shack grafitti

The smart talked of history + politics + we got bent!

this week i ave mostly been...

I'm in a very dreamy, non-verbal space tonight + wondering whether I'll be able to squeeze out anything worthwhile. It's been a huge couple of days by this Lady of Leisure's standards. I drove down to Albany on Friday, to spend a much-needed weekend with others of my own species, + got back late last night after unexpected adventure. I blew a tire on a teensy weensy road between two teensy weensy towns + was rescued by the most gorgeous older couple - Mike + Linda. After changing the tire + discovering my spare was flat, they then drove me to Manjimup + back again. I was counting my blessings the whole way... not raining, not dark, not in the middle of the desert, not raped + murdered, barely even embarrassed by my total lack of dealing-with-emergency skills. A pain in the arse, but a very lucky pain in the arse nonetheless!

To summarise the remainder of my week. I ave mostly been...

smiling at...
--the verdant + varied land I find myself in. It's like stumbling into the wardrobe + finding myself in Narnia. Rolling green farmlands, magnificent karri + jarrah forests, the cutest of tiny towns, brutally beautiful coastlines. I love it here.
--my wild west family + the rare opportunity to spend time with them. It would be hard to pick a lovelier bunch of people.
--the first signs of spring. It's already so alive with growth here. I saw (+ smelled) my first freesias on Friday + immediately thought of Carolyn. Fingers crossed for a good show of the famous WA wild flowers before I leave.
--being looked after when the need arises. Be it seriously generous help with a blown tire, a hug from my rellies, or a game of backgammon with the next-door neighbours. I'm fibbing when I say I'm alone here!

eating...
--a leaf out of Kristy + Trina's book: with a big dhal + love week before my mini-holiday. It's amazing what you can scrape together from a cupboard that seems bare. Leftovers of many colours/shapes/sizes, odd-but-tasty toastie combos, odds n sods salads, carrot + date muffins.
--birthday pizza: made for my cousin Anj by her talented hubby Brad. Seven of us got through eight pizzas, made from scratch from a Jamie Oliver recipe. Scrumbo yumbo.
--retro cuisine: at the 80s themed dinner party we had on Sunday night. Prawn cocktails, beef olives, cordon bleu chicken + chocolate mousse, all washed down with 'Fruity Lexia' fresh from the cask. Heaps of fun!

listening to...
--a veritable smorgasbord of tunes on my new iPod, Mark III. Praise be to Apple for doing the right thing + replacing my last dud.

watching...
--bad 80s movies: from a three-pack that my step-mum loaned me as a parting gift. So far I've watched 'About Last Night' + 'Perfect' + seen enough of Rob Lowe, Demi Moore, John Travolta + Jamie Lee Curtis' nudey bits to give me nightmares. Those brat packers certainly weren't shy of a little rumpy pumpy. I've saved 'St Elmo's Fire' for last + am genuinely excited.
--too much bloody Olympics: I'm completely over it already + not willing to even touch on my political take on it here, for fear of being automatically deemed un-Awstraylian + blacklisted by the Chinese government. Thank goodness for my return to the Shack + bad 80s movies!
--too much bloody advertising: which is inseperable from the above + makes me want to knock all my teeth out with a hammer. There's an insidious side to the combination of games hysteria + soulless jingoistic advertising that Get Up have just shed some light on. Their attempts to screen a human rights statement during the opening ceremony were blatantly stymied by the commercial big guns. If you haven't had a chance to read about it you can do so here.

reading...
--more Cormac McCarthy. I'm stuck into 'The Crossing' now, the second book in 'The Border Trilogy', + STILL mustering (haw haw) enthusiasm for wild teenage cowboys. McCarthy regularly engrosses me in subject matter that I wouldn't generally give two hoots about, which I think says something. Of course the experience would be heightened if half the dialogue wasn't in a language I don't understand (Spanish). The lengths artists go to for authenticity, eh! The first part of the book, where Billy Parham captures a wolf + attempts to return it to Mexico, is one of the most hauntingly beautiful things I've read in a long time.

