disciples

I don't expect perfection from my heroes. Memorable anecdotes dishevelled hair, a rebellious streak, simple things are enough. Half remembered anecdotes, snatches and fragments are what remain to build upon. Almost heroic footballers become intertwined with and in my mind indistinguishable from the saints and apostles of childhood. Bubble gum cards and Sunday School lessons jostle with one another, lines are blurred and paint is endlessly layered. Old postcards and digital billboards are as influential as Elizabeth Frink while paper dolls hover in the background. These all too human disciples speak of loss and time passing, of frailty written large and a kind of fleeting unbelieved-in immortality.