Initially NO creations

Archiving: Styrofoam art

2009-02-26T13:45:00.008+11:00

This blog is now going into archiving. Six months ago I changed the name of the blog to blagsplotforblart and found that this means all my files then go into grey. Decided that was not such a good idea because then my initiallyno blog got taken and my dot com transfered to that. AHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhh.

So here we are blagsplotforblart or initiallynocreations.blogspot.com

There are many ways of interpreting blagsplot, but please don't rob me of my creative works, my blart. They are all original and (C). Just view and enjoy. Artists are trying to survive in this world. If you want them to stick around and do more work, you buy their work. Which is all available at www.redbubble.com/people/initiallyno
Where you can get a variety of T-shirts and different kinds wall art, of mine and other artists

This final picture is made out of packaging material: recycled Styrofoam with a canvas painting in the middle of the foam frame. I've carved and coloured it and it's ended up looking a bit like cork, but is even lighter in weight.

Mouse rides the fishing cat

2008-07-27T21:16:00.005+10:00

“If comedy is a full stop. Does that give people nothing more to wonder about?”
“I didn’t see them as comical, I saw them as snide and attacking men and women both at different times for no reason in particular other than you could.”
“How do you deal with an attack?”
“I saw you saying back off too, yes, I understand. But that’s not what we’re into. It’s a grave. People get it once, then laugh and have their cheese sandwich and leave. They need to dream.”
“Comedy not a dream then eh? Art-laughing is just about snide attacks eh? No, ha-ha I enjoyed that so much I want to put it up on my wall and shock my guests.”
“It’s not shocking. It’s just old tory and gold digging bla.”
“I find that attitude bizarre. I’m more crafty than tory. But if that’s the angle I could go for the golden circus stuff, rather than the gore. Put them together and I’ll get some bawdy palace or something eh? Call it Madamoiselle.”
“No way.”
“Don’t want the female sex play eh? Not been done this way before. All men, or weeping picked apart women. Can’t handle me? Ah that’s it, too much of a channel change. You’re easy.”
“Bastard.”
“My mother would be offended by that.”
“I’ve always wanted to say how whatever you do whatever you ask and what ever is out there is a play as long as you don’t let it get into the ways of which to do and think around how it is you play.”

Served

2008-07-25T22:45:00.005+10:00

Plate says, "What the hell are you doing with your life? Aren't you over this stupid thing you do yet? Can't you get a grip and start doing something useful for a change? Where's your nous? Has it been eaten by some infant mouse? Fuck off."

Eater says, "Um. It sort of disturbs me when food talks to me. I'm not sure I can eat this waiter. Would it be possible to have something else."

Cafe Superstitious

2008-07-23T00:39:00.005+10:00

Last of the Blearies...

2008-07-23T00:29:00.005+10:00

Collected lip

2008-07-20T20:19:00.005+10:00

“Cruise to the point of crud and restud,” said the Bleary. “It could be that nothing here really matters. It could also be said that the thinking here is shattered. And if that’s the case then I’m wearing some kind of hat. There’s a book in that.”

Floatie washed down with cherries

2008-07-20T00:46:00.005+10:00

“First time I saw you, I thought lifesaver, then you popped into my mouth,” said the Bleary. “Then I needed something to swill you down with.”

Wine glass news reader

2008-07-18T18:34:00.006+10:00

“Her face looked like a wineglass, so I licked it. It really had nothing to do with that, but never mind… Some things are making people nervous. I want to know what they are. So I eat the monitor and the mouse just to be sure. That was in my younger years when monitors were televisions and had bunny ears,” the Bleary said.

Light bulb and barb

2008-07-17T19:44:00.004+10:00

"This one is pretty straight forward. Everyone wants everyone to not leave heating on and go out and get gum leaves to wipe their bum so that the toilet gets blocked and shitty gummy smells fill the air," says the Bleary. "Totally ruins your taste for eucalypts if you're a koala."

I ponder that for a moment. Then think about how much I want to think about what this Bleary says. Okay hmm.

Liquid lady

2008-07-16T20:31:00.003+10:00

Think this one is possibly ugly. No lady is every going to respect me after this. I think this cartoon is something I’ve seen before. It talks me through the draw. And I’m thinking I can’t use the word automatic to describe my art anymore since that tracing machine got hold of the whichy art and made it about electronics. So this is my hand just doing the thing it does when the pictures inside my head want an outlet. Who knows maybe I’ll find some ladylove to send this to as a card. Or maybe that’s just liquid dreams talking. Hey, did I say that or did someone else? Am I actually myself ever? Yes. But this one’s a bit of a character. Question is, is this creation going to play a big part in my life or just a little one? Glup slip slop…

Biting the balloon

2008-07-15T18:38:00.005+10:00

"Post now. We need directions to get to this place."
"Okay something weird going on here."
"Don't post that one. Draw a new one, all those ones you did last night are now redundant."
"Okay."
"Too late now. Needed it ten seconds ago."
"Okay."

Bloody exhibitionish

2008-07-15T02:29:00.002+10:00

Wind-up

2008-07-09T18:27:00.004+10:00

Bugger all. Your life loser. So sorry to have had to have lived it for you. Na. Tis okay, just a wind-up. Pop. Get a lid on things.

Precious paint

2008-07-09T18:24:00.003+10:00

Ephemeral

2008-07-09T18:17:00.006+10:00

I thought the world was an orange. And then I thought, if I ate the orange then where would I be? But I didn't think any of these things really mattered much at the time because I was taking things in slowly and creating things I believed were fruitful. But they just ended up turn out to be... something else entirely.

mox

2008-07-08T19:20:00.005+10:00

There are several reasons for making up stories about things that aren't really there. And sometimes I do this to defend my epiglottis other times my insight. But since there is no point to this one, it might as well get to one. What? You actually want me to say something else?

Milk from the sheep-cloud

2008-07-07T20:38:00.003+10:00

Scene

2008-07-06T19:00:00.006+10:00

This is what happens when I’m walking down the street. And why I can’t stop laughing, in case anyone wants to know. Little dialogues, like this:
“I'm just wondering when the time for wandering will waft my way again. “
“I find that attitude abysmal . Get a life and a career happening, says Mum. Don’t you dare have sex, or even think about it or I’ll make you eat the baby.”
They have character voices too, don’t forget, that’s often what gets me laughing.
“Um, I’m sorry. I just thought you were pouring crap on me.”
“If you don’t eat it. You’re going to have to do something with its crap.”
“Stop eating babies!”

It is just really weird stuff.
“That’s not a good one is it? Little lamb on the spit.”
“Mate, you go too far.”
“If you mate with me, my Mum will make you… you know.”
“Stop it. You’re asking for trouble.”

“Oh. That’s right. You’re the force of good and I’m the bad apple eh? Well I’ll make a drink out of that fermenting fruit and sell it to all those well wishers out there.”
“Stop arguing with me. I want you to understand where we are coming from. I want you to see why it is that we earn and you burn.”
“Which part of that made sense to you?”

And sometimes, I just listen in haphazardly to things going on around me and draw them with my pen. Not listening through my ears, but listening in another way. Does this help or hinder my play? I wonder. Hmm. Grin to the point of grit and spit away. I find it funny. If you don’t, I think you’re silly to judge me for hearing and seeing such things. If there’s no use for them, why are they there? For me to twiddle my thumbs with? Don’t make a monster out of me and I won’t make a monster out of you. I'm just here to see what exactly it is people want me to do. And if you fck with me, guess that's going to come back in my art. So, here's a nice little scene for you eh? Let's not try to burn the which again.

Jesus craft

2008-07-06T18:23:00.005+10:00

Man and donkey

2008-07-05T15:16:00.004+10:00

"I'm never going to talk to you again if you think you can give me such crud as this for a post. I think you are a moron to even want to put it out there like it means something. However, being friendly and all I'll try to make sure that I'm in love with everything you do and that sort of thing. Yes, okay, whatever, good, there's there and there's here and what am I talking about."

"Buggered if I know, you're probably the donkey."

"No you fool. I just wanted to eat you alive for a bit so I can roast you up tommorrow."

"Okay. So this is about stuffing the donkey with something nice and tasty?"

"Shh. Be quiet. We're hunting wrap its."

"On a stuffed donkey?"

"Okay. If that's the way you wish to play you obviously don't need to have a wired up interaction anymore."

"Um. What's that to you?"

"I want you to be fat like me. I hate thin ugly people that don't eat."

"If you were a donkey and the man sitting on you was fat, would you prefer that extra weight, or the bones sticking in?"

"You've got me thinking about where this is going and I'm sort of wondering that myself."

"Okay. Then we're done. Key is in the see eh?"

Serpent of the well

2008-07-02T10:26:00.006+10:00

I had all this awesome food ready for them in the car and they never turned up. I couldn’t understand why until I met you. You told me. And then I realised what had happened.
It really hurt me what you said. It really destroyed a lot of where I’m coming from. I wanted you to tell me how much it costs me to be part of who you are.
I told you not to go there. I told you to only think of me as a friend. But you didn’t listen. You wanted to play her. And I said, that’s something you should never do.
It was quite accusing what she said to me. It felt really wrong. I wanted to hide for a while. Then I began to understand why someone might not want to picnic in the woods with me. I realised that I scared them.
My attitude was short-tempered. I had very little access to much machinery besides my car. And I was somewhat fat.
So, I went off by myself and threw everything I collected into the river. All that beautiful tasty trout cooked-up and mashed into egg-whites. All those lovely dainty perfectly wonderful edible flowers I’d collected. Cheeses, sausages… all home made. All so wonderfully tasty. All into the river. Her loss, I said. Her loss. That’s when I started to realise that the river was actually alive and that it moved like a serpent and it had a home in a deep dark well. A well where all those thirsty could always drink from, when the serpent was around.
The serpent didn’t dig the hole though. The serpent just claimed it. Took its cool blue stream of consciousness down there and re-awoke the land. That’s what happens when a river gets fed what others do not wish to dine upon. The river finds the place which gives it endlessness.

Polly wants the nut cracker sweets

2008-06-29T21:24:00.005+10:00

Just forget about what is written in the draws. It doesn't matter. Maybe you don't even want to know. The places to go that are red. Like that colour.

Bit of rocky garbage canning

2008-06-27T18:46:00.002+10:00

And it's a wrap.

White elephant sale

2008-06-24T15:36:00.008+10:00

There was something under this painting here. It was called Redhot pokers. Stuff of the ying and yang. Think I miss it a bit. But there it is gone, except for the photo. Artists, foolish cards eh? Thinking that they can actually exhibit the lost worlds of never being and people will flock to the seeing. They'd rather listen to the same book being read again and again and sing the same hymes. Nautical nature disturbs and corrodes their sense of ordered lore.

Nature

2008-06-14T00:28:00.008+10:00

The fire of nature doesn’t want to be controlled. It wants to burn to the point where the area can be renewed, by the tune the wind plays on a certain day. Nature doesn’t care about peoples’ houses. It only cares about the health of its skin and its hairs that are growing. When humans try to control nature, this just makes organic order messy. The humans are just being hyper critical about the place they are settling. But that's the hippycritter doing its scuttle skidder eh? and then peddling its non-sequenced shares and negating the eclairs.

While the hippo goes in circles in a zoo of someone else’s making and only escapes into a hypotenuse when it learns how to break free from the captive inside its own sense of sublime ridicule which criticises a state of mind that is trying to encouraged hype to the point where it can wear a stripe. Waking up is important, circles can be hypnotic. So those who preach what they cannot teach at least should collect their straight and curl them to the point where they don’t make such a scar in those they anoint. Although if done artistically branding might be the way to go! Slash and burn only works for some.

Mirrored

2008-06-12T03:40:00.008+10:00

People reflect so much of what is around them. My fingers get nicely calloused from the guitar strings. And when I say “Get Stuffed,” to the Lammington, that pink fluffy thing thinks I said I wanted it to fck itself or something. So it starts multiplying. And then there’s all these Lammingtons around me saying the same thing, “We love the Lammington/ Have you seen the Lammington?/ I wish the Lammington was in.”
But that’s not my thinking, I can’t stomach such things. They upset me and distract me from what I’m doing. Then try to blame me for their pussy getting hit by a car.
Question is how do you get a Lammington to go away when you’re trying to concentrate on writing? Mash them.

A landscape of containers

2008-06-10T19:33:00.010+10:00

Last year I started thinking about how containers might fit together, be linked. And how they are something like human behaviour. How our lives can be wrapped up in little tempory bits of plastic.

Now, I've got the gallery set up full of artful intregue.

And some brilliant guest speakers at my opening

of the exhibition 12th June 6-8pm,

At 54 Burke Road, Malvern East, Melbourne, Australia

Sustainable culture, Fern Rainbow

& stand-up comedian, Duff

Art is organic. It is a dream. It instigates. It is a creation. It is something that is a platform from which to think. It is responsible and responding. And although items in an exhibition may be separate, it is best to curate some bonding.