And that'd be me. Hugs to anyone who made it this far! xxx

sunday self portrait

Tired but happy after a big weekend in Albany.
(And just to predict any smarty-pants comments... no, there's no one else in bed with me!)

play pen

I read an interview with American artist Jill Bliss yesterday. She creates very beautiful, whimsical illustrations + products, which I was first exposed to via the gorgeous framed posters on Annie + Genevieve's kitchen wall.

In the interview, Jill talks about "incubating" ideas + not being able to talk about them while they're in the early stages of life. It's one of those YES! concepts for me. I'm unable to verbalise my creative ideas until they reach a certain point... part + parcel, I thought, of my general (+ uncharacteristic) inarticulateness when it comes to my work. So it's a relief to have someone else express the same thing. Incubating is a term I might happily borrow from now on.

I've continued tinkering with a couple of play projects this week + feel just about ready to let them out of the warm, dark confines of the incubator. The first are the Pattern Diaries that I started on when I arrived at the Shack. The idea was to ease myself back into drawing, without any pressure to take it seriously or produce anything "final". I've been collecting patterns/motifs/ideas from nature in Pattern Diary One. Doodles based on bits n bobs I pick up whilst walking + exploring.

Once I'd had a few days to reconnect hand + heart + eye, I began drawing from some favourite white hankies. They're part of an enormous stash found in my local oppie in Dulwich Hill, many moons ago, + carted around ever since. I'd like to make some work with/from them but have been stumped on where to start. So Pattern Diary Two is a space for playing with them. I've taped them to the brick wall of my makeshift bedroom + made some loose line drawings from there. I've also been incorporating lyrics from the music of the moment - poignant, ambiguous, personal fragments that catch me while I'm working. I'm loving it cos it lets me listen to the sad songs + then DO something with them. Brilliant!

The third project is one that was seeded during my annual art camp at the beginning of the year. Ruth + I came up with the idea of creating an encyclopedia or index of ideas that have come up in previous work +/or spark inspiration for future work. Hopefully this will ease the feeling that there's too much swimming round in my head + not enough focus. It should also be a valuable reference point. And on top of that it's heaps of fun!

For the last week I've been transforming two Golden Book Encyclopedias into the inaugral volumes of the Encyclopedia of Claire. Collect, arrange, cut, paste, paint. It reminds me of the hours I'd spend covering my books for a fresh year of school. Collecting images + arranging them to express something of myself + my undying love for whoever/whatever inspired it in that fleeting moment. They were with me every day from there on in + I can still recall some of them vividly.

I've been a collector for as long as I can remember. By the end of primary school I had a shoebox full of drawings, souvenirs, magazine clippings, flyers, discarded books + other ephemera. By the end of high school it was a big packing box. By the time I got to the Gong there were several of them. Then there's the collecting of words, lyrics, poetry, lists, letters, cards. It goes on + on... all these fragments that I hold onto, or that hold onto me. Why am I drawn to them? What do they say to me? About me? For me? I finally feel like I have an opportunity to turn them into something. I'm like a diabolical scrapbooker let loose on the world. Mwahahahaha...

my life as a list (a)

angel
animal
applique
absence (presence)
allusion (illusion)
ambiguity
arrangements
anthropomorphism
accident
adventure
? anxiety
? anger
? abandonment
abstraction

han solo

I'm into week four of life in the Isolation Tank + have a feeling it might be make or break time. I'm still doing things I love, keeping busy, smiling, but all of a sudden I feel very 'internal'. I can't find another way to put it. I feel like I'm resident in my own head, whereas previously I'd been a child of the world.

There are tell-tale signs that the hermitisation has begun. My outfits are no longer colour-coordinated. My glasses are often grimy. My legs are very very hairy. I'm staying up til at least midnight most nights. Yesterday I struggled to hold up my end of a coversation with a checkout chick. I'd rather send an email than make a phonecall. (Okay, so that last one pretty much always stands, but I was running out of signs.)

Help is at hand. I'm heading back down to Albany on Friday to hang with the fam + reintegrate into society. It's my lovely cousin Anj's birthday + I'll get to share in the celebrations. Who knows, there may even be the opportunity to get mildly drunk. Actually I may NEED to get mildly drunk in order to talk to people like a normal, socially-functioning human being! Wish me luck!

sunday self portrait

This one's also cheating - a Monday self portrait. (Hey! Sue me!)

