d switched from the radio to the TV but had been dragged upwards towards the radio channels so I was watching the radio on the TV, I hadn’t moved for hours to turn on a lamp so the only light in my living room was coming from the radio on the TV and the streetlamps outside. Your curtains were closed. Your curtains were closed but you were home you’d returned from work a while ago I’d decided already you were a partner of something, your downstairs lights had been on and now they were off and now the other upstairs window light was off, one of your kids, Annabelle, presumably, judging by the PV23 wallpaper, but from that angle I’d never been able to


bedroom light went on so I turned down the radio on the TV. The lining around your window frame was slightly golden, your bathroom light went on and the little opaque window remained lit for a few minutes then went off again, you must have brushed your teeth, flossed maybe, had a pee, it felt real. I turned off the TV and moved to the uncomfortable stool, the board I’d set dimly lit by the streetlamps. Another minute passed. Another minute passed and I expected to expect that your bedroom light would soon be switched off but I didn’t expect that, instead I expected what happened to happen, at last

partly drew one of the curtains, left from where I was standing and then you stepped back and stood underneath the light. You were in a cardigan and jeans and holding a glass of what seemed to be water

called the first one The Woman in the Window, very original. It was the first time a person was involved on my board there had never been a person involved before but there you were as I lived and breathed in your

took a sip, then you took a step forward and placed the glass on the windowsill then you took a step back again and took off your cardigan and it fell to your floor, so you were wearing a dark top then you took off your dark top and it fell to the floor, I could hear it land and arrange itself in a perfectly crumpled pile that I couldn’t see but was there. And now you were wearing a bra, and you stood there in your black bra looking out on to the empty street late at night and then you took off your bra and held it in your hand and with the other you picked up your water and stood for I don’t know how long. You were still wearing your jeans. You looked younger than that morning, maybe forty not forty-five, and your breasts seemed smaller than when they were wrapped in the towel, and your nipples were not as dark as I was expecting, they were quite a light shade of pink, quinacridone red and titanium white or rose madder genuine, yes, in the light that night, I could see from your brightly lit room that your nipples were rose madder genuine. I made a start in the orange glow of the

so it began

‘That was the first time.’ Marie says nothing. ‘You remember. A cardigan a dark top a black bra a glass of water you remember.’ I sip my wine, light a cigarette. I sip my wine from the smaller sofa in my new

lighter lit my cigarettes but that’s not all it was for. The lighter was for my cigarettes the lighter was for my joints the lighter was for my boards before you the lighter was to encourage the temperamental left burner on the crusty hob to show the Prussian blue PB27 the lighter had four main functions, and sometimes the lighter lit incense in my old

Off the record, did you use some sort of subtle fake tan, a lotion perhaps? Off the record. I’m thinking about the shade of your nipples. But then why would that lotion not affect the colour of your nipples accordingly? Make them as dark as it made

first exhibition and the gallery owner has too few wrinkles enormous lips and

while I’m the slender figure in the background smiling and nodding aggressively, ‘Show me an artist with turpentine and I’ll show you an artist with thin thin

first cheque came I choose to invest it I choose an Original Ergonomic Cushion Pad Design Thickened Sponge Non-Adjustable Kneeling Office Lumbar Home Furniture Orthopaedic Rocking Wooden Posture Chair Black (Linen and Cotton)

and occasionally she smoked a thin cigarette in a bone and Alizarin PR83 kimono and occasionally she held up a tiny silver mirror and occasionally

the street was so dark I could see nothing but her as I rocked on my

Weimaraner, that’s the breed! I remember because your Adam’s locked himself out with the dogs again, look at the size of him, he must be taller than you now, when will

that boy learn?’ Marie says nothing. I sip my wine. I stub my cigarette. ‘I realise, Marie, that you haven’t said anything for a while. Do you think it’s time we talk about why you were driving so

last week, last month I don’t know

‘We should talk about it. And if we do then maybe

One night recently as I sat in the dark the streetlamps gave off no glare she stood in the window naked gazing out, down the street her nipples her pubic hair dressing gown on the bed she was holding a glass of gin, it was definitely gin and you walk to the bed, you’re naked, you’re gold, your back, your buttocks, your legs, you’re naked supple perfect you turn your head over your shoulder and as always I

but then a minute in you crashed into a

but then a minute in, an hour in, I notice something. Her head is over her shoulder and she’s looking at what, she’s looking out the window still looking but what is it this time, this time, this time is she looking at me? She’s quite far away but is that a

hand beckoning you’re probably just modelling for the

but you’re still looking and that’s unusual is that your

I don’t know what I was doing. From my rocking chair I stood up but I forgot my ashtray was on my lap it crashed to the floor smashed I ran to the light turned it on ‘what the fuck was that’ someone shouted looked over to your window I was standing beneath the light,
breathing heavily, and you looked at me, for the first time you looked at me covered in paint and my easel you stood and you ran

looked terrified I made a mistake needed the light off jumped up tried to smash the bulb with the knife broke the shade only lit myself further looked up, you had run to the curtains, the curtains were drawn, the lights were off, the curtains remained drawn, the lights remained

but then your door opened, it flies open, you run out your door you get in your car you screech away and now look, you’ve been criticised in The Times, The Herald, The Guardian, among others, I’ll read you some ... tragic ... whilst ... condone ... children ... etc ... etc ... etc ... etc

This is important. Final Portrait I named it, very original. I found it on top of my old wardrobe where

originally had you standing in a forest of fir trees, earth tilted to autumn, filtered dappled light the colour of sap (PY42/43), you’re standing there between two and it’s accurate, about 30m, 40m, with the precise look of the light misses you forming pools on the needles in the foreground. Your dressing gown is coiled in a pool among the needles – amendment – you are clutching your dressing gown closely around you, your bare feet are on a carpet of needles, you are holding

but it was too easy too clean articulate in its

so what I did was this. I moved the mangy old sofa with the busted spring turned off the radio put the board on a sheet took off my apron took off my clothes still hadn’t replaced the lampshade lay down panting and started

paints merge together chemicals and sweat it took me a week and now

I sit here, staring, like a frozen man or a model. ‘Something’s missing. Something’s missing with you

whereas me, on I soldier bravely – amendment – I soldier bravely on – amendment – bravely, I soldier on, sip my wine, tap my cigarette, stare at I from the smaller sofa.

Copyright © October 2021 John Reid

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John Reid is a recent graduate of Edinburgh University’s writing program. His work has been featured in numerous anthologies around the UK, with his fiction being awarded the George Bruce Memorial Prize and his poetry shortlisted for the Streetcar Experimental Writing Prize. He is a co-founder of Blackwater Press, an independent publisher of fiction and non-fiction.