Slack Painter

On Zoning Out

2012-01-24T02:59:00.000-08:00

Ummm, yeah. Sorry what did you say?

On and Off Road

2011-12-26T04:05:00.000-08:00

Really glad I didn't buy any of Bill Calahan's music when the woman at Title recommended it to me. How many times can you fit the word Buffalo into a record? Jarring, weird, American, painfully earnest and without much content, I am listening to "Apocalypse" at the moment. It will not be on ze Itunes by the morning although I will give his other two albums a shot before I completely wipe the whole idea of liking Bill. I have been told that quite a lot of woman love BC, whatever that means.
I need glasses to drive. I have misjudged two freeway entrances over the past six months and through stubborn lazyness I have become incredibly lost both times. I can't see the writing on traffic signs until it is way too late and I tend to panic before getting to a distance where I can see them. Panic usually enforces preemptive decision making, meaning I will suddenly turn left if that is the direction I instinctively feel I should be going in. Once discovering I am on the wrong path, stupidly I will continue on, not wanting to admit any kind of mistake. The first time I did this I extended my travels by an hour. The second freeway miss didn't get the better of me as I stopped after twenty minutes on a side road and employed google maps. My inner compass had me travelling parallel to the freeway I wanted to be on, so that was some sought of success as far as getting lost goes. On the last undershoot I remembered that I wear glasses for driving otherwise it has become illegal for me to be behind the wheel at all, I promptly found them in my new Christmas present hipster backpack and put them on.

I commandeered the car from my mother to take our French Girl on two day trips, the first to Mount Dandenong. I did get a little lost on the way there too but only so I could ascend the mountain via a route I was familiar with. I like to drive up the Mount Dandenong Tourist Road via Ferntree Gully so I can get my bearings when I get to the top. I find the Dandenongs hard to navigate as suburbs on the Mount are not situated in any kind of pattern in relation to each other. The suburbs are partnered by twisted squiggly roads that make my hands sweat when I traverse them. Locals zoom around the narrow blind cornered roads and ride my safe 55 kilometer arse willing death onto me through thier windscreens. The stares of doom bounce straight off my rear vision mirror filling me with self conscious angst. The occasional steep drop to the side of the road only adds to the fear. I did wear my glasses this time and they do help quite a bit. Melanie and I went to Sassafras and had lunch. We saw a few things Nanna's would be really keen on like soap and teapots. Melanie found some tasteful Australiana merchandise surprisingly.

I tried to take us to Sherbrooke falls which I thought was off Grant's picnic ground. The car park was packed with people all there to see the Galahs, Cockatoos and Rosellas that congregate for their public feeding. M was entranced by the birds head ware and bright colours but was not too keen to get close. I explained they could all have your arm off at a moments notice. I eventually persuaded M to get close to a Cockatoo for a photo. Then the Cocky got cocky and went for her. M screamed, understandably and I thought we should keep our distance from that point on. M was motioning a semi automatic firing stance at the bird so I am sure it was all very provocative.

We eventually found the Falls after a short walk and some help from a kind couple with a beautiful Italian Greyhound. The waterfall was as small as I remembered but not unattractive. M and I jumped the bridge and climbed underneath for a closer look. We stopped for a bit by the creek and then made our way back to the car. En route we got a great show from a lyrebird who had seen a few sci fi films. The bird was intermittently interpreting a kookaburra and some kind of laser beam sound. We were also accosted by a very angry Yabbie in the middle of the path who didn't really want us to get by. The Yabbie had it's little nippers in the air and when I approached it raised them even higher in a vicious threatening motion. I was in hysterics as M had resorted to screaming once again. She asked me what it was and we discovered there is no translation to French for Yabbie. I called it "Lunch" and this she understood. I promptly engaged the animal in some taunting so M could run behind it's back, getting past unscathed.

The final meeting with the wild happened when I turned to talk to M and realised she had made a friend. A leech had attached itself to her and was desperately trying to make it back to the car with us. At this point I freaked a little, if there's one... The worst thing to say would be, "don't move", so I said this unthinkingly and then went in to remove our new friend. We made it back to the car crawling with anxiety and phantom feelings of leech attachments, then quickly got our shoes off for some serious checking. Yes there were more. M was good humoured about this and as she is in the medical profession perhaps she has a soft spot for leeches, who knows what kind of medical procedures still happen in foreign countries. Leeches could be le chic.

Smiles of the innocent and unsuspecting

Bird with anger issues

Possible provocation

Checking for the unwanted

Small Fall

Distance required to see clearly without glasses

Spare Oom

2011-12-14T05:34:00.000-08:00

I have moved a small French girl into the spare room. Melanie, a friend of a friend who is a great friend is hiding out in the back room on an air mattress. Are all French people lovely? Yes, I think they may be. Mel has been here a week now and I find I want say, "we go sis way", "knoh" and "yez, I it all ze chocalart". Barkly streeters are shocked to hear stories of eating fois gras and brie covered in chocolate and that Frenchers are late eaters... dinner at 9pm??? Shock, outrage, entertainment. Today I took Melanie to National Gallery Vic and couldn't help thinking about how much better the Louvre would be.

The Zombies

2011-12-08T02:29:00.000-08:00

Update with Evidence

2011-12-07T03:27:00.001-08:00

This is a special glimpse into the inner workings of the Kezzy. Above is a CT Scan taken of the recently uncovered damage to my left hip. The white highlighted section touching the round part is causing all the trouble. I explained what this photo was to two separate people and failed to convey any clarity, so I apologize if the next sentence is completely redundant. The photo is a cross section of my left hip (although it is in reverse) and the round part is the ball joint that sits in the curvy pelvis part. Healthy hip joints don't generally touch and don't have excess spikes and curves flaring off them. Mine is probably due to hip displaysia at birth and a bad gene pool. I have heard depression and stress are also linked to arthritis and I'm sure we have all had our fair share of that.
The trip to the hospital two weeks ago was monstrous having been prodded and x-rayed and frightened by the gruesome truth of what's to come. I saw eight health workers and each one explained the complications and arduous recovery process in minute detail. For six weeks after the operation I will not be able to pick anything up, bend toward my legs, turn my body or turn my foot outward or inward in case the new hip dislocates.
Recovery aids include a walker, a grabber, crutches and a new toilet seat. I know i will be better off but it doesn't help the thought of what will be phenomenologically happening to me. There is something really intrusive and gruesome about it all. I am still trying not to think about it but it is seeping into my everyday life and contributing to a generally cranky attitude. Sorry.
I tried to write about it on the Wednesday after the hospital trip but it made me very upset. I thought writing would be slightly cathartic and I suppose it is well after the head on collisions of involvement. Nicola if you didn't want to know I would most likely be posting another YouTube clip and be talking about the type of paint they use on the roads and how amazingly squishy under foot that can be in thicker sections...I do enjoy that paint, it has mica particles in it.
The op has been booked in for January so I really just have to get through the stress of Christmas shopping and the one day a year it is mandatory to spend in the suburbs being alienated by my family.
I wonder how it will be not being in physical pain all the time? Pretty good I suppose. Being in pain all the time may well be a hard habit to break, it has its associated dialogue and limited physical vocabulary also. I can't imagine suddenly flinging limbs, considering horse riding as an option, or surmounting my fear of jogging/going to a festival/siting on the ground any time soon pain or no.
Thinking twice has been such guarded knee jerk closely followed by his friend "no". It will be like a a complete re-evaluation of reality.

Kareena: not next door anymore

2011-11-26T17:37:00.001-08:00

Honey. Who else could let me know in no uncertain terms that they wouldn't be caught dead in poly/cotton? Refer to grocery shopping as getting some delicious animals? Remain upbeat in the face of any adversity, (as you say we are tough). There is nothing that can't be fixed by the thought of reclining in the sunshine, painstakingly fussy hors d'oeuvres and a bottle of Champagne by our side whilst listening to non invasive light music. Fashion magazine also? Heaven. Tomorrow is another better day to you with the chance of perfect metaphorical weather and that's always an epically good thing to hear, no matter what's going on. I hope you are moving in because I need to laugh more, not less. We could dance to Roxy Music in our designer pj's and then catch up on Next Top Model. Bangin!

Matt Looks Unconvinced

2011-11-21T22:59:00.001-08:00

Beat Street

2011-11-21T22:47:00.000-08:00

Philip Glass-Sesame Street

2011-11-19T01:30:00.000-08:00

I'll Be Back

2011-11-17T03:39:00.000-08:00

Well yeah, it's time for the hip replacement. I am going to see my orthopeadic surgeon on Tuesday to find out when, where and the ins and outs of rehab. I have been booked in for surgery twice already, the first time it got cancelled because there were so many accidents over the long weekend. The second cancellation was because the CT scan I had revealed that the damage to my joint was incredibly worse than any x-ray could possibly reveal.

As I ate breakfast in sunny Surfers Paradise on Monday my surgeon explained that instead of the less invasive keyhole clean and scrape I was expecting, I now need the full replacement. Upsetting is an understatement. I doubled over at the breakfast table in dread/shock/devastation. The boring bit is organising friends, work and constantly putting life on hold for something that may or may not be happening on a given date. I really settled on the first operation with its 4 week recovery period. Now I am not too sure about sawing off bits of bone and replacing them with titanium alloys.

Everyone has been amazing, especially my employers, and that makes it all a little easier. I have adopted a little mode of denial at the moment as experiencing the fear really messes with my week. So far I imagine it's going to be like this...

Before.

During.

Theme tune.

Recovery

After.

Camera Obscura

2011-11-11T04:58:00.001-08:00

Kezzy Attenborough

2011-11-10T04:44:00.001-08:00

Women and Children

2011-11-10T04:36:00.000-08:00

I posted Bill Collins below because I really have fond memories of Bill and also Ivan Hutchinson who both presented Saturday Night Movies back in the 80's and early 90's. The contemporary equivalent of watching Bill and Ivan present a film would be getting onto Wikipedia or IMBD and reading before watching a movie you downloaded. The nostalgic magic of black and white film and Saturday nights at home in my pj's with my Nanna are a glow in my mind as I am now home most Saturday nights.
Of course their are no films on Saturday nights anymore and my snugly Nan is very upsettingly a box of carbon, but I am still in my pj's as soon as I hit the lounge after work. I downloaded The Lady Vanishes after watching Bill's fantastic intro. Who would have known Redgrave wasn't even trying to act...outrage. He is obviously naturally talented or he is an arrogantly poised toffee as modus operandi.