Escape in the clouds

2008-06-09T22:42:00.003+10:00

The weather contained in a ship in a picture on the sailor's sole

Tigercork

2008-06-07T18:44:00.002+10:00

“Don’t mind me. I’ll guard your door,” says Tigercork. “I’ll keep them out and at bay, won’t let them touch any delicates. I’m armless, but I know enough about the world to know who’s who and sort out which ones spit out their gum in the bin and those who leave it on the floor for you and I to step on. I won’t let anyone through who you don’t want there. They can stare me in the eye all they like, and I’ll just stare back as they look at me cork and pins, but I’m not stepping out of the way, until I know they’re okay. So no worries. I won’t let them get a foot in edgeways.”

Ocean floor dish

2008-06-05T23:42:00.005+10:00

Thinking about putting this in the ocean somewhere. Trick the fish into nibbling on it. Do it just to tease them. Think it's a sea lettuce.

Masked Existence

2008-06-03T21:20:00.003+10:00

Why would someone want something like this?
What do you mean?
It just looks like a pile of rubbishy thinking
It’s absurd.
What do you mean?
I’ve lined the plastic with pink velvet and made it gape like a mouth among the used guitar strings and other things.
So?
It’s called Masked Existence. I’m changing the way the containers look. It is a prototype rethink on how I use my equipment to rearrange the nature of how we look at a junkyard.
Is your whole exhibition going to be like this?
No, not really. Just this one piece. Each of my art works has an individual reason for existing. I don’t repeat the same idea over and over again. Sometimes ideas are connected though. But they are as separate as humans are. I’m interested in how we interact with our environment. How we merge and attempt to be separately contained and how it is possible to understand this even without having a conversation with a person.
I’m sorry, but I hate this piece of artwork so much. I really do. It reminds me of the worst kind of art I’ve seen. It reminds me not of children, but of crap. Just a whole lot of crap mashed together. But then I when look closer and I realise there is a fair bit of work in this. And that makes me want to know why someone would put so much effort into something that looks, from a distance like nothing much other than a tangle of bits and pieces of shit. At first it made me feel sick. Then I rethought that feeling and I said to myself, well now, what would I do to make it look a bit better… And I thought perhaps maybe I would add a whole bit more on the bottom and have it up in the air and dangling from a chain. Because I think this piece is about someone who is in utter pain. It does not make me happy. It makes me sad. It makes me want to strangle the thing that made it. It makes me want to rip it to shreds. It is so stupid and braindead. Okay. Now I’ve said it. Sorry for being such a pian, I just can’t help it.
Poor thing, no one likes it. No wonder it masked its existence.

Black cat diver

2008-05-31T23:28:00.006+10:00

Go some place new and change your mind about any doubts you have that expression is organic and forever changing and can never all be done before. Got something blocking your way? dive into the substance, even if it gives you an eerie chill. Find the myriad in the mundane and gain understanding of what you previously thought insane. Not all symbols are the same, the world mixes them up. It is connected via the links you decide to make. And paintings can be like fortune cookies. All sorts of little strange messages in there.

Red chalice

2008-05-29T20:51:00.005+10:00

Something to eat cherries out of. But best share the dream with others, so they don't get jealous. Jealous people have a tendency to be callous.

Adds up

2008-05-27T08:41:00.004+10:00

You hate it. That’s the point. It scares the crap out of you. To have it dangled in front of your face is not something you would call motor beeping ace.
Just remember, you’re the one with the pack and the spade here. So dig! Ahhhh my hair is falling out I’m going to have to get a wig. I could play my cards into a war hole then.

The pizza box

2008-05-26T12:04:00.004+10:00

Should’ve got a large, it was tasty.

Following the white rabbit

2008-05-23T11:22:00.002+10:00

Following the white rabbit (2008), was painted over another painting: Secrets (2002). Perhaps I should’ve left it at that. But something weird annoyed me about this abstract pretty. It was part of an exhibition called: But what is it?

I got the title from the architect, Lloyd Wright, who demanded painters paint something tangible he could understand. "But what is it?" he demanded of the finger-painters.

Maybe it was also those pill containers I stuck on there. Pills I chose to swallow years ago. White rabbits? I dunno. A chaser to the bunny ears certainly. Bunny ears distracted my mind from the forced psyche meds from hurting me as much. But the bunny ears hurt me just as much. And getting off something that I was allergic to was worth it. So I can’t condemn those transparent things I filled with glue glitter and stuck to this canvas. I can only say I was going through a stage and chasing one thing to stop another. But then there was painting. Just letting the visuals out.

I'm doing a post-mortem on a painting here. Frankly, I found it somewhat disturbing that it had what seemed to be an illustration from some old old Enid Blighton book. Not me! But, that's the automatic.

And there's the ear listening.

So, I look things up and start to see metaphors I hadn't really delved into before. Chase the meaning of that damn white rabbit and it is really time consuming thing, that's what i think!

Pretty connotations

2008-05-23T10:41:00.003+10:00

Sometimes in a situation where the words of English have connotations we do not think are pretty, we have to find a way around it. Expect a backlash and whip-crash. I mean it. I did the worst thing I could do on sorry week. Yep. Put up the worst display for a fight I could ever. See, I’m always wrong. No matter. That’s just me. I’m like that. I'm NO.

It wasn’t a question of the kind of emotional play being used, just that emotional play was being used. As it is, again and again. Bad thing? Good thing? Boon. I like that term. It means no.
But my question was, what do you do with such a scenario? Nothing, because it’s not what you think, it is something pink.
***

“Now newspapers, you know they always want an angle,” she says. “And you might not feel comfortable…”
See, I know what she’s going to say. I’m going to hear that I should play the mental health poor NO play. (Not a good one eh?). Got. So I say, “No, don’t worry about that. That’s not important.”
But she is insistent, raises her voice, “Listen to me I’ve got to tell you, I’ve got to let you know.”Like giving me the cop line. She wants to tell me that I have every right to speak but my words will be taken down in evidence or something.
But I’m insistent, “No I’ve heard you say this stuff before. I don’t need to go there.”
She raises her voice again. “Listen to me. They always want an angle and you might have to talk about your illness. Are you comfortable with that?”
What does she want me to say? Yes. No. Boon. Boon. Boon. But hey, English. “Why would I ever need to take that angle? My angle is about dreams and the environment and sensing. It’s an art exhibition about what can and cannot be contained. It's semantics and semiotics. Stop using those horrible terms with us. It’s like saying to someone who is fat that they have to always use that as the angle for their show. What? I eat a lot of cake. Are you interested in how yummy it is?”
Then wait for it: “I don’t like that tone you are using with me. It’s upsetting me.”
Hey, and she’s making my armpits start to do that fear stink. Does she want me to blame her for that? “I’m a psychiatric survivor, that’s my angle.”
Then there is a knock at the door and she doesn’t get to finish what she’s doing with me. That’s for later. She has to have me under her cream bun.
Now, this should be a friendly nice likable character. But it isn’t. Why? Because I’m telling the darn straight truth here. I should never do that. I have to be wry. Now you know why terms make people cry. When they’re used upon your being as a marker of who you are. I’m a blue. What does that mean to you? That I’m a blooper? Probably. But don’t ever try and put those terms on a psychiatric survivor. They don’t mind you using it in anyway, except when you’re in power and can put them away. (The previous blog has a term there. Think about it. Boon.)

Locating the location

2008-05-22T20:28:00.005+10:00

I think when we’re talking emotional blackmail we’ve got to think about the situation and the set-up more. I think we’ve got to find that splace where we are going.
Obstacles make me think: I want to get around them. I have to get around them.
Although, I have been stopped in my path by people who like to say that what I’m doing is upsetting them.
Today, I told someone no way. That they were projecting their own sense of being onto me. This cleared stuff. People in authority can be very insistent about having power over the way we speak.
Next time I might say, “Oh dear, you can’t control your emotions very well can you? Like that psychiatrist that yelled at me for making a pun out of his title, then put me in the psychiatric slammer because he felt I diminished his power. How considerate of you.”
Would that work? I could also play the handyman: “Want to make an issue out of this love?” Perhaps that’s all I need to say. But some people freak out even more when I play funny hat says.
Obstacles just create a bumpy drive for my journey. I have things I need to do. Obstacles are the panic zones, where my mind starts going into which, which, which, trying out all kinds of experimental ways to get past, around, through. It can be be confusing and misleading. But I’m going to try and not ever let other people misdirect me again. Shouldn’t respect someone who treats me in a way I’d never want to treat another human being. Shouldn’t trust them. Just have to remove them from my path. No further questions about my tone, or manner then need be asked. You tropple dawl and I catch your maul and put it into a basketcase. I’m someone who loses time if I hesitate.

Advice and the flying dryad dragon

2008-05-20T21:22:00.008+10:00

Technique? I move about and create a canvas. Splash some paint. It might turn out something like this:
A few people said I should keep the painting as it was and do no more. But when agreed to, then they changed their mind. Said they like my complicated stuff better. It was like they wanted to question me further.
For painting is like speaking. It’s just communication. About being part of nature, machines, humanity, all those things I’m contained by and want to expression my opinion on or discuss. It comes from the things I sense. Stuff I can never tell people in a “real” conversation, without working on the idea myself a fair bit. It's a dream. Mumbled recollections of dreams to other people often just do not equate to anything reasonable or meaningful.
So, I painted more and this was what came out:
Now I feel more satisfied. I needed to know about a few of the things going on here. It’s sorted stuff out for me, better than any sleeping dream can.
Think the more I use internet the more the square screen appears in the paint. So, I’ve been thinking about quitting blogging for a bit. Maybe. I’m not sure yet. I haven’t really quite made the year mark yet. Took me a while to actually work out that there was a difference between a page element and a blog post. But, I was using places like library internet. And cranky people would stand behind me wanting their ‘hour” to start before I finished mine. So I’d end up sending a blank email to someone in a moment of mundane panic. Hmm. Good to have a place to relax with it. It’s been interesting getting to know all this stuff that’s been around for years. I feel like Rip Van Winkle. Or some sort of sleeping printcess. There’s so much other stuff everyone does that I’ve never done. But then, they don’t get to visualise flying dryad dragons.

The punnet puzzel

2008-05-15T21:03:00.003+10:00

What does your symbolic sorting system reside in? If it’s not an ecosystem, then it’d be a micro-chip. And if not that, what do you call it?

Playing

2008-05-10T22:09:00.007+10:00

Mum says she likes this Symbiosis cartoon. Dad did too. Yep. Sometimes parents just want the playful fun things. They had to fight so much in their younger years trying to make change. Work went mysteriously missing, that supported dangers to the environment. Dad was also told to stop teaching the "hothouse effect". Proving existence of things denied can be tiring.

I want a funeral where people sing and dance on my grave. Crying just makes us lose the memories. I prefer it if people laugh, then they're remembering the happy. Although I couldn't do that for Dad, at least we got the only environmentally friendly recycled cardboard coffin from Sydney, that had state approval. Don't think Mum has put him in the compost yet though (although that's what he said we should do with him).

Love, happiness and skies that spoke to me the hour he passed.And by morning the heavens opened up and rained and his garden was wet where it had been dry from the heat of summer sunshine.

Pharm a shoot tackle

2008-05-07T07:03:00.001+10:00

Dedicated testing for the defense of those who love arms races. Break it down to the minimal molecular. Shoot to kill the peculiar. Make it seem like it’s about altruism. Then call for funds to count the dead.

Rubbish filled croc

2008-05-05T20:03:00.006+10:00

Using water from washing brushes, layering paper over packaging, I've given the croc some skin. It hides in the grass, hiding the rubbish within. And can be used for seating. Just don't put your arse too close to its mouth! Containers. Sometimes they're about what we don't immediately see. Or have no way of knowing without ripping the structure apart.

Stripped, penetrated, contaminated and shut-up

2008-05-04T22:32:00.009+10:00

More funding for psychiatric hospitals? How about… perhaps we should charge the Alfred Hospital and various other government participating psyche hospitals with aggravated assault. People have been known to die from the chemicals they forcefully inject. Most slowly. Some however have died instantly.

Cogs in wheels getting money, made me into a freaking lab-rat. How about in the year of the rat we stop this practice of forced injections and incarceration. How about that? How about we actually charge people with a criminal offence before we inject them with shit. Better still, how about we stop the experiments going on in our country now. Are pharmaceutical companies running the government?

Leprosy injections trials on our Australian peoples too. It makes me mad. There is no denying that happened, even though they want to. Proof is, they're still trialing harmful drugs forcefully. Under the banner of "Duty of Care" and "Community Treatment Order". Double speak. Public knows nothing.

Gives us programs like Denton's "Angels and Demons". Cuts out the people's voice when they don't fit with the criteria of: oh the pills sort of do work.

Until forced encarceration, injections and ECT are stopped, no, things are not better now. Stop making the public think they are. Is that enough rope to get a grasp and grapple of the ugliness of this psychiatric grope?

Demons? They're the psyche system.

Angels? Well for me, they were a number of organisations in the community, including Prahran Mission. Poor angels though are powerless to stop the demonic injections though. They don't rank high enough. And they end up on the cutting room floor, while the chemical companies get promoted by the youth that are "cured" but still fumbling through school. Cured? What? Like a hide?

