Sunday, June 11, 2006

The perfect eerie painting

It's been two weeks now and the fog hasn't totally lifted from Melbourne skies. Constantly it hangs low over the freeway, in the valleys or over the bay like a cold blanket. Everyone seems to be talking about its presence. Everyone is wondering why it's there and when it will leave us.

I find myself, this weekend, at a restaurant overlooking a beachside view of grey skies, over a blanket of grey fog, over grey still water. Absolutely. Still. Water. The scene is so unmoving that it looks like it's been painted. The background colours blend into eachother so well you can't even tell where the sea meets the sky - there is no horizon, just an expanse of grey/blue that meets and dissapears into the distance. I can hardly contain my mesmerised state, even with the excited chatter around me. It's like one of my dreams - a recurring one:

I'm standing on the shore of a fake beach - I know it's fake because the sand is a little too perfect and the sea is an expanse of still water - the skies are an even tone. It looks like a painting with people moving around in it. I am surrounded by people, children mostly and everything points to it being a happy time, except that it isn't for me. There is a silken eerie feeling about the place - like it's dead from the inside out - which of course it is. I feel it, but the other visitors to it's shores do not. Blissfully they play unawares, while I, stand sullen looking at the water with an ominous feeling hanging around my shoulders. I always wake before something horrible happens, but I always know it's around the corner.

And there it is before me, the scene: The perfect eerie painting.
Something's not right.