Saturday nights were great because of my Nan who basically raised me from her Asbestos clad flat in our large suburban backyard. Her name was Lillian, born Clara, but Lil or Nan for short. Nan like all post colonial Aus Nan's made really boring food taste amazing, cucumber in vinegar or tomato on white bread with salt and pepper. The horse races and 3MP were always playing in the kitchen from the "wireless" and a pervasive smell of slightly burnt toast embedded the kitchen and living area.
I remember watching a lot of Elvis movies at midday, playing snap and helping to choose tattslotto numbers, (the amount of gambling is a little shocking now I think about it).

Nan was a little overweight but I suppose it was all the butter and pascall's chocolate eclairs she consumed. She kept a jar of eclairs next to her couch at all times. The lollies seem slightly inappropriate now as Nan had false teeth and I would assume they would get stuck in her teeth quite often. She was always flashing her teeth too, much to my horror and hilarity. I would probably see them once a week on average as she flashed them at me whilst crossing her eyes. It was all to aid my amusement as I was often bored senseless. The entertainment value of someone Nan's age committing such an indecent act was slightly riveting, my Mother was totally embarrassed by it I'm sure.

I can see my mother becoming more like Nan as she ages. Hugs are squishier and Mum has the little sloping shoulders and arthritic hands that I remember Nan having. Mum doesn't crack the jokes though, she is still serious unless prompted (see below for mum in my Karen Walker Eyewear, it would be more amusing if you knew her).

University Life

2011-11-10T03:30:00.000-08:00

Dear Kerryn,

Thanks for sending in your casual contract. However this contract cannot be updated in Themis until you provide a complete tax declaration form and proof of working rights.
Could you please send this asap?thanks.G

Dear G,
I received an envelope from the staff on the day I gave the lecture and filled in the two forms inside the envelope. One form was a Tax File Declaration and the other was a form containing my personal details and banking information. I am not familiar with the Proof of Working Rights Form and I believe I filled out the Tax Declaration and popped it back in the envelope. If this is not the case and there are other forms I need to fill out could you possibly please send them to me and I will return them to you. At this time I cannot travel during weekdays as I work full time. My postal address is on the signature of this email.
Thanks,

Kerryn

Dear Kez,
I have sent a tax declaration form to your given address. When sending the form, can you please include a copy of your passport page?
thanks

Hi Kez
I’m gobsmacked to find that you have still not been paid for your teaching in July. I was just copied into the email trail – sorry about this. We did send your original Tax Dec and HR form to HR – but new government rules require proof of identity via a copy of passport – a new rule sprung upon us.

Apologies this is so dragged out again this year, I feel jinxed. I’ll be checking with HR frequently until you are paid, but meanwhile could you let me know whether you have sent the Tax Dec and passport copy back to G – just in case it’s gone missing again...

trust things going well with you
regards for now
M

Hi M,

thank you for following up on this, I just haven't had the energy to follow up myself, (I like teaching so much that I wasn't too phased anyway).

As far as I am aware I filled out the form with a copy of my i.d. and posted it back to G about two weeks after I received it.

Once again I may have to fill out another form. I hope letters going missing isn't common, or it could be just as far as I am concerned.

M if you could resend me a Tax Dec I will send it back with the photocopy (three times the charm). Or i could possibly get one from the Post Office?

Thanks again M.

Kind regards,

Kez

Bring Back Bill

2011-10-12T04:57:00.000-07:00

I want informative gossip, oversized glasses and camp delivery with my movies.
Bill was amazing.

Comin' Home

2011-10-09T05:06:00.000-07:00

Every night. That's right. Now there is no alcohol in the Kezzel there's no need to stay out. I'm home now, like I was before and after work every night this week. Radical change could really be my forte. No post drinking depression to tie me to Sunday laptop in bed, money in my wallet to ponder possible ways of spending. I booked in for Acupuncture. Time to sought out my tax return? Do some painting? There was even a breakthrough with drumming practice this evening as I figured hitting a pillow rather than the drums doesn't make nearly the same amount of noise. It's all about keeping the beat and building up a little wrist strength as i see it. Thanks to TC for introducing me to Bernard Purdie and the intertubes for online metronome. I'm all inspired with plenty of clear headed time on my hands. I'll film my pillow/couch Purdie rendition for your entertainment as soon as I channel Chronos and reincarnate as someone who can stick to one thing for more than five minutes.

Organ Reform

2011-10-05T04:39:00.000-07:00

After a liver scare last Sunday I have decided to give my liver a little holiday. I didn't imagine copious amounts of painkillers could possibly have an effect on my body as I am only twenty and I know for a fact i will live forever. However my body has decided to inform me that Nurofen Plus and Pandol Extra will not be consumed without caution. Sunday was a warning of teenage vomiting and nausea induced by a rather low intake of alcohol the previous night. Huh? Oh yeah. I hardly had any and suffered like I drank copious amounts of wine and spirits followed by some draino. This really scared me senseless and forced me to the nearest GP for a blood test. A Lecturer informed me in my school daze that I have/am (?) bon vivant and the GP confirmed this later in the week. I still have a Liver of steel, which is highly surprising after I linger on the amount of nasty things it has had to process when I haven't been looking.

Still it's time for a little holiday. No pain killers this week which has been difficult considering the changeable charged ions in the atmosphere directly linking to how much fluid you retain around your arthritic joints. My councillor, Fran says that if it's going to rain, you will know about it. We arthritics are like human cats, instead of trying to get under the house we are downing the fish oil, whingeing and warming up wheat packs.

As for the alcohol, i had a successful Saturday night out without it. I spent my money on Martin Amis's "The War Against Cliche" (much needed), "John Peel Sessions" by Ken Garner and a beautifully designed monograph on Anish Kapoor.

Reading is the new G&T. I curled up with a book on the couch at a pub, slammed some Beethovan in my ears and read while I waited for T on Saturday night. It was very enjoyable and not something i would ever consider doing if I was drinking. Viva le Bon Vivant.

Kraftwerk Tanzmusik

2011-09-27T05:23:00.000-07:00

The Legend of Leigh Bowery

2011-09-25T18:27:00.000-07:00

Dean Spanley

2011-09-18T18:59:00.000-07:00

I watched this two days ago and it is still affecting me. It makes everything else I have been watching seem like complete rubbish. Dean Spanley came out in 2008 but i never heard anything about it. My Father who is grappling with the new language of the internet and the downloading process told me I should watch it as he has the strange belief that anything to do with England circa 14th to early 20th century is something I will be right into (he is right to some extent).

Dean Spanley may appear to be period drama but it is a little bit better than the usual etiquette controlled/hard done by, witty sparring by the protagonist to gain true love/moral triumph equation. I quite like a bit of period drama and mostly because people tend to have good manners and the characters that don't are usually fantastically interesting because they know what good manners are and then buck they trend; so unlike real life. Dickens always has great names for them like Tulkinghorn or Squeers which is always a pleasure to think about. Bad manners in my experience usually occur from ignorant people, they are always such a drag and are the cause of human life's many woes i.e. spitting, fracking, burping, I.E.D's...

Dean Spanley is great because it takes you a little bit by surprise with its strange story. Told with impressively adept and poetic dialogue, ultimately the film winds toward a narrative climax akin to the Usual Suspects in a didn't-see-that-coming-style.

B and I both lost it, me with a shaking that resonated through my whole body and B who actually had to go and lie on the ground outside with a glass of water to calm down. My reaction to this type of champagne entertainment is to usually go on about it for a couple of weeks to anyone who will listen. I've been told I'm a "connector" and by blogging and creating that link I believe I just reinforced it.

SBTRKT Pharaohs

2011-09-17T07:17:00.000-07:00

Spring Collection

2011-09-13T07:14:00.000-07:00

Somehow it has come to be that i own this painting. It may not be to your taste and the beady eyes are a little perturbing, but overall I think it is really successful at capturing the mad beady little eyed man/woman in us all. Is it of someone from New York or Peru? I don't know. But he is sitting on top of my bookshelf staring into space as I write this. Thankfully he is kind of staring at the opposite cornice of my bedroom rather than following me around the room a-la bad 70's spy film, because that would be truly frightening. You could check out how amazing this artist is by clicking here and then after that ruin your peace filled frame of mind by never really knowing how I obtained this or many other wonderful objects in my current possession. Owning this painting in particular makes me consider home insurance and owner responsibility in new and threatening ways, oh man.

Sub-mission

2011-09-13T06:00:00.000-07:00

It takes a lot longer than two hours to write a gallery proposal, (it does for me and for you too if your doing it to my high standards of spell checking, diverting onto the intertube to look at something completely unrelated then remembering that you have to re-title all of your images). I thought proposals would be quicker, but their not :( . This means that I only got one done as opposed to the three that I was aiming for. One out of three prospective exhibitions for next year would be a good strike rate, three out of three would be a nightmare of expense and stress but with a tinge of effervescent ego inflation.

I havent really shown work outside of Victoria except for Ballarat* and that involved a mass exodus of artists from Melbourne to said town for a boozy overnight social. I feel I should ammend my small town ways like a band would, by going on the road, spread the word- so to speak. Indy Band road trips always sound uncomfortable, with lashings of luxury minimization and success dependent on crowd numbers at gigs. Although art exhibitions are slightly dependent on crowd numbers for success come to think of it.

I imagine my art gig road trip to be about travelling in comfort and excess to my interstate event. There would be a designated driver and I would be left in charge of the stereo. Multiple stops would be the mandate along with some feet up room in the back seat, teddy would be coming too.

It's just Melbourne for now, you lucky folks who are obsessed with my next paintin' move. I really have to talk to someone with interstate connections (of who I don't know any). I would be more connected in NY at this point in time as that's where a large majority of Melbourne painters seem to be. Time to think Big Apple rather than Big Pineapple?

