LISCIOUS
by Catherine Smith (Oxford)
Through the blur of a white sheet at the window, spring light feels its way in. Step out of the twenty-first century, back, back, back; fat gold cherubs prop up tables, chandeliers dazzle; an Edwardian chaise-longue begs us to take the time to lie on it.
It’s a magical process, says Fran, who conjures worlds from artefacts the past offers up. She likes to rescue what’s been discarded, restore its essence, its charm; make it shine again. Look, these tiny leather shoes; a picnic hamper, everything strapped in.
Walls here are stripped - old plaster’s revealed, like bruises under skin. She likes to bring the hidden into view. The beauty’s in the imperfections. Three empty jars huddle like forgotten Saints. A serene Buddha with 14 arms smiles at us in candle-light.
She loved the old movies, with the ballroom scenes; and why not have that luscious beauty, every day? Mirrors which have captured faces from 200 years ago stare back at us; all those trapped ghosts, watching us as we try to see behind the glass.

