caravan

I needed to store a painting and to find another. I went into the backyard behind an old white house. The yard sloped down, away from the house, leading to a lake. It was night time and everything was difficult to see. There was a double-decker caravan parked in the yard - this seemed to be where I lived. I climbed inside the van and then up the internal stairs which were built to one side of the caravan. I knew that I had to get to the upper level where I would be able to find the painting I needed and store the one I was holding. The painting in my arms was primarily black with brightly coloured shapes - pink, blue, red and yellow - like boats, floating around in the darkness. The staircase seemed terribly narrow and I was concerned that my weight and the slope of the yard would mean that the caravan would roll or slide into the lake. The caravan dislodged and began to swing around in wide circles, my weight acting as a pendulum. Eventually, I freed myself, rolling from the van and found someone to help me hammer pegs into the ground, fastening the caravan into place again, as you would a tent.