*See previous post "Scandenoverit"on bad geography skills with map of the world attached.

Bird Watching

2011-09-07T05:05:00.000-07:00

This is my second attempt at teaching painting. The results as you can see are mildly inspiring. To the far left is a recognisable Finch in grey scale and to the far right is some type of Duck also in greys. These birds are not to be confused with Hannah and Anna standing in the centre. Those chicks can paint and i have to say i'm a proud little educator. There were a few "no"s and "you might want to think about..."s from me but overall I managed to maintain a calm couple of hours of organised informative chaos in the studio. I believe the success is evident in those cute smiley faces. Perhaps my calling is for just teaching people to paint birds, maybe I should set some very strict parameters on this studio thing...doves, chickens and parrots only. Who's next?

2011-09-03T18:24:00.001-07:00

Kezorialist

2011-08-29T06:27:00.000-07:00

Ride it like you find it

2011-08-22T05:54:00.000-07:00

Matt don't worry, I'm not depressed.

Ali and Marcel are back!!!!!

Most Important Meal

2011-08-17T05:47:00.000-07:00

This is how my friend Clara has her breakfast.

I have brown whole grain with some boring for breakfast.

Clara is an Anesthetist .

I am a Sales Assistant.

Clara lives in Fitzroy.

I live in North Fitzroy.

Clara is up beat, athletic, attractive and pretty funny.

I just had to google how to spell anesthetist.

Leica Love

2011-08-16T06:03:00.000-07:00

With everyone overseas, Melbourne is becoming a wasteland of forgotten good times. If you are overseas like Marcel, Sylvia, Nicola, Danica and Ali and once belonged here, don’t bother coming back. Day to day is the same: start with a strong latte, work all day serving the same people, answering the same questions then once a week go to a pub either, Workers, Old Bar, Builders or the Tote and see a band that isn’t the best thing you’ve ever heard and then nurse the hangover all day you created the night before. Add two beroccas and repeat endlessly.

Do you think I need a holiday? I am pretty sure I do and Ali is having some sordid massage and cocktail festival in Bali while I write this probably not even missing me. My holiday will be an operation if the Alfred ever sends the letter, right now I’ll take anything. Waiting around for impending pain is a little mood making.

My attempts at consumerist distraction from monotony were foiled when I realised the second hand camera I want costs $2000. I could have quite a nice holiday for that amount but there would be no physical record of it. Hmmm so torn, the camera is pretty nice and I’m positive I wouldn’t use it after one roll of film (which is also part of the attraction in a sadistic kind of way) proving that wanting has absolutely nothing to do with needing. I am in love with a Leica M6, potential partners please step aside, I am a busy woman with German design on my mind. I blame the documentary I posted a couple of entries ago where they explained that the Leica has a side viewfinder making it extremely tenable for street photography. The Leica was also the camera that Bresson used. Convinced? Me too, in a big way. I have been stalking Ebay for two weeks knowing that I will not be getting anywhere near breathing on this object of desire.

Below is an artistic rendition of how I will look on ownership (the same but better).

Walking Track

2011-08-14T08:08:00.000-07:00

Beirut - Santa Fe by Revolver USA

This has to be the best Beirut track to date. It has to be for me as I never really got into Beirut even when people kind of liked that Flying Cup Club album. I bought that album but yeah. Santa Fe is Kez-best because it is kind of up beat pop and not too trumpet over bearing with a little rolling marching drum in the back. Perfect for walking to, meaning it will end up in the "Kezzy walks" playlist where I save all my perfect walking tracks. Think of me walking when you hear it somewhere else and it will have much more meaning I bet.

Pete Molinari

2011-08-08T04:01:00.000-07:00

Saturday, Fitzroy

2011-08-08T03:37:00.000-07:00

Magnolias are back and jasmine is out, sweet. I love the smells and the sights. Magnolias are so interesting to look at and really aesthetic, I always think of them as intricate sculptures with hand painted porcelain blooms because they look so unreal on the street. Gertrude st has them as their footpath plant of choice which I love but they are so stick-like and see through they don't do much to cover up the grey concrete-ness in that area of Fitz. They recently planted olive trees on Smith street which is also incredibly useless and inane as a mode to cheer up the street. Olive trees may be hardy but they are silver-green and look like a nasty weed next to the asphalt.

Best Advice Yet

2011-08-05T05:12:00.000-07:00

I love you history of Photography

2011-08-04T06:16:00.000-07:00

I want a daguerreotype and a book on Sander. Photography is my new painting.

HP at Imax

2011-07-24T06:18:00.000-07:00

I just saw HP 7 Part 2 at imax in 3d and it was pretty amazing. I could go again if I chose and I wouldn't mind that because it was honestly so enjoyable. A few questions though. Is Severes Harry's Dad? Did I miss something. Why is Malfoy's mother asking if her son is dead when she's standing over the HP's body? Does it really matter? No.

A, B and I watched a mini HP marathon in the lead up to this viewing so I feel I am ensconced in a slight HP fever. You should go and see it and have a HP marathon before you go and you too will be sorry it's all over.

Bo Diddley

2011-07-19T06:48:00.000-07:00

Photographic Memory

2011-07-17T05:55:00.000-07:00

Misty Thursday morning on the Gertrude walk to work.

Here's me scanning for undulations in the surface of this hand primed heavy weave Belgian Linen, something I do regularly. I remembered to ask to get a photo of me doing this as I know years will pass and I will have a vague recollection of building large canvases for people without there being any proof. I do quite love to make things, which I guess is an instilled drive from hanging out in my father's garage as a child while he repaired furniture, constructed greenhouses and lathed cups and plates from pieces of cured walnut.

Back to the proof, taking photos of paintings with mega pixels is crap and I have to get a really good camera to document my work. The sort of camera that I need is probably box-ily large and will need its own carrying device. Having yet another large object to carry around is a bummer because I already have so many things weighing my shoulders down day to day. Yet getting into the habit of taking photos is an invaluable practice. All through Uni (02-06) I took hundreds of photos and can actually remember a lot more about that time than the previous year. Since abandoning the camera whole relationships with people have slipped my mind. Holidays are gone. Clothes and houses I once lived in can all vanish without a strained amount of concentration to recollect them. When they are gone at least I have AG who always remembers everything, usually to my ego's detriment, (thanks babe). With forgetting I tend to fictionalise previous moments of my life i.e. "I never said those things, I would never say something like that, I've never been there before because I was over here at that time, i did pay my rent on time."

I am trying to force myself back into the picture taking habit with the iphone i have with me. Unfortunately most of the interesting and social moments of my current drama occur at night and the iphone falls short at this hour producing only blackened outlines. If i do buy a camera i will remember to take a photo of it so I know I have one.

Art Imperial

2011-07-17T05:50:00.000-07:00

DAMP Collaborative Pencil

2011-07-10T18:17:00.000-07:00

This is the most recent painting, DAMP Collaborative Pencil. It is part of the Metro Prize which is a nice thing to be a part of, although there have been moments of excitement over the past couple of weeks which makes me incredibly uncomfortable. Moments of being told and being interviewed that result in a complete paranoid introspective analysis that involves trying to remember what I just told that person on the phone and if they could misconstrue that sentence into something that is completely false. It's not a big deal and I don't enjoy being tricked momentarily into thinking it is. It will be over soon and I can move onto the next painting/show/grammar lesson/drum lesson/sewing/baking/blogg/hike out to the suburbs to visit family activity that I have lined up. This is life really: a long list of things you still have yet to finish. If you do see the show you may or may not want to vote for my work, if you do swing favour my way, perhaps in return I could run errands for you or darn a sock. Luckily Andie Tham is also in the Metro so I can hang out with her and we can work together to wear faces of apathy until the storm cloud passes.

At the shop, at the pub, on the tram

2011-07-10T17:50:00.000-07:00

I'm fine, no really it's OK. Please don't feel bad. I know you had never heard Ty Segall's music before and that a friend bought you the ticket. Not keen on going to the Tote because it's so cold and all you really you want to do is go home and go to bed. Uh huh. Got your ticket early, before they advertised on 3000. Good one. Yeah they are sold out. I know. But I gave you that music on a mix tape. Yeah it is really good. They don't sell tickets over the phone, you have to go in and line up from 6pm, but I'll be at work then. No I didn't want to go anyway, I'm really busy. I'm not that into live music, It is really cold. I'm REALLY BUSY.

11.08 Saturday Night

2011-07-02T06:04:00.000-07:00

Awoken to the realisation that, as The Arcade Fire accompanied us in the background and warmed by the gas heater, Brodie and I were lulled into a laptop coma of endlessly shopping and never buying. She on the search for just the right Picnic Basket and I looking for an economical Glockenspiel with low cost shipping.

The Prim Reaper

2011-06-30T07:06:00.000-07:00

Scandinoverit

2011-06-25T07:36:00.000-07:00

Hereford Mappa Mundi

Scandinavia doesn't have a capital city because it is a region and not a country. The Eastern Block is also a region and doesn't include Germany. Uruguay is in Spain. South Africa is a continent? The capitols of most cities along with their locations on a world map is not something I'm familiar with. To recap a previous conversation with Danica who is a geographic aficionado, when asked where Siberia was, I replied somewhere near Greenland. I then added that people speak Dutch in Holland as it is some Dutch land place where the language sounds slightly German, but close to where Ikea comes from. Before I revealed to myself and Danica that I am really crap at Geography I really thought Scandinavia was a country and Germany was part of the Eastern Block, (is it? I can't be bothered finding out). I was winging it on a vibe thing rather than an actuality thing. How important is geography if you are not moving around very much? Not very I say. I've never been caught out for ignorance on this issue before. And no I didn't study it in high school, I must have been sick at that time as I heard it is a mandatory part of secondary education.

Nicola Watson: You better believe what she says.

2011-06-18T21:37:00.000-07:00

I knew Nicola when we worked together at The Body Shop in Richmond, I guess around 04-06?

