21. the jacket

August 3, 2013

As a non-impressionist illustrator I was, in deference to verisimilitude, all the time aware that I needed to mix some black into my pictures, whether for shadows, road surfaces or, above all, clothing. I don’t know about Hawaii or Rio, but certainly New York, London, Paree crowds—notwithstanding the occasional flash of a primary—are drab. So, in a city or subwayscape, you tone everything down to make it look ‘real’. Sad, ain’t it. Especially considering that about a third of the million colours on offer to the human eye—lots, anyway—are doable on fabrics these days. Even if we stick to only the environmentally friendlys.
So then, day before yesterday, I walk past a shop and, twenty paces later, have to walk back again. There’s this yellow-more-than-orange jacket in the window calling my name. I am one of those blokes who can’t buy a shirt or a pair of socks just because I need them, I buy strictly on impulse.
I resisted the jacket. Until yesterday. In fact I’d forgotten it, but passing by the shop again, the siren beckoned. I didn’t need it, I couldn’t afford it, so I did my usual thing: before going in, I decided how much it was worth to own it (try this, it works). I will not be coy, I despise coy, I decided on $200 or—I no buy!
Ah’d got me a bargain!
Will I wear it? I am determined, but, you know, there are powerful inhibitions, crap carried around since I started listening to people. I am an exhibitionist, but a coy one (yup). So if you see this jacket screaming at you from a crowd, you’ll know it and me are both out of the closet.


5 Responses to “21. the jacket”

  1. Jeff Higgott Says:

    I think a photo of you modelling it is called for Harry. And wear it next time you visit Sunny Suffolk.

  2. Andy Robin Says:

    Love the pockets.

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