Voices are about translating what I sense about me into words and characteristics of sound through my automatic mind/hidden-calculator/collective-device. I would like to live in an environment that is not afraid of the feelings we recieve and knows how to guide people in a way that will help them better negotiate the obstacles and dreams found through feeling troubling EMFs and such. It is an art. And sometimes what is not allowed to exist, only really has a place in art. Art is a safe reality.

Art exhibition opening June 12th 6-8pm

2008-04-30T00:36:00.005+10:00

Come and see this years work; look at what is contained by mutual and exclusive arrangements. Think within the vessel. And please, bring your absurd eyes with you.

Water stains on the roof

2008-04-28T23:18:00.005+10:00

A voice, much older than me says, “On a cold day, I go to turn on the heaters and look up to see little miracles in the wet. It’s a very old art. I’ve always enjoyed it. Nobody bothers much with it these days, everyone is preoccupied with product.” I look up at the church/Stables Art Studio roof and I see a man and a woman. Spooks in my shared space studio. I begin a canvas this way. With such a stain. Then I look at the play and make what I see in that more obvious. I observe, I sense, I translate. It isn’t an illness. It’s called reading into what is out there and sharing the idea. It’s what artists like to do.

Beings: Inner seller berating

2008-04-25T20:39:00.005+10:00

You don't have to understand me, you just have to get the picture. You know, like you do when you sleep on things. I'm beyond the point of being a delicate little bruised petal to misunderstanding. There is no understanding. It’s been annihilated as of today. Happy. It probably never existed anyway.

Beings: Information exchange rates

2008-04-24T23:04:00.005+10:00

Translating the EMF from touch can cause a system overload. And then there's all the stuff you just really don't want to know about that you pick up. I find sounds and visuals an easier equation. But then, it really depends on time, place, space and all those other dimensions of introspection that get turned inside out and back to front.

The reign’s dust off

2008-04-22T20:19:00.004+10:00

The woman, whose name I thought was Kelp, was at that braking point. Wasn’t sure if she should bother picking up the brush again. But she was fighting, still fighting. She had so much to communicate. It’s just that communication doesn’t always make a living, unless you start to make demands. And she was trying to think of ways to do this. “It’s not so much how much the gallery earns from an artist, so much as up front fees. I’d rather them have faith in the art they take on and get a per cent cut from the sales.”
I laughed.
This spurred her on. “Galleries that ask for up front fees are hire-out venues. They do not have a stake in the sales. And I need them to. Sales are not something I excel at.”
“Got to be a shipwright to be able to do that,” I uttered soft and low.
Kelp either did not hear me, or she chose to ignore me, her eyes tearing up, “I’ve tried, but I think it’s a skill like art, either you have the guts of it and can develop it to the point of an artform; or, you’re just really doing a chore because people expect that, like driving, every adult does it.”
“I know what you’re driving at,” I say. “You want things. Well, so do I. But it’s not working out that way. Art is like dancing was in the 80s. And art in the 80s had a boom. It’s reinventing itself right now. The old schools are trying to invalidate the new, because it is somewhat nascent and hasn’t been bastardised yet. New art is the background to an advertising jingle at the moment. At least dance got to be the background of a song. I can’t even have faith in the book industry anymore. Huge gulf, people hate wasted paper… markets only want what worked in the past. But let’s not drive our conversation into this hole.”
She pursed her lips annoyed at my paronomasia. She thinks it’s dumb. She thinks it blocks the path to real conversation. “Let the experts drive. Let the experts sell. And please, let the artists do their art is what I say.”
But Kelp’s not having a conversation, she’s giving me a lecture. I want to get back to painting or something rather than thinking about how difficult it is to be part of a world that likes driving. I’m not interested until cars can hover and emit oxygen or something lovely to make the world feel less choking.
“They should think about what the average artist might earn and have to pay to create art and they’ll soon realise $1000 in up front fees isn’t viable. That’s not a gallery, that’s a venue for hire!”
And I let her have the last say, because I couldn’t think of a pun to go with hire, other than “Hi… err…” which would just make me look like I had just began the conversation with her. And that, would be too weird and she might want to go round telling people I was insane or something and then the med-narks would come and lock me away. So, instead I picked up my hand and waved, “Bye…err...” And went directly to my nice friendly paintbrushes and lovely canvases and sculptures and created another world I hadn’t heard about before. Sliced cheese and crackers went down nicely while making copy, non-animal rennet of course, calf guts taste yucky.

The boundaries are the meaning

2008-04-18T23:16:00.004+10:00

I’m normal and everyone else is weird. Yes, that’s it. So don’t you dare go all contrary on me you impudent, impertinent upstart populus.

Percipience: 21 questioning authority: 3 Shut up

2008-04-05T01:34:00.003+11:00

For a human to fulfil criteria in statistics charts of what is deemed the proper fit way of conversing, the question then is: how can we judge a person to be psychotic if they are not harming anyone or themselves? And should medical staff have power over another person’s body?
The final time I was thrown in hospital I had a small tape-recorder in my hand and I was able to use this, before the police were called.
I wrote this up, pretty much word for word, as a stage play. The premise: A psychiatrist and nurse have come to my door. They want me to take their “medicine” or go to hospital.
At the time I was working on a book called Quaere. (Basically the idea was every line in it would be a question. So I was in a mood for questioning everyone and everything).
I’d switched on the tape recorder and had protests from the doctor, she found my tape-recorder as annoying as my incessant writing… Ah, but what were they afraid of?

NO: Why are you making an assumption about my health? If you are not making an assumption why are you trying to push drugs? And what do you think is good treatment? Do you believe a tranquilizer is good and healthy for a human body? Do you believe that women need to be subdued and certain political ideas suppressed because someone has written a flow-chart in history?

PSYCHIATRIST: I don’t think that’s the case, that’s not what I mean. I’m talking about your ability to maintain a meaningful relationship.

NO: What are your ideas based on?

PSYCHIATRIST: Medical knowledge.

NO: Are you prepared to give that knowledge to me?

PSYCHIATRIST: It’s an anti-psychotic.

NO: What do you call psychotic?

PSYCHIATRIST: Testing reality and keeping in touch with reality.

NO: What do you think reality is?

PSYCHIATRIST: That’s a philosophical question I’m not going to get into that right now.

NO: With all this philosophy then surely we can choose who we are?

PSYCHIATRIST: You have to take the medication.

NO: You came in here without a phone call and now you’re trying to push drugs on to me. How does that sound?

PSYCHIATRIST: I think you need to take the medication. The Team has been trying to get you to do that for the past month or so. We believe that your mental health is at risk because of your deterioration in communication and attitude against the treatment. I think you are very suspicious and very guarded.

NO: How would you be if someone threatened you with a lock-up and persisted in forcing drugs onto you? How would you react?

PSYCHIATRIST: I don’t know.

NO: Well, I’ve had to think about it, how about you think about it? Because you seem to be the one who is pushing it at the moment, aren’t you?

PSYCHIATRIST: I am.

NO: Well, think about it, what would you do? Your hand would probably be shaking wouldn’t it? Because you would be afraid wouldn’t you? That’s right. Do you like making people afraid?

PSYCHIATRIST: No.

NO: Okay, well, stop it! Will you?

PSYCHIATRIST: What are you afraid of? What do you think is going to happen if you take the medication?

NO: I’ve told you it’s a tranquiliser it has bad effects on the body. I know it can do this and you want me to repeat this again and again. You gave me acuphaze.

PSYCHIATRIST: I didn’t.

NO: Your system did, the one you are reinforcing now. It resulted in severe side-effects. And this was forced upon me. I tried to refuse it. So how can you justify that? That you actually gave this person something that was really detrimental to their health. How can you justify working for a system that does that?

PSYCHIATRIST: What side-effects did it have?

NO: Tongue rolling, fainting, twitching, headaches, micro-seizures… I’ve talked about this before, I shouldn’t have to repeat myself to you. You understand that don’t you? How many times do I have to repeat myself to each different doctor? I know it’s what you do all day but I’m not getting paid for it so why should I? I’ve got a lot of work to do, you know that. Stuff I need to get on with so I can get paid. Is there something I should be learning from this experience?

PSYCHIATRIST: You need to take the medication.

NO: All right, I’ll ask you another tough question. Say if –

PSYCHIATRIST: I don’t want to answer your question, what you have to do is take the medication. What do you worry about if you take an anti-psychotic? And what do you think is going to happen?

NO: Do you want to think about this question very seriously? I told you before what it does, so why would there be any need to repeat it?

PSYCHIATRIST: I think you are being unreasonable.

NO: And I told you before there are severe side-effects. I had involuntary tongue rolling, okay. How would you like to have that happen to you?
Okay, what if say you had a very close relationship with someone whose father was a doctor? He was charged with fraud and also beat his son and his son used this medical knowledge because someone helped him through this, because his father was an arse-hole. What do you think of that, having someone’s medical knowledge turned around on you? What affect would that have on somebody? Have you thought about this? Have you ever thought about how this sort of knowledge can be used against somebody that doesn’t know about it?

PSYCHIATRIST: I’m not using my knowledge against you.

NO: No, you’re not, this person did. Drug pusher. Do you understand? You have to learn the system and understand what it does to you, is that right? And what someone is going to do to you or has done to you, if they use it incorrectly, is that right? And that’s what you have to do. You have to then take drugs, do you? No. You have to work out what it is that is causing the problem.

PSYCHIATRIST: No one has the power to do that, sometimes you just have to take the medication recommended.

NO: Does this sound right to you? Sounds like a drug-pusher to me. Do you want to say that to a heroin abuser?

PSYCHIATRIST: I’m talking about medication, not other drugs.

NO: What would you describe medication as?

PSYCHIATRIST: I think you are extremely paranoid. What is best is that you have treatment and the options are to take the medication or to go to hospital.

NO: Because?

PSYCHIATRIST: Because you are unwell.

NO: Because?

PSYCHIATRIST: Because you are very anxious and guarded.

NO: How would you describe anxious and guarded?

PSYCHIATRIST: Stop playing this game. I don’t think that it is helpful at all. I’ve tried to explain to you what the situation is.

NO: Go ahead deary.

PSYCHIATRIST: So, the bottom line is, you have to take the medication.

NO: So calling you deary was something that was totally inappropriate, is that correct?

PSYCHIATRIST: We are just trying to work out how to decrease the likelihood of you having side-effects.

NO: You cannot decrease the side-effects of drugs understand? They are chemicals. Do you understand the science behind how they work? Are you prepared to give me the documents?

PSYCHIATRIST: I don’t have them with me.

NO: Well, do you want to go away and get them and bring them back?

PSYCHIATRIST: No, I actually want to sort this out because this has been going on for weeks now. I think you are definitely unwell and I think you need to get treatment.

NO: How do you describe unwell other than anxious and guarded? For you would display that if you were threatened like you threatened me just then. You don’t seem to be able to unpack that properly.

PSYCHIATRIST: You know yourself that you are unwell.

NO: You would be anxious and guarded too if someone was threatening to lock you away so you couldn’t get your work done, coming around at inappropriate times without calling.

PSYCHIATRIST: I’m interested in your perception. Why do you think that is happening?

NO: Nothing to do with me or to do with you. I’m telling you. Anything wrong with this room? Anything wrong with what I do? I’m not trying to push drugs onto you.

PSYCHIATRIST: We are worried about you having another episode.

NO: Are you thirsty? Do you want a drink?

PSYCHIATRIST: I’d love a glass of water.

NO gets PSYCHIATRIST a glass of water.

NO: What do you think of people who break things apart in word games?

PSYCHIATRIST: Is that how you are feeling?

NO: I’m asking you if I called that drink you’re having right now, war tore, what would you think? Would you laugh, would you think it was funny, or would you think I was being an arse-hole?

PSYCHIATRIST: I’d probably laugh.

NO: But you don’t. Do you find swearing inappropriate?

PSYCHIATRIST: I do.

NO: Bloody arse prick cunt fuck. Sorry, I won’t do it again.

PSYCHIATRIST: There is no further option, you need to go to hospital or take the medication. How do you feel about that?

NO: Is this a classic turn around? Do you like that game?

PSYCHIATRIST: Doctor Tensio has given the order. You have past history in suicide and we think you are having another episode.

NO: Oh, do you want me to explain what happened and the reasons why? Okay, nobody loves me. Best friend gets me pushes me away, “Get out!” Do you like that? How would that make you feel? Picking up all your stuff, throwing it about the room. You don’t know where to go. You deal with this stuff, you work it out that people like that don’t affect you anymore and you become on top of things and if someone ever does that again, tries to push you around and tell you what to do, you don’t let them. Someone tries to push drugs onto you like this arse-hole did as well, you don’t let them. You know what he said, “You need Drugs”. That’s why I call you drug-pushers because that’s what you say too.
People can be really, really sweet sometimes and this is what I couldn’t work out with him and I think he is not a person that is going to change, he’s still going to yell at you and if you take no notice of why he is yelling at you, he’ll start trying to push you around.
You know I’m not doing anything wrong, I’m not hurting anybody in any way. I’m not harming myself. Why would anyone want to hurt me unless they are insane like him? You could say it has something to do with his abusive childhood. I could tell when he was playing his father because his accent would change and that’s when he got violent.
So, why do you want to do this to me?