Nic was a religious swimmer and I always enjoyed the wafts of chlorine that came floating my way when we had to stand together in a corner of the shop. Sure Nic could speak fluent Japanese and that was strange and impressive but I never took her expressions of interest in music very seriously. Hey we were pushing coconut moisturizer eight hours a day and I 'd never seen her hanging out in the same arty circles as me. I was like, "yeah great Nic, sure you should study music, anythings better than this".

Time later and we had retired from TBS to better things. Nic was studying music as far as I knew. She had some cute boy and I occasionally bumped into her at pubs around the Fitz area.

Time later and then I was invited to hear her play at The Builders on a Saturday afternoon. With a little haze of shock and amazement I realised Nic is serious, Nic can swim, Nic can speak Japanese, Nic can play guitar, Nic can sing and Nic is gooood!

People are just so surprising sometimes. Nic didn't have the cute boy but she had an amazing 20's hair style, some fancy understated attire, some long lean lines and the most smoky sensual sounds coming out of the speakers.

Nicky babes! Hiya, over here, me, remember me?

The next time I was in Readings they were playing Clear as the Coast over the P.A., I was more than slightly impressed. If you like the way the below tracks sound then I recommend you buy Clear is the Coast, it would be the right thing to do.

<a href="http://nicolawatson.bandcamp.com/album/heres-what-well-do">Here's What We'll Do by Nicola Watson</a>

AFW

2011-06-18T20:36:00.000-07:00

My Alcohol Free Week has involved about seven or so Gin and Tonics. My friend *Peta was the first person I heard who termed A.F.D and since Christmas my reduced intake of alcohol has affirmed the reasoning for there to be an acronym for days without the escapism of depressants.

Without alcohol life is calm and pain free. Routine becomes highly desirable and having goals and reaching them inspires happiness and a sense of well being. At work I am stretching 130 canvases and currently this momentous task feels like a park walk. Without the rattle of brain shrinkage and expansion caused by the ebb and flow of alcohol coming and going from my body, sentences roll of the tongue at any hour of the day. Life is a cliche of green fields surrounded by a halo of butterflies and perfumed flowers.

The seven or so gin and tonics were spread over two days and were failed attempts to imbibe toward a point of conscious obliteration. That really doesn't count as drinking at all, does it?

I just got too tired to keep going and really what is the goal there? Drunk for an increased chance of slipping over (highly likely), saying something wittier than is possible when I'm sober (highly unlikely), saying something I will regret later (highly likely). None of these options sound appealing.

I am enjoying all of this alone time teamed with productivity, it's giving me head space to dwell on my own inner turmoils and there's nothing I enjoy more. Some time ago my councillor asked me why I never spent time alone, she had an inkling that I would be good at it. The councillor was right but I can now tell her I was never alone because I was busy feeling the gravitational pull of any pub within walking distance.

Without alcohol appreciation I can now proudly paint on a school night and the myth of that activity as an immpossibility has dissolved from an upheld belief to a ridiculous idea. I hope it is a new routine and not a trend. Go Kezzo go.

*If the level of grammatical errors, blatant comma overuse or inane subject matter of this blog is getting you down I suggest trying Peta Mayer's Blog for some whip smart social and political commentary teamed with the occasional introduction to cool stuff you wouldn't otherwise notice or know about. Peta is also an academic in the writing department so her writing will be a pleasure, rather than an effort to read.

Sounds for Sunday Painters

2011-06-13T06:31:00.000-07:00

Painting as a solitary act is great for listening to music that you may not want to share with anyone else. Usually I wouldn't post music that was incredibly pedestrian or that wasn't imbued with some type of cultural credibility to add to my gravitas but today I don't give a shit. Today I had a little Clash moment; a Radio Clash, Train in Vain moment, similar to having a Morrisey moment I suppose, i.e. you can really listen to Morrisey anytime and it is ok because doesn't everyone listen to Morrisey?. I had the Clash up as loud as my laptop could play it and then I was so enthused by the senseless liberation of not being judged that I played some Manic Street Preaches too...outrageous.

MSP make me wish I could re-direct every one of their film clips because they really are awful, flashing lights, eye make up and sailor costumes. I almost couldn't put the below clips up, but then who listens to MSP? I don't think anyone does, no one that I know of. I feel I owe them a little for being the soundtrack to my occasional bouts of being angry from mid 90's through to early 00's. MSP is currently handy for communicating anger as I once played them to an unsuspecting partner on a car ride to Healesville, letting him know exactly how I was feeling whilst conserving my energy.

Bad Bones

2011-05-22T07:17:00.000-07:00

Friday saw me spending four hours at the Alfred Hospital and one and a half at my GP (who is magnificent). Going to the hospital is always interesting because often there are people over the age of 50 becoming angry and abusive toward admin staff. I went with my mother who has similar genetic problems to me and I think she enjoys the spectacle on a similar level to myself. My mother Kay always responds to seeing outbursts with an experienced philosophy that people need to take the whole day off if they have an appointment at a hospital and should just chill out.

I really didn't think a 10 minute conversation with an orthopaedic surgeon would take four hours but I was so into my magazine, instant coffee from the coffee trolley and Kay's ACAesque opinions streaming in my ear that I got a shock when it was my turn. Yes yes, off for another x-ray i know the drill. There really were quite a lot of attractive sporty blonde male nurses around at the alfred and I was relieved when my x-ray professional (a woman my own age and slightly overweight) called my name.

The lady small talked me down the corridor commenting that I was a bit young to be having hip troubles. I assured her that it had been going on for years. She placed me on the table and wedged me with some foam, optimistically she bounced out of the room . Two minutes later she returned soberly mentioning that, "it is quite bad". Thanks lady, I tried to tell you.

And later I got to see the Orthopeadic Surgeon, Dr. Matiz. The latest diagnoses is deep set hips maybe displaysia whateva....I'm not having a hip replacement because I still have enough stuff in between my joint. I will be having my bones cleaned which is far less invasive and maybe I will be able to move my legs around a lot more. I'm pretty excited about this, the excessive bones I grew myself have created some huge blockage to my joint making it impossible to sit or stand or run or sleep comfortably for any length of time and over the last couple of years bits and pieces have started caving in or twisting to compensate.

Cut away, I say. I'm really hoping for a polished finish, an artisan approach to this whole adventure. Do they get in there with a file and successively finer sheets of sandpaper working their way toward a soft cloth? I would, it is my bone after all and I need it to stand on. I'm definitely not watching anything on youtube or that R.P.A real life operation program, I imagine I will just be nauseated by the butchery and rough and tumble of the whole thing, best not to know.

Surgery is imminent btw. I'm on the number one waiting list so expect more surgery ramblings in the next months.

Great signage from the 20th Century

2011-05-12T06:58:00.000-07:00

This sign in the women's toilets in Degraves subway is a "winner". It's not often you get a what where and when in a public sign. No women should have any "problems" complying with its articulate 50's(?) appropriate commands. So good the (not much of an improvement) "cream paint" left it alone.

Kink

2011-05-12T06:10:00.000-07:00

Three mix tapes from three separate individuals have contained this track by The Kinks. What are the odds? The mix tapes or CD's really, have all had great things on them Nina, Arthur Russell, Jonathan Richman, and then right smack in the centre is this little number. I have written about the mix tape before and if you know me you know I'm fond of them as a more highly developed birthday card, a get to know you better device or here have some of the great stuff I've got. Sometimes the play list can be hidden with little messages or be inspired by the giftee. If the former is the case then I am obviously being accused of completely disregarding the feelings of others by taking my own sweet time. What are The Kinks referring to with these lyrics? What is Paul McCartney saying when he sings "Why don't we do it in the road"? I am not particularly adverse to being told to hurry up and I think I would appreciate that over another dose of Tired of Waiting by The Kinks. Possibly the answer could be to stop waiting for me and do your own thing peeps, if I notice you've left I'll try and deal with it.

The Trip

2011-05-12T05:55:00.000-07:00

This is by far the funniest thing I have seen in a long time, crying, squirming in my seat funny. The second episode contains an impersonation of Anthony Hopkin's hands on face acting technique and Richard Gere's private smile/distant gaze formula. Can't wait to see more episodes. I realise this is the second piece of Steve Coogan's work I have posted on my blog, maybe i am playing favourites or is there something more sinister at work?

Moving/Moved

2011-05-01T20:57:00.000-07:00

I have really taken a big break from my blog and as I am prone to being impulsive I’m surprised that I have persisted this long with it. My latest excuse for not contributing is that I have moved from Carlton to Nth Fitzroy. Location wise not that far from the city but worlds apart when attending the local supermarket. it seems I have forsaken my cheaper rent, short walks to everything and my anonymity when picking up milk and bread at the local. I became internally panicked after bumping into two familiars at Piedmonte’s and then positively, self-consciously terrorised when I hit the third. I had on grubby tracksuit pants and hair that I save for only myself. After being in the store for 15 minutes I realised that half the band and art worlds live in the area I now reside in. Carlton was different in that the area was probably too expensive to house the hip kids and creative types that produce anything artistic in Melbourne.

The move hasn’t been all bad, I now have part ownership in a coffee machine, worm farm, cat and mould free bedroom. The street I live in has many trees and light streams in through my bedroom filtered by a privacy providing and much appreciated tree.

At the moment I am not sure how to fill my time at home as the new space has dictated an awareness of how I exist domestically. Habit and familiarity is long gone and on my days off I’m not quite sure which room to be in or if everything I own is in the right position.

I now have multiple Expedit bookshelves, storage issue solved, thanks Liam.

The light globe now has a shade on it, so let's just pretend that's not there.

This is the backyard looking onto the studio. See the worm farm on the right, (the green box).

We put kitchen scraps in the top and then through a tap in the bottom brown foulness comes out that the plants love, I am hypnotised by it's magic.

Feeling Better

2011-02-17T06:08:00.000-08:00

Fidel Castro

2011-02-16T19:08:00.000-08:00

Sounds like Viral Gastro, which is what I have had for the past week, (who wants a blog titled as an illness?). Bet on me because I never do things by halves. If there is regular Gastro you know I'm going to get the pimped version. I've never had Gastro before and I always thought it was a lame excuse for not wanting to go to work, but it's not a made up illness. I can't recall ever feeling so weak and nauseated. On Tuesday I thought I was improving so I gambled on an Iced Coffee, this drink payed high returns and nearly landed me in hospital on Tuesday night. Since then i have been anti biotic-ed up and am slowly returning back to my old self.