I had a great day.
THE SUN WAS SHINING. ALL DAY. FREAKIN UNBELIEVABLE.

sunday self portrait

This is cheating just a teensy eensy bit. It's actually a Saturday self portrait, taken at the lavender farm near Cowaramup. Do I look cold? It was right before the rain hit + bloody freezing. I had a lovely wander round Vasse + Cowaramup, moving from one foodie attraction to the next in spite of my best intentions. My excursion got completely flooded out again, which kinda limited the options for non-foodie fun. That's my excuse anyway! I'm still hanging for forest walks, but even the little I've seen has been stunning. Huge, majestic trees + beautiful birds. It's a very pretty part of the world.

losing my edge

I've continued to think a bit recently about the nature of youth. I guess we all hit a point where we realise we're not there any more. There are Young People + then there's Me. At some level I've felt middle-aged for most of my life, so it hasn't really come at me with teeth + fangs. But I have a memory of my mate Mat which kinda crystallised it for me.

It was a couple of years ago + I was on a bus, headed down King Street with Mat + his glamorous missus, Sarah. It's a great trip when it's occasional + not a day-to-day battle. You're at a perfect vantage point for people watching. All the freaks, geeks + hot young things parade in front of you, as the ribbon of traffic slowly unfurls into the city. The three of us were headed out on the town + our spirits were high. Then Mat throws in this fabulous old man line... "Jeez, there's a lot of Young People on King Street these days". It was poetry on so many levels. First there was the Poetry Of Mat, who is one of the most genuine, down-to-earth people you'll ever come across. There's no pretence or bullshit with Mat, + I reckon one day he'll be a champion maker of Dad Jokes. The line popped out without a hint of irony or self-consciousness. There was also something poetic about us being on the inside looking out. Because he was spot on. A couple of years earlier we had been the Young People on King Street, but suddenly, blindingly, we weren't anymore.

This tiny moment comes back to me again + again when I consider the irony of ageing. When you're young you have no concept that you'll ever be anything else. I mean, you can consider it, theorise about it, make grand statements about where you'll be when you're 25, 30, 50. (I thought I'd have kids by the time I was 20 for feck's sake.) But there's no REAL understanding of the fact that one day in the really-rapidly-approaching-future you'll be sprouting hairs from your nipples + waiting for the next pregnancy/wedding/mortgage to be announced. As far as irony goes, it's a particularly cruel one: Young People think they're the first + only; Old People understand that everyone has a moment of first + only, + that it can never be more than fleeting; but they can't tell Young People cos they'd never believe it. You can't be at the forefront forever. (And let's face it - few are there for more than five minutes at best.)

There's a brilliant LCD Soundsystem song called 'I'm Losing My Edge'. It's so spot on, I can't resist torturing you with more lyrics.

I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1974 at the first Suicide practices in a loft in New York City.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."

I was there.
I was the first guy playing Daft Punk to the rock kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.

I was there.
I've never been wrong.
I used to work in the record store.
I had everything before anyone.
I was there in the Paradise Garage DJ booth with Larry Levan.
I was there in Jamaica during the great sound clashes.
I woke up naked on the beach in Ibiza in 1988.

But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.

You mighta had the edge. You might want to hang on to the edge. But no one has the edge for ever. And the kids are ALWAYS coming up from behind. Dems da breaks.

PS: The full lyrics are here, if anyone's nerdy enough to care. And James Murphy talks a bit about where the song comes from here.

patience, patience, patience

The beach is not the place to work, to read, write or think. I should have remembered that from other years. Too warm, too damp, too soft for any real mental discipline or sharp flights of spirit. One never learns. Hopefully, one carries down the faded straw bag, lumpy with books, clean paper, long over-due unanswered letters, freshly sharpened pencils, lists + good intentions. The books remain unread, the pencils break their points + the pads rest smooth and unblemished as the cloudless sky. No reading, no writing, no thoughts even -- at least, not at first.

At first, the tired body takes over completely. As on shipboard, one descends into a deck-chair apathy. One is forced against one's mind, against all tidy resolutions, back into the primeval rhythms of the seashore. Rollers on the beach, wind in the pines, the slow flapping of herons across sand dunes, drown out the hectic rhythms of city + suburb, time tables + schedules. One falls under their spell, relaxes, stretches out prone. One becomes, in fact, like the element on which one lies, flattened by the sea, bare, open, empty as the beach, erased by today's tides of all yesterday's scribblings.

