I love you more than my own skin.

It was dark. Cold. And very red. There seemed to be no light inside. I searched for some way of guiding myself around this vacuous space.


In 1936 I first arrived; I had been travelling for sixteen years. It was relieving to have made it. I thought I was going to die. I had never imagined ever finding it, on the fifteenth year I got so ill I thought about going back.


No flowers grew, I had not seen a single one, it was only when I found a purple rose growing at the top of the stream, I made a promise there and then that I would never go back until I found it. Focusing on the red stream made time dissolve and soon it passed when more purple roses grew. It was the most beautiful embodiment of nature’s true magic. How could no one have witnessed this before I pondered? At times, I compared myself to Columbus discovering America, but knew this was a secret that couldn’t compare even with that.


Somewhere inside me, energy was depleting. I carried with me, a piece of stone and whenever I focused on it, I instantly felt revitalised, however, sadness remained. My mind was about to explode, I envisaged my cerebral cortex splattered on the walls. My own heart was beating so hard I could hear it. It was wondrous as it was sick. Life in all its various forms was creating before my very eyes, it was such a cliché, but, it was real.


Taken from my own eyes, I watched the stars every night and on the final night I had a conversation with them so I knew I was nearby now; I combed my hair and put some lipstick on. The crisp light air was almost visible, trying to use my senses to taste, smell and even touch it. It seemed so dense, I was ninety eight percent certain the particles had ceased to vibrate so vigorously against one another that it was now a solid. And although it was dark at the centre, it was comfortable, something was warming.


Its power was insatiable; it was not supposed to be forever though. He gave me a ring and said, ‘till death do us part’, but even after death it wasn’t the end. As far as I could remember him, he existed. I couldn’t find him anywhere but my constant reminders seemed to create a reality.


Right, at the Atrium, then a left and I was there. It was so bright it hurt my eyes, especially after how they had adjusted to the darkness. I touched the walls and smelt the ground, the cavity was hollow, seemingly endless in space. But he was here. Then I heard him say my name once.


‘Laura’, he repeated softly.


It sounded like it always had, but it came from somewhere above my head. Looking up, I saw where I was. I was inside his chest. That was it. The lights then switched off.

Drawing Life

On a Saturday morning the first thing I like to do is read the papers, decide what vegetables I am going to buy from Portobello market and drink at least five cups of coffee before even venturing outside.

Today is different. Well, the coffee part stays constant but I have replaced reading papers with drawing. Why?...

Because Wednesday 17th November at 7.30pm I will be holding a special Life Drawing class at The Tabernacle in Notting Hill.

The fears of those of you who 'can't draw' or are 'rusty' must be displaced because, I shall be there in all my crazy glory to assist all levels and I really must stress that this is something fun, it is a chance to do something else, learn a few new things or brush up on old things along the way and interact and mingle with others.

Moreover, I will be baking with an extremely helpful friend, so there is going to be a selection of cakes and also champagne cocktails to loosen up the stiffest of limbs.

So, for enquiries or bookings, email cogoni.laura@gmail.com

Big Kisses.

'A work of art is the
unique result of a unique temperament' Oscar Wilde

L XXX