With this illness I believe I have become one of the sickest people my friends know and if anyone has spent more time in bed over the last 12 months I am yet to hear about it. Does this make me a sideline character in my own novel; the sickly one who is just a prop to push the main able bodied characters toward their final narrative destination? When the main character is the one who is sick the story usually ends with them dying. Depressing. Well I am not dead yet and I am trying my best to work towards becoming one of those fit types who is always the protagonist. My post Gastro self will be that disarmingly witty, happy go lucky but with a poetic heart type, ready at any moment to lithely jump a puddle, climb a tree or impart some gem of wisdom to a much loved friend. If only I could eat something exciting like pasta, coffee or lamingtons I'm sure this would spur on my rapid recovery to even healthier status than previously. Lamingtons could cure just about anything once I can keep them down, even my unwieldy imagination.

No, and again, no.

2011-01-28T04:59:00.000-08:00

I was called, "mate" again today after I explained a quite technical paint application to a man in his mid 40's. What is that? People who call me mate deserve a good shooting at and maybe worse.

Chanel 2011

2011-01-23T02:23:00.000-08:00

Mean Green

2011-01-19T04:09:00.000-08:00

I just bought more paint and it really is a satisfying feeling. Don't they look good? Buddha prescribes a life free from the fetterings of materialism but when temptation is this strong who am I to take the high road? I really hate permanent green too and always have but finally gave in to adding to the 50 or so colours I already have and rarely use....just because. Arylide yellow is mandatory, it is a modern pigment and yields 50 or so tones and hues in crisp and clean blends making all other yellow colours redundant 90 percent of the time. Some manufacturers call it Monoazo or Hansa Yellow. I am painting a rather large picture of some of Gould's Finches for a friend and found my collection of paints a little bland. I work around the stuff every day and most of the time I have quite a lot of self control.

Laura Veirs - July Flame

2010-12-20T16:44:00.000-08:00

Al Machin makes Stuff

2010-12-19T21:43:00.000-08:00

All of a sudden it is easier to share videos on blogger. Or maybe it has always been easy and I just discovered how to do it in a less complicated way. This video was made by a friend of mine Al. I think it's quite good, especially because I didn't know Al could make stop animations previously. Watching the video upsets me because i know sculpy is really unnecessarily/scarily expensive. Go Al, you need some sponsorship.

Ellequa By Michelle Tran 8"x12" Oil on Board

2010-12-19T21:34:00.000-08:00

Paintings from the previous show now hung at Ballarat Gallery

2010-12-19T21:28:00.000-08:00

The Beatdown

2010-12-19T21:00:00.000-08:00

Well I bought the drum kit. It is a decent intermediary set that I got from the mother of a 14 year old Scotch college student. The student had moved onto rowing as he had come of an age that required him to join the marching band as part of his extra curricular activities. Fair enough I say, who would want to carry a large drum around in formation wearing a silly outfit? Marching bands seem a little too American, not at all like a Military Tattoo which would be tougher, include feathers and be much more skirtish.

I saw the kit on ebay and having been guided by I.W. via email as to which brand to buy I went for it, (it's the one Ringo played). The kit is now taking up a considerable amount of space in my bedroom and as a result I am intimidated by it and also by the amount of noise it makes. Of course I knew it would not be the silentest of instruments but the imagining, denial and actuality of the sound is all very different, it is LOUD.

After having a muck around on the drums at an appropriate hour of the day I have found that i really have no innate rhythm, what a blow to the ego. In my mind I was gonna pick up those sticks and let it rip, in real life i use the whisking stick things and tap out a left and right arm cacophony of crap hoping it won't be as annoying to those in audible distance had i use the wooden sticks and actually hit it properly. I am a dyslexic mouse on the drums not the African lion I thought I would be. As with anything it is the persistence and practise i should focus on and try to get over the fact that I am not a drumming genius that has been sans a kit for 32 years. The saving grace is that I bought it with re-sale value in mind knowing that my present relationship with a musical instrument was something I half suspected.

Paintings form "The Critic Smiles" Rearview Gallery 2010

2010-10-11T20:57:00.000-07:00

MInutes

2010-10-11T20:55:00.000-07:00

-I found the Samoan radio program; it is 88.3 on FM at 4pm.

-The clothes Country road has available for children look like Russian peasent garb.

Odour 53 by Comme De Garcon was designed with the fragrance of light bulbs and Metal in mind.

-I bent down and touched my foot for the first time in 3 months today. I took advantage of the situation and rectified my Gorrila girl look.

-Patrick thinks Nescafe Blend 43 tastes like meat.

-I can’t listen to the Samoan program anymore, so I’m going to change it.

-The plan is to paint something before 6pm today because my room cannot get any cleaner.

-I will never probably use any expensive Noritake, Shelly or Chelsea pottery I own as people just don’t do high tea or get fussy over what people think about our crockery anymore. This means I may have to cart it around in boxes for the rest of my life, that’s a bit of shame really.

-I bought subject dividers, a 4gig stick and Blu-Tack from the local newsagency and now I feel like I really did something today.

-It’s really humid.

-Andy keeps bringing pastries home from Baba Gallo and it is making it very hard to lose weight

MAGNETIC FIELDS-BUSBY BERKELEY DREAMS

2010-09-13T07:41:00.000-07:00

1928 - Banjo's blues...

2010-09-12T18:35:00.000-07:00

Bessie Smith - St. Louis Blues (1929)

2010-09-12T18:33:00.000-07:00

Because it's not great small talk

2010-08-23T21:46:00.000-07:00

Nothing can compare to the amount of pain I have been in over the last three months. I got a back injury from hunching over the easel to produce my last show. Pain, I have realised, is not something you earn in a karmic kind of way, it can just happen for no apparent reason, reassuring huh?

Well I am sure there is a physical reason as to why I got scoliosis and some type of disc injury but it has nothing to do with clocking up a divine retribution for past wrongs.

I have stopped wondering why now and am just settling into the flow of living day to day with a complex new physical impairment.

Back injuries are very common I have found, as close friends and family members have all shared their horror stories with me of late. With all ailments that cause pain I guess people don’t discuss it too much because it is a bore to hear about and until you are in pain you can’t possibly imagine what pain is like.

Let me help you to understand a little. Sciatic pain is caused by the soft cushy cells in between your spinal plates deciding to leach out of their regular position and squish your nerve ending up against another bit of you body. The resultant squish sends a heated red velvety electrical sensation down your leg. The sensation doesn’t go away but sits there and pulses as if loaded with electrical current. The heated pulse feels like it is slowly burning the inside of your leg except without doing any damage so it can continue doing its merry work. Occasionally, the squish surprises you with a swath of violent pins and needle sensations in your foot. These excited spots of current are like a wall of machine gun fire that itch in an emergency and would desperately want to be attended to if you could bend down far enough to reach your foot. Tightness in your back prevents you from moving too much and when you have had enough pain your body reacts by issuing some nausea to let you know you just can’t bear it any longer.

When the nausea sets in I tend to go to my Zen meditation place that only leaves room for pushing out breath in a concentrated and concerted manner.

No one can really imagine pain even with a longer and more adept and skilled explanation of it, so the best thing to do is to probably shut up and try not to tip people over the fine edge of boredom when you do decide to discuss it. I find diversion is great, crappy T.V., a Ken Burns doco or visitors who drop by after they had an appointment within walking distance, (thanks everyone). I am recovering at a snails pace and work and an ergonomic practise of painting are on the horizon. Ooh I’ve stopped taking so many drugs now too.

Young Diamond

2010-07-22T10:44:00.000-07:00

Until recently I always got the Neils confused. I thought Neil Young was Neil Diamond and Neil Diamond was Neil Young. At some stage in the last six months that quirk has eradicated itself from my arsenal of idiosyncrasies. I love both the Neils, of course, for different reasons. Neil Diamond’s hair is picturesque and spellbinding. His music can be appreciated after you overcome the hair, and the caped glitter pant suits. Neil Young isn’t much to look at, so the music will always be the first port of call and it really is quite good. Diamond is for bustin out in your bedroom in slippers or acting daggy with your boss when no one is watching. Young is for sitting back and hanging, for dinner parties or being a serious artistic type aged 25-35 years old. Both Neils are very necessary.

Three nights ago I had a dream about Neil Young in vivid technicolour. I was in my lounge room and there were other people at home. I noticed there was someone else in the room and then realised it was Neil Young. I am quite prone to becoming hysterical over any celebrity, (excluding ex comedians from the Comedy Company, i.e. Peter Rowsthorn and Mark Mitchell). Taking this in to consideration I found it quite difficult to breath due to the rising levels of excitement. Immediately I ran out of the room to find someone to share the momentum-ness of this occasion. Eventually finding other flatmates, I couldn’t seem to communicate the importance of the situation. Nothing I could say could comprehend the gravitas. NEIL YOUNG IS IN THE LOUNGE ROOM. I returned after failing to impart any amount of enthusiasm and confided to Neil that nobody knew who he was. Neil seemed unperturbed and happily smiled at me. The whole situation was very casual apart from my inner bout of celebrityitis. Then it ended.

In general I was appreciative of the fact Mr. Young paid me a visit, even if it was in my down time. Surely this dream has less to do with Neil and more to do with the heavy amounts of medication I am on at the moment. Here I hesitate and proffer a second theory, the dream may signify a lack of communicable emotions and general information on my part. I will have to work on decorously getting excited and speaking clearly at the same time.

The next morning I awoke with a newfound idea about how great Neil Young really is and an itchy idea to find a song called ‘Sugar Mountain’ which I had never heard before. See below for a badly edited version from You tube.