And then, some morning in the second week, the mind wakes, comes to life again. Not in a city sense - no - but beach-wise. It begins to drift, to play, to turn over in gentle careless rolls like those lazy waves on the beach. One never knows what chance treasures these easy unconscious rollers may toss up, on the smooth white sand of the conscious mind, what perfectly rounded stone, what rare shell from the ocean floor. Perhaps a channelled whelk, a moon shell, or even an argonaut.

But it must not be sought for or - heaven forbid! - dug for. No, no dredging of the sea bottom here. That would defeat one's purpose. The sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too impatient. To dig for treasures shows not only impatience + greed, but lack of faith. Patience, patience, patience, is what the sea teaches. Patience + faith. One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach -- waiting for a gift from the sea.

(From Anne Morrow Lindbergh, 'Gift From The Sea', first published 1955.)

shack grafitti

Life's a garden... dig it!!!

this week i ave mostly been...

Well, this week I have mostly been lazing about, let's face facts. But I've been enjoying meself 99% of the time + I figure the lazing is an important part of the whole dropping-out-of-society process. Aside from that I've been...

...smiling at
--me: I mean jeebus, if I can't laugh at myself it's not worth laughing at anything! Favourite I'm A Goose moments of the week were 1) tipping a tray of very small beads all over the floor. Given that the floor generally looks like this it was definitely worthy of an F-bomb. But I didn't even swear, I was too busy laughing. And 2) going to check my little car's tyre pressure only to discover, after many minutes stuffing around with nozzles + gauges + the like, that I'd actually been attempting to fill the tyres with gas. Ooops.

--calla lillies: + my mad roadside collecting mission. I know they're weeds but they're filling the shack + bringing me joy. All of a sudden life here has turned all Frida Kahlo. Although I have just read up on them + discovered that they can be fatally toxic. Ooops again.

--people: + the dumb stuff they do. Weeze sent me a side-splittingly funny article on names that eejits give their kids. It kinda put Taaylah + Taneysha into perspective.

--boys: I succumbed to a selfish + completely silly Men Suck Mood the other day. Within the next few hours I got a couple of lovely emails from boys, my bro Slim + mate Scott both called + Doug the neighbour dropped over to check that I was okay. If that isn't the Universe telling me to pull my head in, I don't know what is. Thanks lads.

--the little things: as one must do when one's experience is entirely domestic + largely solitary. (Sorry... coming over a tad Queen Mum there!) My wranglings with Leon, the cat from hell. The Triple J soundbyte of Muph + Plutonic calling their drum sound "boom bappy"... possibly the best onomatopoeia I've ever heard. Sunbathing on the back lawn during an afternoon of unprecedented sunshine. Oppy discoveries.

--my baby sis, Bella: she's recently started emailing me + is hilariously gorgeous in a way that only nearly-12 year olds can be. Example: all my fingers are crossed that you will meet the cutest guy in history, get married and have kids! all in one week!hahamy inbox is full too!love you so much i think im going to die!

...eating
--gourmet grub: I don't know what's happened but I'm right back into my cooking, after several months of feeling uninspired. I've had such a great week of food! The deliciousness has included: herb + chilli stuffed mushrooms with polenta + tomato sauce; homemade lamb-+-olive burgers with hummus + salad; + soy + sesame tempeh with stir-fried greens. Mmmmm... good homecooked food.
--decent coffee: at home always, but now in the outside world too! Hooray! I FINALLY found a cute cafe in the Bus after pretty much giving up in despair. The coffee is great, the menu looks fabulous + the staff are friendly. No one seems to mind me + my notebook setting up camp for hours on end over one cup, which is always a plus. Oh, + the chef is hot.

...listening to
--Hot Chip, but I'll stop rabbiting on about that.
--lots of radio. Running my laptop through the Shack Stereo is equivalent - in sound terms - to running it through a small aquarium, so I'm relying on Triple J more than I'd like.
--Paul Kelly's '...Nothing But A Dream'.
--a new hip hop mix for walking.