PSYCHIATRIST: If we don’t do anything, you will get unwell.

NO: What do you think is going to happen? How am I going to get unwell?

PSYCHIATRIST: Your medical illness needs to be treated.

NO: Anything about my behaviour that indicates that anything is wrong? What do you think?

PSYCHIATRIST: I don’t have to answer that. You’ve taken up too much of my time already.

NO: You’d probably be doing this if someone was forcing their opinion on you. Telling you, you were mentally unwell. Telling you, you were… Let’s just say if someone said to you, you are apathetic, I know you’re not, but would you take that information and say yeah maybe I am. Do you start analysing the reasons why you were? No, you just don’t take that sort of stuff. You don’t take information from people who say you’re psychotic. Unless they say: “Why don’t you get out in the sunshine and go for a walk every day”, “How about you take up a musical instrument?”, “Painting’s a wonderful thing it helps you explore stuff, gets you out of your self makes you start thinking of other people”.

PSYCHIATRIST: What you are talking about at the moment is as important as medication is, but the fact is you are willing to do the other stuff but the medication, you are not prepared to do. What you are talking about is equally important as the medication. The medication is an important part of it.

NO: So you would recommend that people take anti-biotics forever?

PSYCHIATRIST: No

NO: Then why do you recommend that people take anti-psychotics forever?

PSYCHIATRIST: You don’t have to take them forever, but you have to take them for at least six to eight years till the psychosis has stopped.

NO: That will wreck my artistic inspiration make me depressed and play havoc with my body. Anyway, what is psychotic about what I am doing now?

PSYCHIATRIST: What is psychotic about what you are doing now?

NO: Nothing.

PSYCHIATRIST: I think you are very paranoid and suspicious.

NO: Anything about my behaviour that indicates paranoia?

PSYCHIATRIST: You are guarded, you are irritable, you are unagreeable to our recommendations and you keep persisting with unreasonable questions.

NO: This is an interview, is it not? It’s a forced interview therefore I’ve got every right to feel that way, have I not?

PSYCHIATRIST: I don’t have a problem with you asking too many questions, it’s just unusual.

NO: Okay, have you got a problem against people that are unusual?

PSYCHIATRIST: I want this finished, this has gone on for long enough, I’m telling you. I’m telling you to take the medication today or go to hospital now okay?

NO: Do you think there is anything wrong with what you are saying?

PSYCHIATRIST: I don’t think so.

NO: Do you have any ethics or morals?

PSYCHIATRIST: I do.

NO: What are they?

PSYCHIATRIST: I’m not going to go into this, we’ve done this a few times. I want this to finish.

NO: Do you realise this has repercussions for the future? Do you realise you will be involved? Are you prepared to take that role? I want you to think about this one very carefully because I’m sure you have thought about it before, but you do realise that role-play into a job can get out of hand when you are forcing something upon someone else? And it’s a very old thing, as I’ve said before, in the past women have been made to take Valium to make them shut-up and Freud made his patients take cocaine. Now, I thought people realised all this kind of attitude is wrong. Don’t we? We also realise that role-play in wartime showed us how mindlessly following orders leads to genocide. You don’t want to behave like a Nazi do you?
So taking all that into account, how now do you feel about what you are saying?

PSYCHIATRIST: I don’t have a problem with what I am saying to you.

NO: Are you on any medication now?

PSYCHIATRIST: No.

NO: Would you take olanzapine?

PSYCHIATRIST: I think I would if I had to.

NO: Are you prepared to take one now?

PSYCHIATRIST: No. Because I don’t need it.

NO: What if someone accused you of needing it?

PSYCHIATRIST: I need to finish this interview now dear, I’m telling you this.

NO: You are doing nothing endearing.

PSYCHIATRIST: You need to take the medication now or go to hospital okay? You didn’t have any side-effects from olanzipine.

NO: I did and this is what I am going to say to you, your clause is affecting me in a way that is detrimental to my health. You are going to be in trouble for practicing this in future. I’m afraid you system is in collapse. You can no longer protect yourself with your hierarchy and say, “I was told to do this” and “someone told me this”, and writing incorrect suppositions on paper. How do you feel about that?

PSYCHIATRIST: It’s none of my business to answer that.

NO: I do realise you have a job to do but there is a little bit more responsibility in bringing up a child than what is written in a stats sheet, so why would you think my mind could be such a simple function?

PSYCHIATRIST: We need to finish up, so what are we going to do? Are you agreeable to take medication or do you think you have to come to hospital?

NO: Would you take medication?

PSYCHIATRIST: I’m not answering that question. You need to answer the question.

NO: You must comply. I’m not borg. Why do I need to answer a question if you’re not going to answer a question?

PSYCHIATRIST: We need to sort this out now. Okay, right now we need to sort this out. We’ve been round and around and around for the last hour. We need to sort this out now. We need to make the decision whether you are agreeable for us to come around and supervise your medication or whether or not you have to go to hospital. They are the two options, it’s your choice.

NO: Why are you giving me this ultimatum?

PSYCHIATRIST: We need to sort this out now. We understand that you are really frightened. We understand that you don’t want to take the medication.

NO: Do you understand that a threat does to you?

PSYCHIATRIST: Listen, you need to make the choice right now. Are you agreeable for us to come around and supervise your medication or do you think that you have to come to hospital?

NO: Why would you put away a person that was perfectly well?

PSYCHIATRIST: Those are the two choices at the moment.

NO: Is there some political agenda that I am not seeing?

PSYCHIATRIST: Your choice okay.

NO: If you are giving me an ultimatum you are just threatening me, that’s all you are doing.

PSYCHIATRIST: That’s right, we are giving you an ultimatum, because we believe you require treatment. At the moment you are refusing it.

NO: What am I doing that requires treatment?

PSYCHIATRIST: We’ve already told you about that before.

NO: Yes that I was defensive and I have every reason to be defensive because you are attacking me with a drug push. I told you where that comes from, I told you someone’s done that to me before and I won’t have it again.

PSYCHIATRIST: We are trying to work with you here. I don’t want to put you in hospital but you are leaving us no choice.

NO: You are not working with me, you are working against me, you know this. You don’t work with natural therapies do you?

PSYCHIATRIST: I do actually.

NO: Well how come you would recommend a strong chemical as medication?

PSYCHIATRIST: Because we believe you need it at the moment.

NO: Do you know what effect that stuff has on you?

PSYCHIATRIST: Sometimes there are side-effects but we have been down this track before…

NO: Why would you take a perfectly well person and give them side-effects?

PSYCHIATRIST: You are unwell at the moment.

NO: What is unwell to you?

PSYCHIATRIST: That’s enough!

NO: Are you going to treat me like a child?

PSYCHIATRIST: No.

NO: What are you treating me like?

PSYCHIATRIST: I need your answer now. We need to finish this off.

NO: You want to finish me off? God. Do you think I respect your occupation because you earn more money than me?

PSYCHIATRIST: That’s it, we need to finish it off.

NO: You know I’m not going to hospital and you know why because you won’t do this and you know why because I’m doing nothing wrong. You’re making decisions based on something you have no inkling or understanding about.

PSYCHIATRIST: We have talked about that. You are a very intelligent person and I highly respect what you are doing. But the fact that you are an artist doesn’t mean that you don’t have a psychological illness. You are an artist with a mental illness and that needs to be treated and your artistic part needs to be supported too, that’s what I believe.

NO: I realise that you are a psychiatrist and believe in drugs.

PSYCHIATRIST: Yes.

NO: But that doesn’t mean everybody does.

PSYCHIATRIST: Yes, I know that.

NO: Each person is an individual. You should respect individuality shouldn’t you?

PSYCHIATRIST: I’m trying to.

NO: I don’t want to have anything to do with you lot anymore. Good bye.

PSYCHIATRIST: All right see you. Thanks for talking to us.

Psychiatrist leaves the room. NO is alone with the Nurse.

NO: I don’t believe I need to be given chemicals in order to function like a vehicle. People force this upon you. You should be using natural sources of nutrients. Only in the worst possible case scenario would you have to take something as artificial as the recommended so called medication that doctors are currently prescribing to the politically incorrect. Now taking all that into account, how can people still enforce it? When I’m worried about a person I tell them exactly what I think I’m worried about, I don’t threaten them. I give them encouragement, support and help them work through whatever they need to work through in order to get to their place they want to go and I believe this helps people.
If you think about it really, mental health is a matter of politics. Unless someone is doing harm to themself or others, you have no reason to interfere with their play, you can only guide and direct it and give them ideas and ways that may help them get out of patterns or ways of thinking that are causing them problems. Unfortunately the psychiatrist has a higher rank than the psychologist does and this matters, for it is all about who gives the order. Now if someone says they’re not having any difficulties or problems why would you try and tranquilize them? That’s what I’m trying to get around, do you understand?

NURSE: I do understand.

NO: What do you think massage and psychology is?

NURSE: I think they are really good additions. But I think there is a chemical component that they can’t provide in the way medication can.

NO: How do you know that I have a chemical imbalance if you haven’t taken any of my brain cells dissected and analysed them? How can you be certain of this?

NURSE: I’m not a doctor, but doctors are trained in these things. And that’s the doctor’s recommendation.

NO: How far do you think doctors can understand your mind? Your individual mind, the thing that is sacred inside yourself, that is your religion, your love whatever you hold onto that is that is your self. How can they turn that into dissection, chemicals and inventricals? Can they do this to you? By bringing it down to number and equations is that enough? Ultimately, what we have got here is something a lot more complex than what is currently being looked at.
We have got a pinnacle here happening in history of development, which is why we are in world crisis. There are developments in human psychology and looking into electronics seeing how it affects peoples’ minds and there is a danger here for people to get paranoid about this type of stuff and there is danger here also that others will get this information and use it against people. This is something we don’t want. Something we are trying to prevent.
Trying to make people shut up about it, by locking them away and dosing them up with tranquilizers, that will not actually be able to develop this system. You are just stopping people from functioning.
Mathematics is not the ultimate language. The world can be looked at in several ways and when you are doing this, you find that yes there are physical reactions but if you look at it in metaphors in an artistic way it takes a totally different turn. This is they way the mind works. Different people have differences in opinion. Not all work in a medical way, with number sequences inside their heads. It’s wrong to force everyone to function in that manner. So, people like me have to build up some sort of defence against that.

NURSE: I guess people do, but we all have to blend in and be skilled at performing in a certain way.

Ambulance Driver enters with the psychiatrist.

AMBULANCE DRIVER: These people have filled out the appropriate paper work, you have to go to hospital come with us, just pop out into the car and you can bring whatever you like. If you do, I don’t I have to call the police.

NO: Then what will happen?

AMBULANCE DRIVER: Then they’ll come and they’ll have to push you in and I don’t want to do that.

NO: Do you feel all right about what you are doing?

AMBULANCE DRIVER: I’m just a small cog in a big wheel.

NO: You are defending something that doesn’t need to be defended, you shouldn’t be doing this, just get out. I have to get all my stuff organised and packed don’t I? There is no easy way out of this situation is there? Because people are giving me an ultimatum. I mean would you choose to repeat what other people recommend to you that you don’t agree to? For you get the same reason, it is written. Does the written word really have that much power?

AMBULANCE DRIVER: Why don’t you want to go to hospital?

NO: The air conditioners affect your health. The drugs they force you to take affect your health. I do not have all my equipment there. I cannot work there. I have a limited time in order to get the work I need done finished. You are wasting my time. How do you tell people to go away when they have power and authority over your body? Do you want to answer that?

AMBULANCE DRIVER: I can’t answer that.

NO: How can you recommend and advise in any situation if you cannot answer that one? How can you become anything more than you are in your work at the moment if you are going to be complacent about that? How do you avoid people that stalk you? You don’t need to be afraid of people who tell you are something you are not because they are incorrect, when they are not helping you.
All direction has a way of being able to be reworked into form. Sentence construction of interrogation manipulates the line to such a degree that the person who is wrong, realises that if they play into this, people will only laugh at them. Warfare of the mind. Erase this crime. Make sure that nobody is able to ever use your past to threaten you.

PSYCHIATRIST: You are not following a logical sequence.

NO: Your recommendation needs a satisfactory answer. Do you expect me to follow Spok’s number, “Live long and prosper”?

PSYCHIATRIST: Your behaviour is inappropriate.

NO: Your implied observation insinuates adherence to my dress study organism.

PSYCHIATRIST: I assume you are avoiding…

NO: Mary’s body goes up to the void. It makes sense if you know the definition... I work in abstract concepts, art ideas. How do you cast judgement on me? I deal the view and think it’s an outline of a novel. You assess treatment and I’m estimating the value of the thesis, for I like mints and if this is the pleasure mean, you might call my punster an ass, for I am a critic of your criteria, you are just standard rules and procedures. Ever thought that not all people need to play your IQ tests?

AMBULANCE DRIVER: Either you are going comfortably with us or comfortably with the police; you are only delaying the inevitable. Do you want to look like you’re being arrested by the police or dragged out by us? Either you go with us, or be handcuffed by the police.

