Our souls sit close and silently within,
And their own webs from their own entrails spin;
And when eyes meet far off, our sense is such,
That, spider-like, we feel the tenderest touch
(John Dryden)
The artist is a receptacle for the emotions that come from all over the place: from the sky, from the earth, from a scrap of paper, from a passing shape, from a spider's web (Pablo Picasso)
Oh what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practice to deceive
(Sir Walter Scott)
The other night as I climbed into bed, I looked up and noticed a large spider on the picture on the wall opposite me. I tried to ignore him but he kept looking at me with his compound eyes and tapping one of his legs at me. So I got up and called to Kyle to help me! He said he couldn’t come right then. I bravely picked the picture from the wall. It didn’t quite work out like that.
The spider zipped out a web strand and quickly lowered himself to the floor, ran over my foot and along the wall to the other side of the room. I may have let out a little squeak… He sat looking at me from the skirting board. I sat on the bed and called to Kyle in a pathetic little voice. He didn’t respond. I tried reading my book whilst ignoring Spinney, but it is quite disconcerting trying to concentrate with that many eyes staring at you. Spinney was also muttering something about being patient and coming across to the bed once I was asleep…
Eventually I switched off the light to go to sleep. Kyle came in a bit later and said, where’s the spider? I flicked on the light and said, yes! He’s here, please take him away. But Spinney had gone. Where was he? He probably did crawl all over my face whilst I was asleep dreaming that I was driving my sports car with the wind whipping my long hair in my face…
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