Duffy: A Little Soul in the Studio
The composition and narrative had been several months of thought processing to get to this point, whereby the cat was central to everything on the canvas – poised between the past and the future, she represented the here and now, and the painter’s sharp, if sudden awareness that nothing stays the same forever.
With a deep and slow intake of breath, she stood back from the easel and narrowed her eyes at the work, as if to get a better perspective. To the right, above an array of tacky paint tubes and well used brushes, several observations of the tuxedo cat were displayed against a paint-splattered wall.
Her attention lapsed recalling the first day that Duffy had arrived over fourteen years ago, as a small ball of fluff, weaned too soon and handed over at the door step, with half a box of dried cat food.
For a long time, the new owner had considered the privileged prospect of owning a cat. The dilemma of living near a busy road versus the possibility of providing indoor-only housing and likelihood of expensive vets bills, had swished around her head.
“… it was a long overdue conclusion to the emptiness of living cat-free for nearly two decades… “
Whilst this had not been a decision that she had taken lightly, it was a long overdue conclusion to the emptiness of living cat-free for nearly two decades, reinforced by persistent pester power from teenage children.
And so, life with Duffy and the artist began. A commitment to the most tender, yet resilient soul ever to enter the house and shimmy her slight frame across the patio.
A Cat with a Character All Her Own
As with precious pieces found in a bone china shop, Duffy fitted into the cat-egory of “Look but don’t touch!” She had an enviable fluffy coat of pure velvet known only to the selected and genuine cat-loving few who managed to gain contact and trust.
“There would be no responding to fancy gadgets and toys, let alone demands of posing for the camera.”
Cats tend to set the household rules per personality, as the new owner would soon find out. This tiny sensitive dot was not a performing Tiktok cat. There would be no responding to fancy gadgets and toys, let alone demands of posing for the camera. She knew her physical boundaries, never straying beyond them and she knew the sound of the fridge door opening from the bottom of the garden!
A cat with beautiful markings, she was admired not least by the artist but attracted the attention of many unwanted feline suitors. Duffy was scared of everything that moved…other cats, dogs, unfamiliar adults and road traffic (the latter being a trick for longevity) but she was seriously wired to fear the very sight of other cats.
“This feline and human, with all their quirky ways, coexisted in gentle unison with mutual respect.”
Often this resulted in a right racket by the back door, combined with her coming through the cat flap sideways at high speed! This was on a par with some crazy scene from Tom and Jerry, and followed by the sound of urgent skidding across the studio floor!
The Artist had met her match. Indeed there were times when the cat’s emotional state and display of anxiety – always being on high alert, were a mirror image of her own health journey. This feline and human, with all their quirky ways, coexisted in gentle unison with mutual respect. And, with a few required visits to the vets,warmth and food, the cat’s needs were fully met.
Art, Anxiety and the Beauty of Everyday Moments
Life revolved around feeding times, grooming – when permitted, observing/ painting Duffy in the studio and time together outside. The little cat, never far away, seeking out her trusted adult to keep those unwanted toms at bay – reminiscent of the child who clings to the sleeve of a lunchtime supervisor on a busy playground?
“The artist had lucked out… “
“Puss” made a stunning model for painting, conveniently heading for pools of sunlight, which showed warm reds and purples in black fur and yellows and lilacs in white.
Like all cats, she lived with the rhythm of shifting sunlight on cold winter days, moving to shady bushes when the heat was too much in summer and she’d earth herself to hard baked ground in the most hidden spots of the garden.
Here though, on the studio wall, observational paintings flowed with the cat setting the scene, stretching out, curling up, forming shapes and casting shadows to flex the artist’s skill and imagination.
Positioning her lean black and white body amongst contrasting petunias on the patio or beneath the starkness of the Ceanothus, much to the artist’s delight. There were magical moments of watching in awe as the writhe little creature always returned to the safety of the studio, pitting herself against wind and rain or bunny hopping through deep snow.
The artist stood motionless, as if to savour the pureness of this moment of togetherness, against the soft background of gentle rainfall on the flat roof above and the distant whir of the neighbour’s washing machine.
By the warmth of the studio radiator, the aging cat stirred briefly on her chosen chair of the week, only to bury her nose deeper into the comfort of her well-plumed tail and resume her all important nap.
We don’t get to keep these precious souls forever.
“The artist knew that.”
*Author’s after thought.
Cats – they put us in the moment with their very presence as we idle away time to their touch and demands – it’s such a privilege to have them.
When Loss Takes Away Your Purpose
I have been living with a rare chronic pain condition for 8 years which has affected my mobility, work and consequently my mental health too.
Pre illness, the identity that I had was strongly based around the free endorphins that you get from walking in wild places, climbing mountains and dancing.
“… in my adult life, I would own a cat and make space for an art studio.”
If I were to strip my values right back to childhood (I believe these are the real “us”, and god knows therapy will make you dig deep to find them!) then those would be in there with being outdoors, creativity and cats. One of my earliest preschool memories is of desperately trying to catch a beautiful tortoiseshell feral kitten and that becoming an absolute need.
So, it is probably no surprise that in my adult life, I would own a cat and make space for an art studio. A love for writing is a surprise though, as I hated reading as a child.
Keeping Duffy’s Memory Alive
The thing with pets, as we all know, is that we don’t have them for life and the grief of losing them is beyond all measure. When my cat passed away from old age at the start of the year, I lost my purpose to get up in the morning. I am still struggling with that and at some point, I will commit to fostering for a cat rescue.
“… her character and our connection together.”
In the early days and weeks following her death I felt a real need to write down everything about her character and our connection together. It was actually a story which I considered forwarding to a competition but chose instead to send the entry fee to a cat rescue.
The story has remained hidden for months but this feels like a good place to share it alongside painting observations of my lovely cat.