2010-07-21T07:34:00.000-07:00

She's Gone

2010-05-09T03:09:00.000-07:00

It has been ten years of togetherness, ten years of bad breath, ten years of getting through the cold wintered share house snuggled deep under the blankets. Bella finally died Saturday afternoon. Bells was 17 or thereabouts and what was deceiving was the fact that she looked much younger. I thought she would last forever but you know I'm a bit of a romantic. I wrapped her in something really expensive and found a really nice box, (thank god she wasn't a Wolfhound). Bells had attractively articulated little greyhound legs and she loved ice cream. I am sorry for everyone she bit or snapped at or snubbed and am really happy she died quite quickly and stylishly. Anyway lets never talk about it because I might get upset. Dogs are pretty great, aren't they?

Love it or Leave it

2010-03-22T04:15:00.000-07:00

How about a little more love, a little more romance? As if we need an excuse. Being loved is a great thing, getting a bit is pretty good. Come on what have you got to lose? Nothing much. Vulnerability is a strength I think you will find. Come on boys, oh and girls. Some kind of handwritten thing might be nice. A flower, but not Gerberas or Carnations. A surprise picnic in the garden, even the back yard. Adore me or the one you love if it has to be that way, but please put a little effort in. The key to getting that look of love is not the practicalities of the gesture, it is the sign of thought, thought that has gone on whilst the subject is not around. I think about you, look at this wonderful scrunched up bit of paper I found on the ground and saved for you. That is a bad example but are we getting the drift? Oh people might say, don’t buy me flowers, you should put that to the test and see if they should be trusted. Encouraging this love business is probably a good thing, sure plod along with your day to day routine you scroogey cretins, feel the numbness overtake you like an arm that’s just been released from supporting a puffed up TV watching head for the last two hours. I’m just sayin' you spoilt pensioned rich kid, you business owner that works more than 40 hours, you dole bludging artist, copying out a poem or slipping a heart shaped piece of paper on your chosens’ pillow really doesn’t take much and the investment has the highest returns.

About a Kez

2010-03-22T03:40:00.000-07:00

I went to high school in Mulgrave, which is significant in as far as there is not a lot that is significant about it. For a time the strip shops across the road did a bag of chips with gravy supplying a plastic fork and serviette; they were pretty good. I used to meet my friends every morning behind those strip shops to smoke and drink coffee, (I think we had coffee as I can’t quite remember what we did while we were sitting there and that seems as if it should have happened). This was the place where I remember hearing grunge music for the first time. I never listened to the radio much as I had a steady stream of drum and bass and hardcore streamed into my head courtesy of a cooler older brother. “Don’t listen to that” he would command, “listen to this” . Being of a subservient disposition and last in the pecking order with of no fully formed opinions of my own I relented and fell easily into line.

This activity put me at odds with just about everyone I knew at high school except for the pot dealing kid with the runny nose, but he was more into trance, so apart from a few business transactions we didn’t really have a lot of interaction. The runny nose was a little too much to bear.

I never went for that heavy rock sound and the culture that accompanied it. Kids drove around at night drinking beer, wearing flannelette and lookin’ for someone’s house to smoke pot at. I always felt as though I was along for the ride and wasn’t actually meant to be there. Somewhere in the wider world was a bunch of kids interested in literature and the classics wearing clothes from op shops and having conversations that didn’t contain swear words. This group of kids would be naturally aggrieved because I would be missing from the group. I suppose they just carried on as I did.

In the meantime I put up with the Pearl Jam and Nirvana craze as background noise that bore no connection with anything I would ever want to purvey. Looking back I can’t believe how tolerant I was.

Having recently listened to Nirvana again I can confidently admit that I still don’t go for it. What is different now though is that I have seen a doco or two and read a small part of a book about grunge. It has been put into perspective in a broader cultural sense and historicized, therefore making it a little easier to extend its significance past the adolescent drivel that was exhibited in my high school days. It is still hard however to forgive the alienation that was directed at my brand new pair of Etnies the day I wore them to school. My Etnies were teased by some teenage jerk because the foolish grungeite couldn’t see past his cardigan to imagine a world where other cultures existed. While finding it hard to disconnect the world of Grunge from this one serious incident I can see now that the people I hung out with bore no representation or link to Grunge apart from their clothes and listening choices. Making this distinction has been helpful, as I no longer need to screw my face up if I come into contact with this genre, I can accept people may still want to listen to a bit of Kurt and enjoy it. It is possible that when Nirvana was popular on the radio the people who still listen to it now may have had a rich experience at the time, (I am really using my imagination now). I will no longer be looking down my nose, as we all know how easy that is to do at just about anything.

Overcoming this general distaste for Grunge has taken some thought and I have been doing it in the downtime that I should have spent painting. Apparently any small detail is worthy of postponing time doing something to better my career.

You Know

2010-02-21T15:13:00.000-08:00

Recently I had to politely ask an acquaintance to not refer to me as"mate". I probably am his mate going by the dictionary definition but there is no need to announce it. I have never been a fan of the word. It makes me feel a little under appreciated, sort of less than the sum of my parts. Anyone could be a mate, someone on the street you walk past having never seen before, the green grocer, the plumber. Mate is a little underdone, especially between people that share more than an ability to move out of the way and let each other walk past without hindrance.

Mate can also be delivered in a very sarcastic and aggressive way, as I discovered when walking along holding the hand of my Sri Lankan boyfriend years ago. A youth wearing a t-shirt with non-descript printing on it, sporting a head of bleached tipped spiky hair, violently and swiftly G'day mated us as he walked past. In this case it seemed to mean, fuck off you non Anglo inter breeder, (or that's what it seemed to mean to me). Yes, it was pretty surprising, ridiculous, shocking and scary.

A woman who I served in the shop on Saturday said, thanks mate, it was a moment where I couldn't be sure if she was being hostile, was genuinely non plussed about the answers I gave to her questions (we didn't stock any of the items she was looking for) or was being civil in a mythological Australian way. It was far too confusing and I had to default into believing she was hostile and evil as a measure of self protection.

Hearing it directed toward me three times in four years is quite enough thank you. I have decided, post correcting Luke, that this is the way forward. A gentle, please don't call me that tends to shock people into re-evaluation and even though I am not keen on having to force my will on others, in this case as with the public releasing of bodily gasses, I believe it is more than warranted.

Outrageous Optimism

2010-02-02T00:01:00.000-08:00

"We could go traveling, like to Prahran."

The Slow Decline

2010-01-31T15:30:00.000-08:00

Bella has become completely deaf. I know this because she sits staring at the front door waiting for someone to come home when the house is full of people. I can stomp up to her from behind and she won't react until she can actually see me. Because she is partly blind I have to be positioned directly in front of her and when I get there she reacts with a start. It is all very heart breaking because Bells is becoming narkier, (if this is possible) she even went for me yesterday. After the snap we had a stare down and then she got a little smack, I pronounced the word "naughty" quite loud and I believe this is enough to remind her that this is what life is like when she has done something wrong. I don't really know what to do except be nice and give her lots of hugs. Death is always closer and my flatmates and I know it. Liam has offered to dig the hole and I find I think about wrapping materials more often, as if anything could be appropriate. I wonder about how long it takes rigor mortis to settle in and will I be prepared to handle a stone cold, stone-like miniature greyhound? In the meantime she is less and less loving and more and more singular so perhaps she is turning to stone metaphorically already

Wishing For

2010-01-24T16:52:00.000-08:00

A general call out for two things World; you big planet with lots of stuff in it already. First some kind of disposable silicone dot that is adhesive on one side, used to put on the part of $20 sunglasses that comes into contact with bridge of your nose, effectively stopping them from slipping down.

Next, shoes that are as comfortable as thongs, (you know squishy and cushioning from concrete reverb) but, are also open so your feet don't get hot. Shoes that aren't thongs so you can wear them and people won't say, "Your wearing thongs". There are shoes that are like this in existence but they are really ugly so it is mentally impossible to wear them. Two gaps in the market that obviously need filling. Here is my need World, I am sitting back and waiting patiently.

Never Enough Awards

2010-01-18T02:59:00.000-08:00

Free smiles, exquisite manners.

Nominees for Melbournes most Civilised Artist or Arts Worker:

Benjamin Armstrong

Jackson Slattery

Hannah Beth Raison

Kelly Fliedner

Kate Just

Slack Blogger

2010-01-18T02:03:00.000-08:00

It is quite distracting trying to write my blog lately. Word keeps freezing on me and so far I have written three blogs that got lost, half completed, so frustrating. After re-writing them, I would decide that they weren't very interesting then just delete them without publishing. I would have to concede that most of my entries, if I had to write them twice probably wouldn't exist. It is like painting the same painting more than once; and I have been doing that lately too. Mostly for commissions and not for fun. There are three of the below paintings in existence at the present moment. I don't know what this implies for; a. their value or, B. the people that own them but it certainly has been a drag painting them.

No more with the toilet paper. It has been slow going because I am slack and because it is like doing research work that you have already been paid for; you feel as though you have already done it. Recently Melbourne Uni tried to pay me twice for a job I did once. I was honest about it and didn't take the money. It was surprising how many staff of that institution said I should just take the money and run. It's not my style though, and it would be one of those things that would just lurk about in the back of my mind, juggling forward at a bizarre moment in the future to make me blush with guilt or something, so it is for the best; I have enough of those types of memories as it is.

I titled my blog Slack Painter not only because of my disposition but also because when I was at Uni i remember walking over Dodd Street with my partner Jason and he told me a quote that he wanted to turn into a painting, "slack painting is the painting of a slacker". I don't know who it is by, Rimbaud or Baudelaire I think. I have tried to find out to no avail. He never did make it into a painting because he died at the end of second year in a high speed car accident. He was dead on impact and the car burst into flames. I am writing about it now because I thought I saw him today which is what often happens with dead people. I have seen him lots of times before, mostly on Swanston Street. It is always from the back, the same neck, hairline, curved shoulder. I quite like it when this happens, it doesn't make me sad it is more like a reminder. I always think that it would be nice to run up and fling my arms around the person, but I know it would most likely be uncomfortable for more than just me in result.

As of January I will have to add Slack Blogger to my titles. I think it is because I started taking anti d's and I can't focus on the minutiae of life very well. It has only been two weeks and the doctors say that is how long it takes to adjust. I have had two weeks of nausea anyway and it has been sickening. The nausea seems to be at an end and I am happy about that amoung other things.