NO: Gland your sense of humour, I’m glad.

AMBULANCE DRIVER: We’ll wash our hands of you and let the police escort you out of the building!

NO: You don’t go with these people you tell them no, you are wrong, I am write, listen to this and understand…

PSYCHIATRIST: You are under a legal order to go to hospital.

NO: Host spit tall. This is quite a send-up of your set-up. Say are you going to let me go now or has this farce had its due by date? Be reasonable, how long do I need to be questioned by you? How many thoughts need to be extracted without my wish?

PSYCHIATRIST: It’s more discussing matters that you haven’t answered.

AMBULANCE DRIVER: We’re just waiting for the police. Are you willing to come with us in the ambulance now?

NO: You don’t want to do this, it is illegal!

AMBULANCE DRIVER: We’re not cold hearted people who enjoy this sort of thing. We have been given a role and we have to follow through with it.

NO: Think about this it’s a joke, they do this and it changes the theme. I’m not really interested in their scheme.

AMBULANCE DRIVER: Would you be willing to walk out quietly with us?

NO: You’re physically not letting me go where I want to go.

AMBULANCE DRIVER: No we are physically taking you where we want you to go. Deal with this.

The police enter. I turn off the tape recorder and hide the cassette. I have the sense to realise that the police would probably just smash it. I knew of them bashing people at protests who did nothing more than sing or dance, so I could imagine what they’d do to my little recording device. Besides, I didn’t really have a beef with the police.
They entered. I stood in the kitchen and went into a fighting stance.
One officer, his eyes open pupils, waited for my first move, but with a joke behind them: What is she going to do? Come at us with the egg-beater?
I smile and say, “Ah character.”
I only offer a slight resistance, letting them know I’m not wanting to go. And I continue with my Quaere game thinking of people who should be arrested: “Is this what you do to them? Is this how you stop them?”
They push me to the ground and cuff me like they would to a fellow recruit in training. No harm done, because no hate is intended. But I certainly get more of an idea of how I can police those who psychologically intend to injure me. Those who are not open to who I am, but would rather impose and suspect and hate.
When I asked the officer what I’ve done wrong, his eyes are full of rules and procedures. He could’ve yarned the cop show: How about you tell us what you think you’ve done? But he simply said, somewhat bewildered, “I don’t know,” and that he is just doing his job.
I asked what he likes about his work and what the strangest things he’s had to do as his part of his job, he told me about the “silly exercises” in training. He even told me about his family, when I asked. All the time he had this far off distant look of wondering mixed with the confusion of a student checking a rule-book to make sure all he is doing is in order.
Then I said, “How about that for opening a can of kidney beans?”
The cop didn’t reply, but I thought at the time, perhaps he understood that Quaere is a game that people say children play. And that only children are allowed to ask too many questions and this had been sent up on a television advertisement. Or maybe not.
Even so, the cop didn’t have that annoyed look of disgust at my, “diseased mind,” like those in the medical uniforms always gave me. I felt at least somewhat human around him, even though I was strapped down and riding in an ambulance.
A psychic conversation started up in the physical silence, the policeman said, Yes, we know the job comes with such things. That’s why we were a bit worried.
I project, No fear, can’t have those doubts can you? Can’t be arresting someone or kicking them out of their home and be thinking about how wrong it is, can you?
Yeah, we can, but it’s like this, when we’re in that situation, it is game on. We’ve got a job to do and that’s to get you to the place that we’ve been told you have to go and nothing is going to change that order. (It was not so much what a policeman might say, as his energy field interacting with mine. His automatic mind that I was interacting with. It was only a cipher of his thoughts.)
Sad isn’t it?
He scratches his head. Well, I suppose, but we can’t think like that. We’ve got to think – gotcha, you’re nicked, you’re nabbed – you know, make it like a game. If we worry too much about the logistics of it, we might end up thinking crazies like you. Got to know when the paranoia is healthy and when it’s looking at possibilities that really aren’t going to help a situation. Trick is not to tell your opponent of these things, even in a look or glance. You’re said to be a nut, so I think, well, give you something that isn’t going to damage us, make you think you can shoot laser-beams out of your eyes or something. If you follow, and you’ll be surprised how many do, then we’ll know how easily we can be read, and also we’ll have a good laugh over it later. Most weird science is a misinterpreted follow, but that’s how inventions come about. There’s nothing wrong with you, you read, but all the same don’t try to egg-beat me. Might’ve had to hurt you back then, I guess you knew that though. Surprises me that amount of people that don’t have the sense to. I mean, that’s not really thinking, fighting us, when harm is not the intent. It was a matter of you wanting our strong. We were supposed to give it to you. I sense you need it with what you’re up against.
I thought about where I was heading, The medical uniforms are not my friends.
Nor are we, but at least we’ll tell you subversively what we think is going on, if you’re smart enough to listen and read into the interaction of energies. We’re not your friend, but at the same time, we’re not your foe.
When I reached hospital, there were two burly security guards waiting for the trouble maker strapped down unable to get to her pen and paper. I said to the police as I was wheeled away, “How else am I meant to write for Blue Heelers?”
I’m just one of many strange interactions of what-have-you to the security guards that followed me in the trundle bed.
I continued talking because my mouth was the only part of my body that was free to express itself, “This is the story of the construction of society. You want to dress up these people make them dance. Understand well that someone wants to make sure that they can manipulate you. They do not have your best interests at heart, they are just following their own rule. Take this pressure and measure. If you give them cheek, then will this change their mind about how following a rule to the point of physical obstruction. Abuse someone and you are going to be laughed at because you have just played the wrong part in history.”
The guards smirked and put their hands on their batons. Perhaps they were thinking about gagging me as well.
And the reason for this forced shut-up? My guess: writing down what psychiatrists say and possibly cancelling surgery on my arthritic knee. The ambo driver for no reason at all looked at me and gave my leg a slight twist. Not to hurt me, but sort of to let me know. But I’d been informed surgery was not the way to go. Better off getting comfortable shoes and exercising. And yep, true.

Bird teaching the wingless creatures to fly

2008-04-02T20:55:00.003+11:00

People spend a lot of money for something that doesn’t work, and that’s art see. But what has worth and does work, is not always as it seems; for currency is a conceptual means and fashion dips the die in deep freeze before rolling it upon the sands of lore.

Cut off and squash

2008-03-30T22:30:00.004+11:00

When people tell me not to swear. To be polite. To be nice. I want them to think about why I should, when there’s bananas out there talking all they want and what they want. Got to have a decent come back see. Besides, I’m used to it. It’s now a skill. I’m not talking dirty, it won't turn you on, I’m messing with the rot that doesn’t think of language meaning a lot. (Unless of course we can have a fun game of it... ah but that's so rare and trust is something that rusts itself bare.)

Beings: Too much mcuk

2008-03-30T01:28:00.008+11:00

The world is a confusing, refusing, darling of a place. Try to make sense of it and it'll just get more absurd. Try to fight it and it'll make you feel like a bad arse. Try to do what it says and it'll make you turn around and go back and censor what wasn’t really meant to be said and change around the original play that said something in an obtuse way, that could mean something, but shouldn’t anyway, because that would mean something, that possibly shouldn't be. That’s why I leave these being cartoons as automatic. I could, with all good logic delete everything. But, I’m not into nihilism, just compression. A blackhole is guiding this one, I tells ya!

On the other hand, I could publish something like thisBut that would make things even more confusing, because it's not my normal style and mucking around into every which way isn't really the done thing. Got to stay focused. Narrow the feeled translation into containers, packages, product. Eh/. Showing everything might be akin to if humans had no skin, they'd just leak everywhere, see. Don't want that kind of bloody piffle hanging about the place. Bit too much in the face. Got to hide what you've got inside, even the stuff that needs to leak out. (No one wants to see snot and poo and other icky stuff within you.)

Paint, print and automatic ink

2008-03-25T23:31:00.005+11:00

More space and my need to express makes painting over unsold works easy. But then there’s that bad camera taking low resolution images in odd light, somewhat blurred ah... I can’t get the shine away, can’t just call for the powder puff. Okay. Lost that image.

Painted over, “Does anyone listen?” And now I’ve got this sepulchre/ hand tree coming back into my pen. The same happened when I painted over the naked ladies in a cave. Some things just don’t want to be covered up.

If all I’m left with is a blurred image I can’t even use it for printing and if it wants to exist, my automatic hand will show me what persists.

I like the print media, I could worry about the environmental aspects and the safety of the human labour involved, but at this point I’m prepared to be a cog in the wheel of possible disaster, because everything can seem like a disaster waiting to happen. And, I cannot deny myself everything, or I wouldn’t be doing much at all most probably. Unless someone really is screaming in my face that I’m hurting them. That’d stop me. Just hope they can then give me some good directions so I don’t have to sit numb.

I hear and sense a lot of stuff. This isn’t my psychology, it’s rather transmissions I’ve received that I’ve unpacked and loaded onto the page, capturing them and arranging them. I’m not into snobby rules. I’m full of farts and snot anyway, so I’m sucking cess through a straw if I think I can make it as a door nob.

People like to have elite divisions though. It was the same in acting – selling out was going and doing soapies and television ads. But really it was only those who “sold out” that ended up getting most of the theatre work. People pretended that they were holding out for “real acting work” when really TV just didn’t think their mug was interesting enough to sell their product. Now, I’m happy to see someone drink out of a mug with one of my pictures on it. And to have them wearing my stuff… why would I see anything wrong with them being wrapped in my art?

Ah, but my automatic hand. It picks up and senses something out there and tries to make sense of it, probably offending everyone and everything that means something to me. I cannot stop it, for then I would be nothing. If I've got the flu, like I have now, it probably influences stuff as well. Puts the whole mind into paranoia attack mode.

Trouble, that’s what automatics are. They don’t always say what I want them to. But if they did, there would be no drama and story to draw. This one followed a topic for an IFN post: Hang me out to dry. My picture is all wrong, but that’s because I couldn’t draw the real picture, which was a place I didn’t want to go to. I was never even able to find 80s horror movies funny, let alone the stuff of real protest. Foolish card eh? The laugh wears off, the jokes fade away. If none are there, then how can we play?

Sabotage and the holey leaf

2008-03-22T00:26:00.002+11:00

I put a hole in this ceramic piece so people would get the picture that I don’t want any of my vessel works used for people who suck and blow and flick.
I have a nasty habit of sabotaging my own work. This blog is probably based on self-sabotaging habits. Everyone gets to see how I work. They get to see the fumbling beginning of things and how this develops. Obviously there is something wrong with admitting my working didn’t just spontaneously appear.
Should I try very hard not to sabotage, I will end up doing even more damage than I normally would. The main reason being: If I follow what others think is better, I’ve got to be smarter about how I follow. For I am not them. I can only sense what they want me to do as far as they give me. Seeing the trick is not enough, for it must be rewritten to have any consequence, or they will just use me for whatever purpose they deem fit, even if it goes against my ethics.
And besides, there’s a lot of competitive rubbish out there. People bringing others down, so they feel better. Making out that there is a need to do sht to fit in. Needing to stay awake so other people won’t feel embarrassed that they’re boring you: so drinking coffee (major cause of um “women’s problems”, changes the blood flow see, causing debilitating pain). Needing to drink alcohol and other drugs, because then there’s an excuse for being yourself. Needing a cigarette, because you really need a break from what you’re being forced into.
Where is the dancing/yoga break? Where is the I need an OJ fix? Where is the point where people can accept creativity and oddities as human nature, rather than as induced by drugs? Why do people make gods out of drugs? Where is the point where a psychiatrist would recommend art therapy or a better diet, over some forsaken drug that kills creativity and ability to stay positive and function without twitching and constantly needing to oversleep? Oh no not that, that would empower people, rather than crush them and make them humble.
Chemistry is all very interesting, but I don’t think it is the messiah. Not that I have another one for you either. That would be sabotage. Just this though: You are all those things you love. Appreciation varies from person to person. But anything that you like about yourself, you should attribute to yourself, not say that it was the drug that did it. Because all the drug did was poison your body, so your system had to go into safety mode, making you let go social boundaries, so that it could deal with the poison.
The minute we start believing that we’re ill and have to swallow a pill to get better, I’m thinking that’s just a fetter. If the leaf has a hole in it to stop it from being used in the wrong way, then there’s nothing wrong with that. And yet, it could just be perceived as useless. And seemingly useless things could be perceived as “psychotic”. When psychiatry finally becomes as redundant as phrenology, someone who still wants to mind-minimalise, will be perceived as psychotic. It’s all about the current kind way society sorts its sabotage. We’re still in the chemical age. Hope we can hurry up and get over its “nobility”.
Thought I’d give you some rantingly nice uncontained Friday night damage.

When Tinsycat first met Goldi

2008-03-20T04:22:00.003+11:00

Beings: etiquette of guest greasing

2008-03-17T01:09:00.006+11:00

(Yes, more Tinsycat & Goldi soon, I promise!)

