The Butterfly

I showed this painting to a friend and he just said glumly, “Why has she got a massive arse and no knockers.” (Art is just lost of some people.) Her bum is jutting out as she’s bending slightly to get a good look at the butterfly.

As you can see from the photos I painted a box in the top left corner. It was going to be a sign then a window but I decided to scrape it out; I thought was painting was busy enough.

I’ve never had a butterfly land on me except for a fleeting half-second but in we were visiting St Martins in 2011 and visited a butterfly farm. The tour guide (an Englishman who had the look of Status Quo’s Rick Parfitt look about him) said if we rubbed orange juice on our skin the butterflies would be attracted to the sugar. I dabbed a bit on my finger and a butterfly soon hopped onto my finger. I examined its beauty as it occasionally flapped its tissue-thin wings in glee.

I tried some rum at the butterfly farm. It’s the first time I have tasted it. I’m a bit behind time times; I haven’t watched “ET” yet or grown a mullet.