You know sorry for writing about death and can't be botheredness and painting toilet paper but I am pretty upbeat, I hope that comes through. Perhaps laying off the blog has been for the best. Maybe it should be Sensitive Blogger?

Lake Tyers: Part 2

2010-01-07T02:18:00.001-08:00

The middle part of my holiday which I have skipped in the previous post was probably the most enjoyable part and will therefore make for less interesting reading, (dare to read on). I stayed with Marcel’s mother and partner in their rented house a stones throw from the beach and pub. Half the time I spent fishing, walking, clamouring over rocks and drinking in pubs. Generally I just enjoyed myself, and am finding that every time I leave Melbourne I tend to leave my stress and neuroticisms behind. Unfortunately it never quite lasts as long as you want it to; the same goes for all holidays in general in my experience, (call me Einstein).

The other half of the time I spent talking to Marcel and his family. It was a little strange at first and I kept waiting for Marcel to announce that we would be imminently off to do something. This moment of activity didn’t arrive and before I knew it I had been sitting and talking for hours. I have never been in a familial environment where people just got along. We discussed computer skills, Heston’s Feasts, the History of Lakes, weird behaviour that tourists exhibit, fishing, and bizarre Japanese TV programming. I mean it was like hanging out, it was hanging out, with Marcel’s mum, and it was quite good.

Some families do the spending time together thing, it’s true after all and not a myth. It was pretty inspirational, like something you see on an American TV series.

Fishing was a little anti climactic; I didn’t catch anything. I did lose a lot of bait and tied a hook on in a really weird way that made it stick out horizontally to the line, a special skill I have discovered. By the way it does get cold in Lakes Entrance and a velour hoddie and jeans aren’t enough to keep out the chill. Now for the epic documentation...

Harvey ,sitting on a really big part of Salmon Rocks. It is a really big rock but you can never tell in photos. It was windy and I got cold but I discovered my rock climbing abilities had not disappeared from when I was about twelve. I was pretty proud of myself and I kept up with the boyz until I decided to pack it in and stay where I was, point being I could have sat on that really big rock if I wanted to.
The tranquil hidden fishing spot at Toorloo Arm. Only locals are in the know as to where this place exists, there were some campers on the other side of the river, so I revise and say locals and two other people. Ultimately this is the place where I discovered my unique hook tying skills and my inability to catch anything.
Marcel documenting some point of interest at Lake Tyers. I was really jealous of his hat, he had a really cool camera too.
Nature: ferocious, shiny, terrifying. I was too scared to photograph any crabs. There were so many crabs and even though they sometimes look dead they can quickly animate, lurk sideways and have your limb off, I though it best to keep my distance.
Marcel and I didn't make this, but we thought it was a fair effort. Note the double mote, decorative shells and rather large flagpole/spire. It was a few hours old, when we got to it.

Lake Tyers: Part 1

2010-01-04T16:05:00.000-08:00

I heard someone pass wind on Friday night at about 9.30, this was done as casually as sipping on a beer; I was at a pub in Lake Tyers, (the Water Wheel, which has a functionless full sized water wheel strapped to the side of it, no end of amusement, it rotates!). The accused also followed on with some expressive types of burping, much to the amusement of himself. Unfortunately I was sitting next to him and my Girl Guide mood of collaborative good will quickly defaulted and was replaced by silent outrage. I really can’t handle people’s bodily functions especially when they are performative and are used as some type of psychological illustration to those around. What does it mean and what is it intended to mean? I feel I am missing something here, as it is not the first time I have been around people, admittedly young people, doing this. In my estimation the person dropped from a nice guy I don’t know, to someone I couldn’t touch without a large pointed stick in hand. At that point my bubbly conversation skills evaporated.

This may have all been well because a woman/girl, (I think girl) chimed in with a story about how she had diarrhoea at a supermarket in a pair of borrowed tracksuit pants. From that point on I really had nothing to offer the conversation and continued to quietly sip my wine. I was sitting with a bunch of locals that my friend Marcel went to high school with. The lack of escaping from their place of birth really showed in their topical conversation skills, but was interesting from a sociological standpoint all the same. Marcel’s quality of conversation is as always, amazing and markedly different from those of his peers on this occasion. They all left quite soon after that, off to Bairnsdale where the action was I imagine.

Marcel and I rolled out a mat and laid on the beach with what used to be called champagne, some nice cheese and my iphone to dj. NYE came and went with a couple of flares and some small amount of fireworks in the distance. The weather was great. Earlier in the evening I did push Marcel to see what the locals were doing and should we go with them but things fortunately worked out for the best.

Friday we travelled down on the train which was surprisingly easy and I now feel I want to take more advantage of V/Line, even the transition to coach at the end of the line was seamless. The other passengers were the harbingers of nastiness. The man sitting opposite me kicked my handbag three times successively. I can’t imagine when this action would ever be appropriate and perhaps even less so as the bag was positioned under my legs. I was so shocked I couldn’t say anything; I picked up the bag and suggested that I move it under Marcel’s legs out of reach from this madman’s flinging limbs. The man just smiled as he took up the vacated room that quite obviously belonged to me with his sandal-covered socks. I am sure he has redeeming features (certainly not at that moment), but what a pig!

The footage is of the view from my window and if you listen carefully you can hear a woman’s voice in the seat opposite, Marcel and I know her life story as we were forced to listen to it for three hours as she described it to the stranger sitting across from her. On the trip back to Melbourne nothing untoward happened and that was nice.

Done Spellchecking

2009-12-30T04:56:00.000-08:00

The spelling mistakes are getting worse. Have you noticed? I have and there is a part of me that feels diligently determined to go back and fix them and another part of me that really can't be bothered. I have a gradation of immediacy to action; i.e the spelling of, "of" in the last post was quite tremendously ridiculous, the extra o was fooling no one, so I changed it asap. The space between "was" in the Nice Girls post can just stay there because it isn't like you don't get the drift. I am trying to say it is forgivable in a sense if you have the patience and understanding that I do for spelling mistakes, as I am a bad speller. The extra O is really just stupid, so if you haven't seen it already then I am in luck as now it doesn't exist. You would think that the more writing you do the better you get...I am sure that this isn't the case at all, (I just used an ellipses, watch out people).

Christopher Wool

2009-12-29T22:41:00.000-08:00

I tore this out of a book I was just about to throw out. I was flicking through the pages and it leapt out. It was an art book, in fact that little $10 one that was everywhere five or so years ago. The blurb in the book describes it as violent. I have seen Wool's work ages ago but not this piece. I quite like it and have stuck the photo on the back of my bedroom door in general share house fashion.

Art and Music

2009-12-29T22:35:00.000-08:00

Bragg's B's for Fatigue

2009-12-29T07:13:00.000-08:00

It is 2:30 in the morning and I can't sleep. I was falling asleep midway through Polanski's Chinatown at about 10:30. Why is it that you become tired just a little too soon and then wake up at the right time to be tired? I have all my routines in place; I have listened to two In Our Time podcasts by Melvyn Bragg, the one on Samurais and the Reformation and still nothing. The more I stay awake the more awake I feel. I did get a little carried away with multiple cups of tea at a late hour so I suppose that is it. I always think tea to is so innocuous that it can't ever do anything but good, this is completely untrue and taken at the wrong hour on the clock can wreck havoc with your life. Ben told me to meet up with him after work tonight (he finishes at midnight) I laughed and said midnight is bedtime, little did I know.

I'm onto my third In Our Time now. I have gone for the Great Fire of London which is my all time fav. Suffragism is second and then maybe Magna Carta followed by the Geological Formation of Britain and then the Whale one. I must have listened to Fire of London twenty times by now. What works so well are the pictures you can make in your mind, this combined with Melvyn's voice and what the guests are talking about, all make for an excellent audio sleeping tablet. The way Melvyn says BBC always makes me stop and think. He is so blowing bubbles with those B's, it is so strange. His pronunciation is not sending me to sleep now and I have the luxury of listening to the whole podcast.

Wheels of Fire

2009-12-28T16:25:00.000-08:00

It Was Missing

2009-12-28T16:05:00.000-08:00

Nice Girls Finish First

2009-12-28T15:57:00.000-08:00

Christmas is over. It has been one of the most stressful christmas’s in memory. I have been moody, negative, anticipatory and an all round grump. A couple of days before it happened my friend Marc came into St.Luke and gave me a rather large hug. I appreciated this as I have come to understand that he gives the best hugs of any I have experienced, probabley due to his size and sincerity I imagine. He said to me, reguarding Christmas, that it is very easy to be negative and much harder to say nice things and think uplifting thoughts. His statement hit with a lot of force as I had to agree and I felt quite guilty about all the negative things I have been constantly ruminating on. A bad habit that my councillor want s to intervene with. It is true that it is tough to be right on about general functioning. I remembered what he said all throughout Christmas and it is now after the holiday has passed that I am a little more capable of putting this idea into practise. My father always was a believer in fake it till you make it, so I am giving it a go. Of course I am no professional when it comes to being upbeat patient and enthusiastic. I will be making an effort to be nicer to others and expect it will not be that hard.

I wasn’t being very thoughtful when I drank Andy’s half finished bottle of Heathcote Shiraz. Damn finding out that it cost $50.00 and will have to be replaced. She may yet take a David Jones gift voucher in lou that I have floating around. Wait, that’s terrible, I will be replacing it.

Sylvia and I had a dinner party on Sunday and that is when the wine disappeared down our throats. The wine was amazing and the dinner party was quite good too. I managed to cater to all restricted diets. I recommend Ali’s Bean Salad consisting of Four Bean Mix in the can, red capsicum, chilli, dill, lemon juice, olive oil, garlic and some mustard.

New Colours

2009-12-28T03:12:00.000-08:00

Less depressing, what do you think?