Smothering

2008-03-13T21:23:00.011+11:00

I'm allergic to most kinds of smothering. I think most people are. Can't go far when you're being gradually suffocated to death by cupcakes and honeypies.
I also have a tobacco allergy that means I swell up, can't sleep and I want to pluck up my eyeballs and scratch the sockets to get the itch away, when I've been exposed to a room full of puffers. (Is it the GM tobacco?) Anyhow, that generally means no parties. However, since June last year, I've been able to go out to pubs.

How did I first find I had this allergy? Four years ago when I was going to a poetry gig at The Dan O'Connel hotel, I drew a series of pictures in my sketchbook. Automatic doodling while I listened to the many brilliant poets on stage. Some of these pictures ended up being about the heavy smoke around me. My automatic pen knew what was going on before I realised why I was getting sick and had a talk to a GP. She said stay away from places with smoke. I insisted that I couldn't do that. So I got steroid nasel spray. It worked for a bit then na... besides steroids have problems of their own, even in small doses. (And I'm not talking about hairiness. That sort of thing doesn't bother me.)

Anyway, I got used to the idea of not socialising and made a really rough animation out of the automatic sketches.

Anomalies/ having problems with other's problems

2008-03-12T21:58:00.011+11:00

IF they can sell their products to you, they want you… on a you buy us, we buy you basis. Then they can direct you: Oh no you can’t do this, you can’t do that – you can’t – should they want to make your choices seem less than theirs.

And following that agenda, I could apologise to the chair when I stub my toe on it. I’m not sure if the chair can hear me though, because it might be in hibernation mode, which means that it’s amorphous and has no sense of the nasty kick I accidentally gave it. Unlike my little pinkie toe that’s carrying on about its pain. Pinkie-toe is a hypochondriac. It’ll scream itself blue about how the pain is so unbearable it just wants to die and threatens me it’ll turn gangrenous if I don’t chop it off immediately… And then, I could chop my toe off. But, why would I want to do that?

Anomaly
Obscurity
Relativity
Greeting you and me
That’s when we start to see
And I get that part where I’m moving
To a grove that senses its own trove
Of test and treasure the best.
Obscure the big view
Butter the meaning through
And get to the point where
We’re eating the page
Which case studies its own rage.
For denizens are made of switched up sop
And it’s here they're about to drop.

Tinsycat & Goldi: Gaining sense

2008-03-09T01:01:00.004+11:00

Kittens are generally curious. But they shouldn’t walk into a sleeping dragon’s mouth, unless they want their whiskers singed.

Four faces of the Ig-lot

2008-03-08T15:05:00.003+11:00

There's Igniter, Ignitron, Ignoble and Ignore. (I've chosen not to show the Ig's bottom end it's really just an extension of Ignore.)

Tree’s language

2008-03-07T23:16:00.004+11:00

Did you know,
That poetry was the first writing.
Written down on bits of bark,
The lines were short
And of different lengths
According to the skin of tree
It was written on, see.
Charcoal on the sheddings
Of mysterious ancient beings
Whom seemingly stood still,
Yet tapped the earth’s resources,
Root listening for pulse and chime,
Learning the deepest secrets
That Gaia told.
So when writing the poem
The thought was with
The giver of both pen
And paper
And the human writer was no more
Than the medium to the tree’s
Prescribed directions
In this recorded speech
Of sound-sense finding meaning.

City plant breaks concrete ceiling

2008-03-07T00:27:00.007+11:00

To see this little monster duo tearing up the pavement gave me great joy. I thought, yes that’s the way little plants. Keep up the good work and that pavement will soon be yours again. Probably not likely, but, such a good effort.

Made me think about my pathetic efforts to be tidy and what that was about.

Tidy like bushland and the cracks paving their way through the city's concrete; that knife of neat. To pen animals and farm them into products.The want to uniform things, to holt eccentricity. To make things clearer to understand for some, who have a place to belong. The rest will have to knock down the walls of structure to find space and in doing so, have retaliation and be uprooted and yeah... have to check on the little thing, see how it's doing. I'll keep you posted. I don't even know what it is. It's probably a pest of some kind. I tend to ID with that.

Shoreline

2008-03-05T21:50:00.001+11:00

Leaks

2008-03-04T23:16:00.007+11:00

Listening in, waking up to the waiting. Always asking what’s going on, for there is always more, to underscore what’s understood as known and fact, even if it isn’t that.

Fish don’t fly in a bowl

2008-03-03T23:54:00.004+11:00

Paranoia seriously questions how to behave in a given situation. And how we’ll be judged for that. It gives rapid and diverse possibilities and outcomes.

I’ve come to the conclusion: damn them all, why should I ever spend my time acting when if I’m not being paid to do it? I love, grieve and get angry in my own way. It is valid, because I don’t hate my own mind. If I did, then it would be because something got in there that I didn’t want. Then it wouldn’t be mine, it would be someone else interfering, telling me how to act.

But then, I remember some mothers have been put in prison, for not acting in a way a mother is supposed to over the death of a child. Difference is suspect. Guess that’s why I should never be a mother.

Yes, but what if something I said, was said to be the cause of someone’s suicide? What if I fed someone some food and they choked on it and died? What if I advised someone to do something and they did it and they were permanently injured because of it? Well then, I’d put myself in a deep freeze for a while so I couldn’t think about what I’d done. Or I’d eat some fish and think about the fishiness. Because saying nothing at all can be the worse crime of all. That’s the way people can get killed on mass.

So, as Nana said, “Better out than in.”

Beings: Bunny basket

2008-03-03T01:23:00.003+11:00

Best if I type out the words. Otherwise my script will deviant from one font to another and just won't be consistent. Messy. Shouldn't be such a mess of so many different influences. Got to be clear about what is what. Not too many blurring of boundaries. That confuses people.

Beings: Ladybird party chat

2008-03-01T23:33:00.004+11:00

Automatic art? Well, the original sketches are and the words these beings say are; and they were drawn in a sequence of pages in my sketch book with a pen. I feel like a pen is automatic in origin, because I can't erase anything until I put it into digital space. So I'd say this is a digitally edited automatic. I consider it automatic because I have no idea who these characters are, as yet. Never met them, except as "energy" nagging for a space to speak on the page. And I just think, okay, that's great, I don't mind at all, I like sketching EMFs. At least "beings" don't tell me off and make me feel guilty for making art out of them. In fact I feel they want me to draw them and if I don't, they tend to make me feel bad until I get them down there doing stuff I have had no idea about.

So where is the cunning plan? Ah, I can't assume to be privy to that just yet. That would take the excitement of the draw away.

Electric build up and gwtfing

2008-02-24T01:35:00.004+11:00

I have reasons to believe that everything you do is more than something else that we’ve gotten into. I have all these things inside of me that raise-up the ride and take themselves on the streams that gaze at meaning where laws wake and begin the dreams you can’t fake. That’s the hope there. I want that. I want this and your reckoning in there, so it can be shown that automatic is a nuance of reasoning. It isn’t just a witch’s seasoning.
With you, there is a flow through. I can see how things are being marked down and made to stretch at a point which someone graved. And you’re aching with needs that don’t warrant a closure for any other reason than that something too strong is going to ruin the ribbon that warms the ways we share.
[That’s an automatic write. It flows in a rhythmic tap of keys without a point of pause between: it’s also what I call gwtfing.]

To create, I am listening to what is going on in the external world, feeling and sensing the differences, similarities and how they all add up. That is where the automatic arrives. And then must be somewhat edited, so it has a place with which to play that has something to anchor it and make it relevant to current understanding.

It is often the affirmation of society that often makes a project worthwhile continuing. However, it can take a while to sort out a way to present it so that it meets the needs in society.

Art inspires and brings out a new ideas in many fields. So it is important to be confronting and seemingly irrelevant at first. Because that’s what it is to be looking at a current which has not yet had its story told and sold. The current never disappears. It’s always there if you want to listen and tap in. And the results of sensing these electro-magnetics, will depend on who you are, where you are, and what is surrounding you.

When I draw half asleep

2008-02-24T01:04:00.006+11:00

Holding pinkies

2008-02-17T17:00:00.002+11:00

Sometimes it's as far as you want to go. Sometimes, you just don't even want to go there. But since there is human history to draw on, little fingers often aren't enough of link. So, best get the feeling down in ink and ignore the possible touch kink.

More on trouble: the manic Berserker tautology

2008-02-14T01:16:00.005+11:00

(Hiding from responsibility)Conversation with computer: “I think I know who you are now. You’re a mix-up. You can’t do several things at once. So you think fck it, bloody hell, I won’t do the thing that is totally going to make trouble so I’d do the thing that will give me trouble, but also asks for it. See, really, you don’t want to do the wrong thing. So, you split yourself up. But that still doesn’t work. Because then people get confused. So, you think fuck it, I’ll just make a soupy mess of everything and then everyone can know I’m totally wrong, they won’t give me any help or love or nothing. But, you know, at least you’re showing that you’re a soup. So then they’ll know to avoid you if they’re worried about what might be hidden in that soup.”
“Is that how to play or not to play.”
“It’s how to say: Get the hell outa my way or stand there and be affected by whatever has afflicted and infected the personage.”
“Or maybe we are more ordered that we seem, because we take don’t orders without investigating their purpose and masticating them.”
“Careful what you swallow then from the soup of society. There’s always trouble lurking out there somewhere.”
“Should I then take the trouble to look out for it? Could be troublesome.”
“So is climbing up a tree and gathering dates.”
“I’d rather let go of all these barriers that say I’ve got to do and be and stop and go and kiss under mistletoe.”
“Guess you’re not into just red and green then. Might want your spectrum myriad in there. But remember with the fall of every filter system, or wall, trouble comes in to greet you with a stare.” (letting go)
“Sweet. So what’s the dare?”
“Trouble is a follow, it doesn’t instigate.”
“Well, enough of trouble. I’d rather think of beautiful stuff and love and smiles and just let that be there.”
“Sigh. Doesn’t quite work that way. Trouble ain’t giving up that easily.”
Do you go with the dream or the trouble? Paintings. New stuff. Not sold, not painted over. Want to buy? Well, you’ve got to let me know, or they’ll just disappear.

Consistency

2008-02-14T00:08:00.004+11:00

Clowns kick themselves so… why would clowns complain when they get kicked by kids, who think they’re helping the clown with their routine? Kick yourself and surely that means you’re into it, yeah? And, it is amusing to see that grinning clown face somewhat wincing. Have to play scary clown then. That’s probably why clowns aren’t so popular at present for minor amusement.

Fairies are still in. You don’t kick fairies though. Fairies tell stories and play games like pass the clap and, fairy says, and, feed the children a whole lot of bullshit. But, fairies are nice, you don’t kick them. But perhaps children might want to know if the fairy hair is a wig and give it a pull. Or they might want to know whether there is anything under that bulging flounce of a skirt. Could be pixies beneath there or something maybe…

So, here we have a topic for those friendly fiends at IFN who adore my work so much! But I don’t have a lot of time. So, I’m getting used to this magical thing called a computer. And this tablet thing that paints into minimal space in any colour of the rainbow. And we’re getting a bit more friendly. And I’m thinking, okay, it dries instantaneously, but it doesn’t have the chaos of non-digital art. It’s has a programmed structure that has definite patterns to it. Plus, am I diversifying too much from my original kicks and no one will be able to recognise my style?
People feel that way about accent. If you have several accents and several tones to your voice there is no way you should ever, ever play more than one to the same person. It makes you seem false. But I do it all the time. Always have.

In a shop long ago, I was a fairy. I dressed up prettily, danced around and fed little kiddies bullshit for their birthday parties. But they seemed to enjoy it. And I don’t think there is anything wrong with kids understanding that there are many perceptions of the world and maybe metaphorically I did shrink really small to get through the key hole into fairyland.
I had this character going, which was me, but a nice and gentle me. Her name was Thea Thistledown fairy. Thea did things like make wishes. All the children had to do was gently catch some thistle-down with a seed on it, make a wish and let it go and hopefully it would get carried back to fairyland. In a way I was PR for those prickly weeds.

There were other fairies that worked in the shop. One was a mother who had a really strong outer-suburb accent. I started talking to her and my fairy voice just slipped away and I started to get that gnarly Aussie thing happening too. Then I caught the shop-owner looking at me, thinking: Who the hell are you?

People honestly expect me to have the same voice all the time. But say, if I spoke another language other than English, as well as English, they’d have no problem with that.
The shop-owner, who was a really genuinely nice lady didn’t know how to take me after that, I guess she felt like she’d been duped or something and could no longer believe I was Queen of a prickly weed’s down.

I was no longer real. Either that or she was telling me to get real. Decipher that. And see the difference in a minimal paint that ain't digi. But is thinking about it manually.

Hidden stories

2008-02-11T02:01:00.000+11:00

Minute details within the face of things, like footnotes to the main image.

Smart omen

2008-02-03T21:52:00.000+11:00

When things start appearing...

