Right. I'm starting to have an uncomfortable feeling in my tummy. Let me explain.
Paul's younger brother. Before we went to live in Melbourne, he was a good pal of ours. We saw him a lot, loads of talking, smoking, political chat, music, spoken word. He made music - I remember going to see him play at 13th Note place in Glasgow.
In 2004 I wanted to paint him. I'd just bought a human clinical atlas and wanted to paint what's under the skin as well as on the surface. While I was doing this I was listening to Blood Sugar Sex Magik, The Chillis and reading Antony Kiedis's book Scar Tissue. There's no question in my mind that these three mediums came together to influence each other. Whenever I see my portrait of him I hear that album.
OK. He decided to come and visit us, booked his flight and he was looking forward to it. At Christmas 2008. He came just after I'd been released from hospital after my TBI. When I think back I can hardly remember him being there. We were all living together, myself and Paul, my parents and him.
I recall Paul telling me that there are parts from that time that he will never tell me. Given what happened to Paul all the way through, I totally accept that. I know that Paul's brother did not get on well with my mother. But that is all I know...
Anyway. Paul, Jack and myself are going to visit him this weekend. None of us have seen him since his marriage in 2010 to my friend Marianna, with whom he has now divorced. Jack of course has never met his uncle.
I basically haven't seen him since my TBI was fresh and new. I know perfectly well that I was dazed, simple, tired, monosyllabic and not great company. What will he make of me now? I'm very different. I think things through. I enjoy talking. I look at the world very differently. I'm creative.
But I'm not going to go and make that point to him. I'll just be myself and give him the space and time to make his own decision about who I am and how I live my life. From my point of view it'd be nice to know him again.
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