Where Angels Fear
4 min readAug 23, 2017


More Abstract Painting

Imagine you’re looking at a web-page … filled with a photograph of an outside shot of a Swiss chalet.

You can move the cursor around and click on things and zoom in and out … Quicktime VR.

It’s a lovely, sunny, spring morning and you are standing in the garden at the foot of the blue-grey mountains. The sky is a beautifully delicate shade of saphire blue, translucent whisps of cloud floating gently overhead, like veils made of gossamer. The grass is a vivid green and the fields are filled with daisies … and buttercups of the brightest yellow you’ve ever seen.

There is a gentle, refreshing breeze, whispering across the land, making the grass ripple in the fields at the end of the garden … the susurrus wafting, soothingly, from your computer’s speakers … and you can hear the distant clunk-ring of cow-bells — or perhaps goat-bells … you can’t tell.

As you hold the mouse-button down and drag the cursor, your attention is drawn to some specks of intense darkness against the sky — birds wheeling high above, an abscence of colour against the dazzling white of the snow-bedecked caps even higher above.

Even though it is still relatively early, the sun is surprisingly hot, the ultraviolet more intense here, where the air is thinner. You can almost feel its rays beating down upon your face and neck … could almost swear it’s so bright you need to squint at the screen to make anything out — everything cast into a monochrome negative blur after the intensity of staring at the birds and the mountains.

There’s a mountain stream running along the end of the garden … crystal-clear and, if you turn the volume up on you computer, you can hear it babbling away to itself — it even sounds refreshing … so much so that you can almost feel the icy sting of the water … as if you had just dipped your toes into it.

There … isn’t that nice?

Lets take a look inside.

You position the cursor over the window, click and gently drag the mouse towards you.

The chalet kitchen blooms into focus as, curious, you peer through the window. It’s a delightful scene — tidy, fresh … everything sparkling and shiny clean … the perfect Swiss Chalet from every brochure, photograph and movie you’ve ever seen.

Let’s go inside.

You zoom out, shift the cursor over the door and click.

The kitchen melts into view.

It’s even more picturesque than you imagined it could be from the window — copper pans, gleaming against the corn blue walls … crystal glasses sparkling in the light from the window … a spotless black iron range in what must once have been an enormous hearth, with enough room on it for countless pots and pans … beautifully crafted, glass fronted cabinets for the crockery and glassware, with leading so fine it could almost be filigree, and enough cupboard space to store a market stall’s entire stock of herbs and spices.

Over to your right is a table in the corner, surrounded on two sides by the most comfortable looking high backed wooden bench set against the walls, stained a beautiful honey brown, with deep blue cushion fixture set with gleaming brass studs … lovingly hand-crafted by a master carpenter

The table is set — perhaps for a late breakfast — fine bone china crockery … white with a pale blue sheen … so fine and delicate that, were you to hold it up to the light, you could swear you would see clear through it … a cup and saucer, a breakfast plate, a smaller plate for crusty rolls … and sparkling silver cutlery … set on a tablecloth of tiny, light blue and white checks.

There are pots of jam and a basket of rolls that look so oven fresh that you can almost smell them, making your mouth water just seeing them there.
On the small plate is a slice of toast spread with butter so pure it is only barely not white.

You click on the slice of toast and hold the mouse button down … just to see if you can … just to enjoy the sensation of almost being able to eat it.

The toast zooms into view — perfectly done … not too dark, not too light … you can see where the butter has started to melt into the bread, softening it and glazing it with a glistening sheen of white yellow. There’s even a little symbol that has been pressed into the butter with some kind of kitchen utensil designed to make even the butter on your toast decorative.

You take a closer look, dragging the mouse, ever so gently towards you.

The pattern swims into view.

What’s this?

It’s not a pattern — it’s lettering!

This is too perfect — there’s even a greeting pressed into the butter on the toast … the attention to detail dazzlingly executed.

You drag the mouse further towards you, straining to see what is written there.

The words become clear at last as the focus sharpens … tiny, tiny words that you can barely make out … rancid dog cum.



Where Angels Fear

There he goes. One of God's own prototypes. A high-powered mutant of some kind never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live and too rare to die.