Part 2: Eye Openers

2008-01-31T03:02:00.000+11:00

The window

2008-01-25T23:55:00.001+11:00

Having “real” conversations. I’ve never really tasted that it seems. Actually I have. I was in a band. We’d talk anything, in rhyme without reason, in sound, about the strangest rudest things. Suddenly I was able to say everything I wanted and I was able to hear the amazing stories and responses of the other band members. No fear. It was a beautiful thing, I wanted it so much, wished for it, then it was happening. Alas though, it died, for reasons of external wrath that tears the hearts out of people and leaves them unable to do what they set about wanting. I miss it all so much, what we had together in the musical glue, that created something else that is no one but the group thinking together in a way that rang true.

Then there is stuff happening now I find difficult to go into... So let's just look at the parallels of fiction. They're not me, they're not you, they're not anybody, but I think in this automatic image I've skewed some popular character for reasons that eat my retorts.

Recent painting, over an old one (about a guitar that had a hole in the opposite place than it is supposed to be and a tiny key).
Opened up a window and found you one day. There alone were your beings and I remembered them . And from that point I set forth to love what it was that made you different from me.

What we sense, well even if it makes no sense to the rest of the world, we still have to make sense of it otherwise we're senseless.

Eye openers

2008-01-20T18:51:00.000+11:00

Geothermal

2008-01-19T20:14:00.000+11:00

http://www.ozenergy.net/energy/geothermal.html

Cocktail

2008-01-15T00:07:00.001+11:00

Art is a great distraction with debatable attraction when perception has symbolic deception and no reception for its bollocks.

Beings

2008-01-13T20:46:00.001+11:00

Bad manners

2008-01-13T12:08:00.000+11:00

It’s about something that happened a long time ago that is provoking the “hello”. It rings like super stings, but it gives back what it brings. I think it is beautiful to have you here thinking and dancing upon my feat, hearing my heart beat. I’m loving the way your voice rains down in sleet. You are a precious treat.
I wonder what will happen next. People do stupid things all the time, but I’m at a loss as to what might’ve caused this one.
Oh, it’s just that sometimes it is expected that you behave in a certain way. And if you rock the boat at all, people are either all out to defend you, or think of it as their life quest to bring you down.
-You’re not a person I want to know.
-Is that so?
-You’re a public menace.
-Really.
-You’re in trouble in more ways than one. It’s been a long time coming.
-Yeah? I’m not overly fond of being given shit. But should you attack me, I’m equipped to deal with it.
-Now isn't that just asking for trouble.
-According to you.
-See you say all this stupid shit and you don’t recognise that you’re doing it and you don’t even see it and yet you think you can deal with it? Now that’s what I call a fuckwit.
-Yeah, but I thought it would give you enough to think about to go to the trouble to say something back.
-Ah.

There’s a lot of things you could fear might happen. Social rejection, fragmentation of friends, embarrassment to the family… And all for what? So you could wrap up the tail ends of some stupid joke that you thought needed tidying up.

Mechanisms of coercion

2008-01-11T00:23:00.001+11:00

Apparently harps are very expensive to buy. Unless they’re just some sort of toy. Of course they’re probably a good investment, for they age well, like violins and wine, if you take good care. Trumpets though, they’re a different thing. They tend to lose their pitch over time. But what’s material value when apposed to sentiment? And people collect all sorts of things that are not considered valuable until one day someone says they are. Abstract concepts apparently are imagined to make the world go round. But really that is only a medium through which to get the desired result. .So then, one harp will be smashed to obtain another. Thus the concept kills another version of what it seeks to obtain.

Which weighing symbols

2008-01-05T16:06:00.000+11:00

I once wrote a book of poetry, it had this image on the front cover. I sold only a few copies, the rest I decided to give away to people. The receivers were embarrassed, rolling the book into a position where the cover was less obvious.

I was told later, that “that book upset a few people”. But it’s not the worst book I’ve written. The worst ones were a bit too long to print out and sew together myself. English always gets me into trouble. That’s why I stopped speaking at one stage. I was trying to explain a few things about what happens when you absorb the stuff around you and add it up together and put it into sound-sense and visual symbols. I also wanted to explain what it was like when you can hear and see a feeling. The intangible sense: 5th dimension electromagnetic frequency or “feelings”, they enter the body and they are not my opinion, unless I choose to let them be. Just as when someone says, “Nice day isn’t it?”, do I then chose to make that also my opinion, or do I think of it as “other”. Well, same thing applies when I get a feeling from “another” translated into words. Do I then just write it up as a character’s speech and follow the thread until I understand why I’ve linked with this thought? Or do I think, yes, I want that to be me… Intangible senses are a which, that society regards as an illness, to be suppressed with pills; just as Nanas thought washing a kid’s mouth out with soap would cleanse a filthy word. And how people have at various times thought it a good idea to murder. Making the fear become so big it won’t go away. That’s when you get superbugs. They stand up to all the murder and suppression of their kind. Because ultimately humanity needs equilibrium as much as the earth does. I like places that allow everyone to speak. For the shopkeeper-polite does not say much at all, if it is hiding an antagonistic troll. I carry an umbrella to stop the battering sun. I can’t dim it down, it burns as brightly as it wants to. More than a decade ago, I had wanted to do this.
But my friend Nat said, “Don’t you’ll embarrass me. You’ll look like an old Greek woman”. Nat had nice dark Italian skin. She also said I shouldn't say I don’t like sex with the man I was seeing, because I’d end up, “a fat lonely old lesbian.”
I farted in her car that day and couldn’t seem to get the gumption to admit it was me. She palmed it off as the old blankets in the back seat, but after that she never wanted to know my stinky person again.

Elucidate

2008-01-03T23:12:00.001+11:00

You want to send me on a journey?
I’ve got a few moments
While I eat what you’ve served
To think around the ground of this scented time.
It’s an illusion though, to know
A deceptive light that guides a means of conversion.
Anything forbidden is inferred to be illegible.
Anything intolerant is deduced and slipped on.
Claims of special knowledge decorate
But do not necessarily awake that feeling
Contrary to logic. It is just a state of brightness
Conjured for my happy fool
Hanging from the squib’s extinguishing tool.
Do you want me to clarify this?
Painting to lean your back against.
Underside of the chair, it won’t get much of an audience, except for those who like to crawl under chairs. I remember sitting under chairs. I’d put them in a line like they were a train then push the treadle on Nana’s old foot energy sewing machine. I wonder if people might start going back to making these. Might do wonders for the ankles. Work out while you sew things up!

It’s all about sugar

2008-01-03T00:48:00.000+11:00

The Devilz Avocaat doesn't like lemonade. It turns him into a fluffy duck. Doesn't like sweet things in general, prefers sausages and steaks. But he has dealings with Sweetie Glut, a sugar baron in a world where sweetness is a powerful fuel.
Devilz Advocaat: Sweetie, I thought we promised never to go there again. That old witch’s curse, it’s a ruse. I mean it. You don’t believe its true do you?
Sweetie Glut: Shall we prove it then?
Devilz Advocaat: I’d rather not get that horrible stuff on me. I despise it for other reasons. One, I don’t like lemons and two I hate things that are transparent. And three, I hate sticky situations.
Sweetie Glut: Mmm. I rather like it.
Devilz Advocaat: Well you like everything sweet.
Sweetie Glut: Ha.
Devilz Advocaat: Me, I’m more a fan of snags and stakes

Sweetie always has a stomach ache, so doesn’t tend to move from her resting spot. But if anyone needs to know the most rotten things about something Sweetie can tell them (at a price of course: sugar). Sugar can be used to power engines and vehicles. It is the best fuel in the kingdom and Sweetie has a strangle hold on most sugar operatives.

When is a painting finished?

2008-01-01T22:22:00.004+11:00

(Suspended)
When is a painting finished? When someone buys it. Otherwise, I’ll let it sit a while. (Humasnail)
Then, if there’s no takers, I take it a step further. Often this means an entirely different image. Sometimes an extension on the previous one.
This one (Ontogenesis) has been sitting around for years, but it’s big (6 foot by 8) I’d have to hire a truck to move it and then I probably wouldn’t be able to fit it in my studio space, that’s the only reason it hasn’t been painted over. Some prangsters took it once, but the fella who owned the shop it was hanging in got it back for me. It’s about the growth and development of an individual. Specifically the surge in electro-magnetic frequency development. It’s a telescopic view of developing collective nuance.

A few people said it looked aboriginal. And this worried me because the last thing I want to do is steal from other painters that aren’t being properly recognised for their work. Plus, I don’t think I can. My favourite styles of painting are indigenous Australian and street art. (There is a wide variety there, but within those genres there’s a lot of artists I like.) However, when I painted Ontogenesis, I was thinking of nature, while working on abstracts and that’s just what came out. I’m an automatic artist. I paint what flows within the confines of direction (should I be commissioned or give myself a task).

Still, not as though I’m making enough to hire a gallery space.

Recently I went to a gallery in my area. She said “what sold” was a painting something like this: To me, it’s an underpainting. I won’t invalidate the work. All art is valid. And if that’s what sells in this gallery, I’m guessing there is some trend in interior decorating that likes the brown tones (and likes the minimalist feel): make the painting look like something, but not quite. Make it simple and set the buyers mind free to put their own psychology on it. But above all it must match the furniture. And make it look like it has been seen before. Then you’ll be recognised.
Eat my eyeball. Not sure if that hot hat would work on a windy boil day. I probably have to be good at socialising and selling as well. Plus it might possibly annoy me; that all my paintings sold before I got to finish them properly! To splash a few brush strokes across the canvas, it isn’t often satisfactory, I don’t feel like I’ve done much more than roughed out the idea.
(Sort and type) Is what sells about modesty? being a person of few brush strokes? finding the big TOE? I find the idea of single identity strange. I find blanket judgement inconceivable. I like myriads. So… no lovely bright gallery space for me. But that just means more opportunities for others! joy! I get to go to their exhibitions (no charge to me)and watch them despair as they wonder if they're going to make enough sales to cover the costs of catering to all the freeloaders.

It's always indefinite how many times a painting must be painted over before it can be exhibited. That, and painting over too quickly before it becomes fashionable. Still, it's all nice brush practice and what's life for other than to let the brush have its say?

I’ve been painting some furniture for Fern Rainbow’s Apollo Bay gallery by the sea. Probably needs a bit more detailing to punch them out and match them… and I've cropped the image, but they are actually parts of seats.

Now wouldn't you just like to sit on that!

They say it's greed that does it

2007-12-31T22:31:00.001+11:00

Others say that some things have to be deleted so that more will grow. I’m chewing on society’s tongue for the moment, listening into the masticating taste all that is around me, on the eve of what some people say is a new year, but there’s no science to prove it, just a belief in a certain counting system.

I had a pet steer called Bobby at the commune, when I was a tacker. He had to be cut up and eaten, because he was considered useless. But I liked him. He was a cute boofy ginger friend. Bobby’s stomach was buried under the passion-fruit vine and that thing grew huge and full of fruit. Then one day a pompous gardener said that passionfruit vines need to be pruned. So, we pruned it and the mammoth plant died.

It’s an old story. Guess I’ll bury it now. And let the parallels grow.

They also say that you shouldn’t give yourself away. That you shouldn’t give too much. And that you should recycle your piss and shit. But I live in the city now and my neighbours wouldn’t appreciate a humanure compost in our small amount of yard.
I crossed the path as a car wanted to come out of the drive-way fast. I heard the driver yell, “Should’ve ran you over.”

I said, “Thanks.”

Then I thought of all the reasons why people might want to run over me. There are always reasons if I want to believe them. But the most effective of all was this: I’m useless. But then I thought of all that is out there and argued the use of all that. Then, I realised I was tasting someone else’s tongue. And using it to draw on the thoughts of another mind I possibly didn’t want to understand.

What I do understand is that there are people in my area who are friendly enough to let me live and dream. And even though I’m some sort of “other” that doesn’t have a church or a belief system that forms a group, they don’t mind. Prior to meeting them I was given the understanding that all organised religion was despotic. Now I know that’s not true. Without them I’d be dead.

(image removed from IFN blog) Rejection from places you like. They say it’s greed that does it, but I think it’s the pointy ears.

Back to the blackboard

2007-12-30T19:21:00.000+11:00

When the non-dominate dominates

Trawl

2007-12-17T22:42:00.000+11:00

I have a no paint water down the drain policy and a no pharmaceutical medicine in my piss policy, for quite a few selfish reasons… but mostly because I like to eat fish. I don’t eat them very often, maybe once or twice a month, maybe less. When I start to feel really, really sad I know I have to go out and gobble a fish’s soul. And if it wasn’t for the fish I’ve consumed in my lifetime, I’d probably be totally soulless. The fish flesh tells me tales. It becomes part of who I am. I end up creating visuals that scuba divers recognise, but I’ve never seen. (Sea tubas apparently) The fish I gobbled recently was that big-eyed beauty also called blue-eye or blue-nose. I think it is the most gorgeous fish imaginable. And there it was in the shop, a precious rare catch. The shop attendant held it gently in his hands, remembering what the creature looked like before it was a slice of translucent almost ready to devour. It is so hard to know which fish when so much is wasted in by-catch. No one would waste blue-eye though, unless they had no taste or eyes, but in netting a prize fish other creatures get caught as well, some of which are protected species that people are legally not allowed to catch and eat.

