Served

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

Last of the Blearies...

Collected lip

“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.”

Wine glass news reader

“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.

Liquid lady

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

"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

Precious paint

Ephemeral

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

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

Man and donkey

"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?"

White elephant sale

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.

A landscape of containers

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

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

Ocean floor dish

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.

City plant breaks concrete ceiling

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.

More on trouble: the manic Berserker tautology

(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

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.