64 Million Artists Day 12 - dear Kylie

"Write a letter to someone you've loved and left behind. Spend time thinking about what makes them special to you and write the letter you always wish you'd written. If the person is still around and you want to send it, then do, but otherwise just keep it for yourself."

Dear Kylie,

I hope you don’t mind me calling you Kylie. You probably don’t - I don’t really listen to your music now, but as far as I know I think you release it as “Kylie”, and forget the “Minogue”. I thought I should write you this letter, because David Bowie died yesterday and I cried for him. And it reminded me about when I learned that you had breast cancer. It was like finding a hairline crack in a delicate blown-glass vase, sitting high on a shelf filled with other beautiful things made from my childhood loves. Apart from the very human sympathy I felt for you, I felt a deep unease in myself. The world felt less safe.

I don’t remember the moment I first fell in love wth you. I had your single “I should be so lucky” on vinyl. I feel like it had “Locomotion” on the b-side, but I may be misremembering. I was young - pre-teen I think - and you were a gorgeous early nineties goddess on the sleeve. A black stretchy off-the-shoulder top, and a pile of blonde curly hair on top of your head. That megawatt smile. I think in the music video for “Locomotion” you wore a series of dresses with hearts on them, and even though I wasn’t really into love-heart patterns I thought you were so pretty. I thought, “I’d like to wear a dress like that”.

I even tried to watch Neighbours for you, and that was a challenge because my parents were pretty strict about what television shows we could watch. Neighbours was definitely on the No List. I thought you were great, a rebel in your double denim, and I thought you and Jason Donovan were just perfect for each other.

Maybe it sounds like my love for you was shallow, just a surface attraction. I think it was more. You seemed so sunny and bright - and I wasn't a very sunny child. Opposites attract, right?

I’m still pleased to see you, but I don’t seek you out. It happens sometimes by accident - like when I watched 20,000 Days On Earth, and there you were in Nick Cave’s car. I felt a glimmer of old feelings - like catching sight of a old lover across the street, when they’ve not seen you. And letting them walk away.

I don’t recall when I stopped loving you. It was just one day I didn’t. I still care though, but it’s an intellectual sort of caring, the kind that has little warmth in it. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you. But I could say that about a lot of people - about a lot of strangers - and that’s not love, is it? At least not the type that can sustain you. I’m just going to leave this letter here, in case you find it one day; I want you know that although I may not love you anymore, I do wish you well. I hope that’s enough.

regards,

Catriona