But yes, I’m an absorber of creatures that live in my time-zone, but breathe a different state. They sustain me: barramundi, blue-eye cod, hoki, bream, mullet or snapper. No flake, the time of taking a bite out of the man-eater is gone. Shark gobble no more. It won’t make me feel better. http://overfishing.org/pages/guide_to_good_fish.php

Tinsycat meets Goldi

2007-12-13T21:59:00.000+11:00

Sometimes little kittens find themselves in strange places.

Dragons well now, that’s a whole drifting story. They’re many and I think they vary more than kittens. And some are like kittens. For there are tinsy dragons too. But this one’s big Goldi. The creature is mostly into eating fruitcake and manicuring nails.

Tinsycat hadn’t even opened her eyes when she first made friends with this wingless dragon named Goldi.

But since that first meeting Tinsycat has decided she would one day like to be a big dragon too.

Goldi doesn’t know how to explain to Tinsy that kittens never grow up to be dragons.

Thought bubblings

2007-12-09T10:53:00.000+11:00

Been working on connecting visual components with English. To me they’ve always been separate things. And no question, the visual comes first; I could always draw, just as I knew sound-sense. But English I had to learn. It’s an imposed communication skill. So, I’ve been thinking about what senses drive the words and how the thoughts are being triggered… Or if the external factors are actually more important than the body’s sensory equipment.
Then, questioning the reality of a situation when reality is a spit pocus.

And given that not every one hears voices, that is words inside or outside their head. Some might instead think in symbols.

And then some things, I don’t think really need words.

And yes, I really should try and save on paper more, but I really do love having a sketch book I can use anytime anywhere. It doesn’t bite into my eyes like the computer scream. And, I haven’t yet adjusted to the tablet… that and it being called a tablet.

Observations and excess

2007-12-05T00:59:00.000+11:00

Listened to the thunder rumbling, cracking, barking a double-bass drum of sardonic laughter in a summer storm that hit my central senses like the best played electric instrument in total surround sound.

Then there was Kaki King. Top fret playing, atmospheric dreaming.

Saw a magic sunset and a four-leaf clover. Didn’t think enough to take a picture.

Then, found my block surrounded by trolleys and got my camera out. They’re not usually there. Maybe I’m imagining things. But they’re not usually there, I’m fairly sure. And while none of them spoke to me, I could see they were up to things. Don’t want to encourage them any further, but here they are, up to trouble, looking for trouble trolls hanging round the block.

People think you’re crazy person now. Don’t talk to crazy person. Poor crazxy person. Keep distance fro m cxzy person. Feel sorry for crxy crank. Poor poor. You look troubled…
You know what the trouble with you is…
I don’t want any trouble but, you get what’s coming.
I won’t trouble you anymore
Don’t trouble yourself.
The trouble is your troubles.
Double trouble, triple trouble, quadruple trouble…
These are troubled times
You’re just trouble aren’t you?
I don’t go looking for trouble
I think I’ve got into enough trouble all ready, I don’t want more.
Trouble follows you everywhere
Life is good. It’s never been so perfect. Trouble must be around the corner… waiting…

Don't worry, I'm not in trouble.

You're not in trouble are you?

Well, stop playing it. This is a blag spot about my blart.

Trolley’s last words

2007-12-01T00:20:00.000+11:00

This is all my fault of course. If I’d got up a little earlier and headed in the right direction. If I’d eaten breakfast. If I had stopped thinking about shit and criticising it, then, I would’ve known what was going to happen to this poor creature and I would’ve made sure I got it to safety…
No, get it right, I don’t support industries that have financial links with petroleum based organisations, if I can help it. Their trolleys can all die. Ha ha ha. Um… unless it is really late and I’m desperate for food and there’s no other shop open.
Actually, I’m not sure what to think about this one. But I’m certainly not going to carry the troll home like it was demanding. Fck that. Let it rot in the gutter. Serve it right for being born to be a slave to a company that supports GM and nanotech food products. So what if it is helpless and chained into service. So what I say. It should find some way to fight if it really wants to be free, (unless it’s into the whole masochist thing).
Oh, maybe that was it. This poor trolley was trying to escape and that’s when it happened… ah. Oh dear well, poor thing. Hmm. Too bad huh. Anyway, I’m not a trolley and I don’t use them, so I don’t have to concern myself with why some vehicle crushed the thing in the gutter. End of story.

http://www.mindfreedom.org/shield/introduction-to-mindfreedom-shield
http://www.kqed.org/w/hope/involuntarytreatment.html#

Minimalism

2007-11-26T21:45:00.000+11:00

A friend recently said to me, “Your paintings are too detailed. People can’t be bothered looking at details.”

The want to institutionalise art like it is a mad thing that needs to be tamed, like a garden that is “over grown”, making it like something that is already known. Art is something that can be shown, but to make it taut and tense, to me, just doesn’t make sense. The age of minimalism has had its daze, let our gardens grow wild and let’s get lost in paintings which have – like the (now forbidden) campfire, that – forever gaze.

Well, it’s good to have an aim. Very recent painting, (working title: Visitors from the sea) still wet and probably needs a bit more detailing, I think. And, while I don’t want people to look directly at my exterior for too long, it gives me pleasure to have others scrutinize my artwork. So please get lost:)

Ecological necessities are not votable

2007-11-24T19:04:00.001+11:00

I used to watch the whales from my grandmother’s upstairs window. Trying to focus her huge binoculars in my hands to see amongst the red-herrings of sea-weed, if there were any big moving bodies of energy about. We like them being there, even though we don’t watch them daily anymore. To kill them… it’s like flattening an island, sinking a ship full of people, tearing down a mountain, cutting out a rainforest, blowing up my neighbour’s home…
Humans cannot live without anything else to sustain them. Even lead boxes let things in and humans have pores that sieve the air and great big blow holes taking in and expiring. We interact with the earth and its creatures, we even interact with the energy of far distant singularities. Interconnection cannot be denied. I’ve tried thinking about a way a human could sustain itself without anything else and I came up with the idea of humans feeding off humans. It wasn’t a utopia and it still didn’t quite make sense.
So I reckon we’re not actually destroying the earth, we’re destroying our habitat. The earth will live on, it’s bigger than us. Humans will die off. And I like humans. It’s just that some of their systems tend to run backwards, or take way too much time to catch on, making human survival doubtful.
As I voted today (incidentally in a polling booth which is normally an army barracks) I thought, is there satisfaction is killing when it is not for hunger? Or are people doing as they are told because someone else says the only choice they have is this? And why indeed is it that only a couple of parties really get to have a say; when one is prepared to pulp Tasmania’s forests, and the other is stuck in the raciest and dirty industries of the 1950s? And neither would be prepared to protect the big visiting locals who travel the sea.
When people are forced off their land they own, with guns to their head so that companies can mine it… I just find Australia a little strange. But at least there are some organisations out there prepared to body-guard the whales.
http://www.seashepherd.org/
http://www.greenpeace.org/international/

Threads and buttons and leather looks

2007-11-24T14:50:00.001+11:00

I’m very minimalist in what I wear. I tend to get paint on everything anyway. Besides, I’m not sure if I want to have garments that make people look at me, because I’m not quite sure what the point of that is.

There was a woman sitting across from me, on the tram. I noticed intricate patterns on her skirt. They were like nothing I’d seen before… but my mind started reminiscing about lace-work my nana made and that long, long dead relative that was a court embroider. The tiny delicate stitches. They were gold against the black and swirling. I was wondering who made it. I forgot it was a skirt... I forgot there was a woman wearing it, until I reached her shoe and looked up.

Her face was like a snarl that had been hit by a shovel as she looked at my plain shabby clothes splattered with paint. Okay, she didn’t get the same treat when she looked at my gear, so I guess it was rude to look upon the beauty and wealth of her material.

I told my friend Buddy about this. He said, “You just don’t want to look at women’s skirts, in general.”
“But it was so pretty.”
“Even more reason to not look apparently.”
“Why do they wear things that are so attractive if they don’t want people to look? She was just a middle-aged woman. I wasn’t eying her off, even if I was into that stuff.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve been in trouble for it too.”

I get recycled clothes, this has to do with what I call “ethical economy”. My priority is for pockets. Also, Melbourne’s weather changes in a snap and I’m out for a sunny day and then the rain and wind comes in.
This happened recently, but I was lucky enough to be passing by a shop. And they had a nice red coat for me. Unfortunately this came with unknown problems… I found that my keys disappeared, for there was a hole in the pocket and my keys were jangling around in the lining of the coat.
Then, on the way home I was about to get off the tram when a nice young chap tapped me on the shoulder.
“You’re losing your buttons,” he said handing me one of my little cherry-red things.
“Thanks,” I said. Thinking about how he would feel if someone came up to him and said he’d lost his leather… coat. Yes he might just be as red as my button in some places.
Look, I was cold and hungry, and at the point of wanting to feast on some poor little fish or anything else that I could find. Clearly I was losing my buttons in more than one way.

Scent trail

2007-11-18T20:07:00.000+11:00

I was walking through the local gardens and got a whiff of this sharp biting scent. I remember the smell from bushland when I was nine or so, I found a chrysalis and wanted to take it with me, but thought better of it. I have no idea what the creature hiding inside the opaque brown thumb-sized hibernation was; but there were many of these cocoons and they had that strong acidic smell which only seemed to be present during the early evening.
Just small little black flies in the air. The dragonflies had their wild day in our city garden. Probably should do a painting of them. Made such a motorised buzz of noise when they zoomed past or rammed me in the nose. So I was thinking the smell was either cicadas, or wasps.
If I could digitally record and map the particle wave patterns from this scent, load it into Google, then get an instant answer it would stop bugging me… This sort of thinking waffled through my mind as I created Scent trail. It's not really how things look, so much as the picture a scent creates in my mind that drives my hands to explore on the canvas.

Sketchbook characters and developing story

2007-11-16T21:22:00.000+11:00

Getting a few of these hundreds of original characters in my sketch book happening into stories. Here’s two of them: Ange and Grumble.

Part one: The drought of Faeryland
Ange wanted to do something. She could see how her land had become parched. Even the oracle tree looked sapped of strength this year. Hardly produced fruit. And the river was barely enough for the fish to swim in.
The faeries were developing ways of making water. It was not real water, but it would do almost the same trick as water.
But Ange wanted to feel the rain on her skin. She wanted to put up a nasturtium umbrella and watch the droplets fall around her. Little lovely crystals splashing around. And it was because of this desire for rains she had not seen for so long, that she started working on a spell. A wishing spell. She would call to a raincloud. Why not? Faeries have made the dead rise again. Surely a raincloud could not be that hard. They probably all just superstitious, Ange thought.
But it was very clear, calling rainclouds was forbidden by faery lore. Ange reasoned that if she called a small cloud secretly, to just rain near one place, enough to create a bit of green, she could then convince the faeries to ban together and call a bigger cloud up and then they could all dance together under the rain. It would be so lovely! She closed her eyes and dreamed. Then she started singing. “Bring in the rain…”
Her body smoothly moved about, as if in a trance. “The rain is coming now. Bring in the rain…”
And then it came, the thing that the faeries had said was impossible. First a little drop on her cheek. She went to touch it, thinking it might just be a falling leaf or a little creature, but no, it was damp and dissolved with her touch. Her heart beat to the rhythm of falling, falling droplets everywhere around her. So beautiful so wonderful. She sung and danced more vigorously and watched little flowers spring up at her feet.
Then after quite a soaking, the rain stopped. But she could still hear the cloud rumbling above her. She looked up and there it was above her head. It seemed to be trying to get away but was stuck there above her, like a halo of grumbling energy.
“If you wish to go, I suppose you can now,” said Ange. “This was just an experiment. Thankyou. Now I know we really can call a raincloud.”
“I’d leave if I could,” the raincloud called Grumble said. “But some little faery cast a spell on me, didn’t she? Can’t get away now back to my family. Can’t even think of making snow! Errhhhhhhr erhr…”
Rain started falling again, lots of it. Bitter cold rain.
Ange shivered. “Go away rain come back another day.”
“That’s too much of a cliché,” Grumble stopped crying. “Clichés don’t work as spells, because their original magic has been worn thin.”
“But I did get you to stop raining on me.”
“I want to go home!”
“I know. I know. I’ll think of a way Mr Raincloud.”
“Grumble. They called me that when I was born. What do they call you? Twitterbug faery?”
“Ange. I’m an seraph faery. Look, I’m sorry Grumble. It’s just that we had a drought and I thought you might be able to help us.”
Grumble started crying again, “I want to go home. I don’t like being so low to the earth. People will think I’m some kind of fog, but I’m not and I don’t want to be.”
Ange picked a leaf from a nearby tree to try and shelter herself, “Don’t worry Grumble I’ll find a way. If I had the powers to call you here, surely I have the powers to set you free.”
“Easier said than done.”
But, time passed and Ange was not able to set Grumble free. She could no longer fly, for her wings were always wet. And all the faeries wanted nothing to do with her, because she had broken the lore.
It seemed like life couldn’t get worse. Ange couldn’t even complain, because Grumble already did that for her, she couldn’t dwell in her misery because Grumble was better at that than her and she certainly couldn’t grumble.