The Look of Love

2009-12-28T02:35:00.000-08:00

Alizon Grey you just bought a new MacBook today and I haven't seen you all afternoon. I did go up to your room and you had the look on your face of a woman consumed by things happening in another realm, not in real time. I know how it feels to produce that look on your face. The look of someone playing a guitar, or writing a blog; eyes distant and glazed, brow slightly furrowed, disturbed but not in a negative way by the human intrusion in the room. Well I just have to say that you too are now disconnected and consumed by technology. The Ali I know and love has gone, never again will I walk into your room and find you watching endless episodes of Lost, available and ready for a distraction. And this incident where you changed your tune is no new experience for me. Ali you payed me out for that laptop look for a long time and now you have it. There is a Facebook fan page for using your laptop in bed, I have joined and I suggest you do also so you can embrace the consuming world of technology in a full clean cut 180 degree motion.

Weekend

2009-12-21T19:35:00.000-08:00

Proof that my Blog is an Online Diary

2009-12-21T00:01:00.001-08:00

You know I have just done nothing today, nothing, and I refuse to feel guilty about it. Drinking during the lead up to and at the event of Christmas, that then sees the stretch for the New Year can just be a drunken blur for all I care. Whatever. 2010 will be so much better than 2009, you know it, I know it so lets just get on with it. I have an exhibition lined up for June next year and I have started organising the images. I am quite excited about it and plan to crack the whip as far as technique and woman hours are concerned. Nobody got anywhere doing nothing and slack painting is the painting of a slacker. So I am enthused for a change and will be taking next year very seriously.

As for right now I am recovering from seeing Thee Oh Sees at The Empress last night. It was completely packed and I couldn't see the band from where I was huddled in the sweaty masses. The guy next to me was continually wiping sweat from his brow and I felt for him, he looked like he needed a hose down. I think my Post Man was there, he was at arms length during the show and if there was room to put an arm out I would have. The band sounded great. I knew they would because everyone had been carrying on, having seen their previous performances around town. You know I don't really understand the genre but it sounds like some kind of surfer garage rock style, of which there seems to be quite a bit around. Maybe that is an American speciality? I am just an ill informed punter who occasionally has a good time watching a band, so I won't dispense any more incorrect attempts at categorization, (although I desperatley want to).

I got into a great discussion with Sylvie and Nicola afterward who were trying to bad mouth Alain De Botton. Well, more S than N. N just seemed to be enthused about having a low grade disagreement, which was very cute. I don't mind a bit of Alain as he is a populariser and could quite possibly be introducing ideas to people who would otherwise never come into contact with them. He is very romantic and a textbook story teller which probably derides the historical ideas he is trying to reformat, but In general I am very keen for people to be learning new things all the time. S was of the viewpoint that any remix of the original content especially concerning philosophy could be some kind of bastardisation and therefore illegitimate and destructive. S didn't really care too much about the democratisation standpoint that I was coming from. We agreed to disagree. I enjoyed his second book that was an intro to philosophy and Peta gave me the one on travel when I went overseas for the first time. I don't know if it was a curse or not as one of the chapters was pertaining to the idea that you can never escape yourself and as one would have to agree, the thought was very depressing. I do love a topical debate especially when I feel that I am adequately informed to bring up the opposing argument, it is best too when I believe what I am trying to argue.

Marcelle has offered to take me fishing over the break. I am super excited, as per usual, as I have been fishing every year for the last four years. Until now it has been a strictly feminine affair but needs versus wants and there are no female friends available. It will be interesting to hang out with guys on holiday for a change. I am slightly worried about how things will work, eg: how do I carry my fishing rod on the train and will there be a mirror and what type of pyjamas are appropriate? I will figure all these things out on the hop and try not to freak out unnecessarily. I plan to read and read and fish and read and drink and go to the beach.

I just have to get through the family Christmas, a hurdle of immense description and a thought that makes me instantly tired and a bit grumpy. Last time I saw my Niece and Nephew I was aggrieved and infuriated by their lack of table manners, so much so, I said something about it and made my Niece cry. I guess I don't really have much self control and share this trait with them genetically. It is very hard remaining controlled when they squiggle and squirm and don't eat. I got belted for putting my knife in my mouth as a small child and yelled at for having my elbows anywhere near the table. When I sat down to the family dinner table in the last couple of weeks everyone had there elbows on the table and were beginning and finishing meals at their own leisure. I silently outraged until I couldn't control myself any longer, my poor Niece received the brunt of my maelstrom. I think I am really confused about how offensive the lack of manners in others should be.

Great Moments in Cinema

2009-12-19T05:57:00.000-08:00

Sisyphus

2009-12-19T05:51:00.000-08:00

Decadular

2009-12-14T20:56:00.000-08:00

How perfect is the weather? I just scurried down to 7-11 to buy milk and realised I should have been sitting in the back yard for most of the day. Whilst at the 7-11 I realised I hadn’t eaten and am due for an opening tonight at First Sight gallery. I panicked, knowing I have minimal funds and no food so I opted for a cheese and spinach roll from the heated bain marie thingy, behaviour usually reserved for 2am in the morning. I have never made 7-11 much of a lunch destination before except for an emergency sandwich by way of the relatively new “Munch” range. They are better than you expect them to be. If you are stuck for choice in future and have low expectations I recommend trying them.

We have nice people who serve us at the Carlton 7-11, one guy in particular who never talks but I know his name is Jet because I saw his name tag and now have it etched in my brain. He is quite serious and exudes an air of complete control. There is another guy who always has a witty line for me, sometimes two. I love a thoughtful exchange between strangers. As he is employed in the customer service industry, he is really over performing and should probably watch himself.

My father always made a point of quipping with teenage checkout chicks and whilst I too find it compulsive to exhibit the same behaviour, I can remember being embarrassed for them and myself at time, so I try and reign in those desires. The young girls never understood what my father was saying or were forgivably unaware of the pop culture references form 1950’s London that he usually made. I went grocery shopping with him lately and he still does it.

Now that 30 is the new 20 I suppose my lunch choice is quite apt. When 20 was 20 I would have eaten a cheese and spinach roll from the 7-11 without a critical thought. I guess now I am thinking about it, some things have changed, I am thinking about it. I wonder what the 40 year olds are having for lunch; they are probably eating what I am meant to be eating.

It Ain't Me Babe

2009-12-12T18:44:00.000-08:00

It is 1.00pm on a Sunday and I am still in my pyjamas. That’s OK because it is a Sunday I guess and I have three previous days of socialising to recover from. I am hiding, mostly from having to get up and have a shower. The inevitability of going down the street and spending money is also something I want to delay, but that will happen and I don’t have much money at the moment. Christmas shopping, what a nightmare this time of year is. I stress far too much about buying the correct gift and in the face of more than one option I tend to run away and not commit to anything. If only I could paint an attractive painting and give that to my family. The paintings they already own of mine look uncanny and odd within their conservative domestic settings. I don’t really want to add more visual disturbances to their lives even though it is the cheaper option.

I abhor money. What a controlling bizarre personality shaping tool money is. If I had lots I would pay all of my bills and then have some nice dinner out. I spent money at the Builders Arms last night while I waited for Sylvia to finish her waitressing shift. She gave me part of The Age to read while I ate dinner in the deserted dinning area. It was the editorial section and it was amazingly depressing, so many snippits from frustrated authors aware of problems with government and council, unable to implement anything more than an aggrieved blast from some black ink on a flimsy piece of newsprint. It was an eye opener as I have been isolated from news and government issues for quite some time. Later Sylvia told me about Tony Abbot and Joe Hockey and others, she seemed to know quite a lot as she reads the paper almost every day. Her favourite news to hear of is Melbourne's Lord Mayor, I can't remember what his name is. I think I may have dropped off informationally circa Latham’s exit. You will think this is shocking and that I have no responsibility or connection for/with my social and cultural environment. You would be partly right. I wonder if Monks read the paper? Monks probably do charity work so I suppose they don't need to be informed of everything that goes on, they contribute to problem solving by default. What am I talking about?

The world at large seems to be carrying on like the pork chop it has always been and I know I can rely on that as a given. It would be good to know about world and local news because then I too could be enraged by the plethora of injustice and abuse, then get up, go to work and do nothing about it except have impressively informed and occasionally impassioned topical conversations.

This weekend I plan to write a letter to the head of Masters asking for some hot tips to improve my chances of getting into the course next year. This procedure is “what’s done” if you are placed on the waiting list so one can curry favour with the panel. The scholarships are announced on Monday and prospective students are expected to drop out if they don’t get funding, hence wait listers like myself will have a second shot. I have always been a whatever will be will be, make the best of it kinda gal and will not be devastated to learn that I will not be doing my masters in 2010 for the second time this year. I have been worked on from many corners to complete this letter and have finally succumbed. If all fails I will resort to plan B, which will involve some type of travel I imagine. I won’t sit still for long. I keep fantasizing about moving to some isolated area of the country and painting full time, having house guests and a generous amount of velvety blood red roses in the garden. Like the Bloomsbury Group but knowing me it would probably be more like Withnail and I, rather than a relaxed intellectual life drinking shiraz, taking walks and thinking about anything other than myself.

Cranky Pants Reposes in Excess

2009-12-04T05:17:00.000-08:00

I came back from my shower and found her this way. From my familiarity with Bellsy the look on her face was communicating a general disgust with my movements around the room and an awareness that her time in what looks like the most comfortable position she has ever been in is imminently ending. If Bells could talk she would have been throwing out something like, "fuck off I'm not going outside" and, "don't move me I'm really old, this is all I've got left".

Do It Again

2009-12-02T05:09:00.000-08:00

Most of the time I don't have any time to go and find a copy of The Beach Boys album 20/20. It is not available through Vuze and now that I have bought the album for $8.99 off itunes through desperation and the fear that I will forget I actually want it, my itunes suggestions will be full of California Girls and Good Vibrations. I just want THAT album and no others by them. The impersonal/personalised suggestive selling tool on itunes is a killer, but I will be strong.

Ladislaw Starewicz

2009-12-02T04:41:00.000-08:00

Christmas Shopping

2009-12-01T01:02:00.000-08:00

Kama Sutra chocolates from King & Godfree or

my new book, available at Readings Carlton.

Art Thomasi

2009-11-30T16:05:00.000-08:00