Today at The Yellow Café
Well now, this is a misty morning if ever there was one. It’s hanging over the lake like dry ice at a rock concert. If you listen carefully you can hear the ducks complaining that they can’t see where they are going. That’s ok, we all know what ducks look like anyway, they’re safe from harm and that’s all that matters. No shotguns or irate farmers at The Yellow Café. Just look at that mist. It will lift soon as another day is unveiled so it’s worth taking the time out to observe its splendour. Mist seems grey at a first glance, but Mother Nature has been far more subtle than that. There are tinges of violet and white streaks as it lays across the lake like a blanket. You must take the time to take a second glance.
The mist has caused a dampness in the air this morning that makes our barn conversion creak as the sun rises and its timbers dry out. They remind me of an old man’s creaking bones as he climbs from his bed first thing in the morning, groaning and moaning as he makes his way to his first bladder-emptying of the day. If only this barn could talk. Before we renovated the place it was nothing more than a relic of the past, a building where farmers went about their crafted duties. I love to use some of those colours of the past in my digital art pieces. Don’t forget the air, even the country air, was filled with smoke from chimneys, fires, men smoking pipes and the black lines of smoke elevating from the village forge when the blacksmith was hard at work. I sense they didn’t need misty mornings like today because they probably made their own. Their air was filled with industrial toil, both rural and urban. To prove my point put a L.S. Lowry factory scene in your head and compare it to the vivid purity of our guest artist today; Graham Evans.
You see the difference because it is so apparent. Maybe the good old days weren’t quite as good as they are made out to be. The artists starved, the poets did too, and wouldn’t it be wonderful if they could see what you are seeing today? The splendour of creativity and freedom, things that very few of them were able to experience in their own lifetimes. I don’t believe there is a painter who ever picked up a brush who wouldn’t give anything to be sitting next to us at a Yellow Café table.
As you enjoy the music all around us and ponder on how many songwriters of centuries ago are still remembered. None. Take our featured artist today, Madeline Kenney, how lucky are we to share their musical skills? Years ago they would have been nothing more than troubadours wandering around singing to drunken toffs chewing on chicken bones at a grand feast with a lady of leisure on their knee. Maybe that’s how The Yellow Café would have been all those years ago and although we can but admire some of those traits it’s refreshing to know we can give an attentive audience to a singer who deserves such undivided attention.
I must run this new novel by you as I know you will love it. One of the things we are proud of at The Yellow Café is bringing not just singers and painters to the attention of our customers but also up and coming authors whose words, in our opinion, stand proudly alongside the great writers of notoriety.
Well, the mist has cleared and so has my aching head, my own fault but it has cleared just the same. It’s time to sit and enjoy the rest of the day and I’m more than delighted you came along to share some time with me. There’s art and the wall and music in the air so just hang around as long as you choose. The Yellow Café never closes. It’s in your head whenever you choose to open the barn door and walk in.