...watching
--a little bit of bad telly, while I've been beading, it's embarrassing, I don't want to talk about it okay?

...reading
--'The Bride Stripped Bare' by Nikki Gemmell. (Oh, the shame, the shame.)
--'No One Belongs Here More Than You' by Miranda July
--'The Horse + His Boy' by CS Lewis

sunday self portrait

half nelson, full nelson

It's official. I'm ADDICTED to Hot Chip's new album. I can't stop. I have to share some lyrics from a favourite track, 'Wrestlers':

the gloves are off
so why'd you have to go + fight dirty
don't fight dirty
don't bite me in the face
the gloves are off...

now what you gonna do
when i come for you with all that i've got...

here we come, drop kick
half nelson, full nelson
willie nelson, willie nelson
body slam, suplex, headlock, summer slam
elbow drop, jelly flop, cage match, grudge match...

it's me versus you in love
i learned all i know from watching the wrestling
i think you think i'm about to throw the towel in
everyone knows monday night means wrestling

It could simply, literally be a song about wrestling but it also provides some lovely analogies for love + sex + relationships + the wrangling that goes on within them. Musically the Hot Chip boys describe it as "a barrage of different lyrical hooks and melodies one after another" + I describe it as pure F-U-N.

Apparently there's also an LCD Soundsystem link, with both bands "wrestling" over the same guitarist - Al Doyle. Man... I love it when favourite bands turn out to be mates with each other! Then I love to imagine turning up at a party + they're all there + we end up hanging out. Anyway, my weird music nerd moment for today...

flat pack

I survived my first slightly flat day yesterday. Nothing major - just generic listlessness + a teensy bit of beating-myself-up. I guess the crux of it is that I've been feeling lazy + that's been pissing me off. Not physically lazy, creatively lazy. I've had this floaty week were I haven't focused fully on anything much. I've been active but not applied, + the bits + bobs that I have done seem more like pfaffing than working towards something. So far there hasn't been a lightening bolt creative breakthrough... in spite of me not-so-secretly wanting one. Patience isn't my virtue here. I want it on tap! Now! Go! And it simply doesn't work that way. Maybe the downtime is a necessary precursor to the lightening bolt. Maybe there's no lightening bolt in store for me right now. It will be what it will be. Let go.

puff n stuff

jack pot

For anyone who doesn't know - I'm a keen op-shopper. I dragged poor Weeze into every charity, community + opportunity shop we spotted between Canberra + Albany, with very little to show for it. My only real roadtrip treasures were a couple of knitted toys (selected from the available hundreds), a fabulous old-man hat, + the best-ever hot-pink hand-knitted arm warmers.*

I'm pleased to report that I finally hit a bit of oppy paydirt today. My haul included:
--some insane 80s earrings

--a perfect-fit pair of cords

--a really pretty summer dress
--a cute blue + white stripey top
--a book on dinosaurs with great illustrations
--a felted mohair jumper, perfect for a couple of crafting projects

Jack pot!

*As an aside I can now confirm that it's scientifically impossible to feel the cold whilst donning a combo of ugg boots + arm-warmers. Yes, I'm all class.

see the sea

Glorious sunshine. I AM friends with the rain, don't get me wrong, but there's so much to be said for the sun. I had my first full day of it since arriving in the Bus + boy, did I bask! Several hours whiled away on the back lawn: stripped down to my undies, reading + developing an unfortunate grass rash. It was sooooo worth it. This afternoon I took another long ramble down the beach, soaking it all up + looking for treasures.

My most recent memory of this beach is from New Year's Eve 2000/01, when Pete + I stopped in on our way down the coast. The mid-summer sea was calm clear sparkling blue + stretched on forever. I was astounded by the debauchery of the backyard party the 50-somethings threw. (Never fear, I know better now!) There was an unforgettable moment when my ma passed me a doobie. The boys went out in the dinghy + came back with a mountain of blue swimmer crabs which we devoured on the balcony.

It's different here now but still beautiful. I've always been amazed by the infinite variety of the sea - glistening like a bright gemstone one day, churning with dark violence the next. This winter beach is plagued by seaweed. Not a little, a helluva lot. The sea heaves dark with it, a seething cauldron of witches' brew. In some spots it's banked up metres high, like strange soft rocks. The birds are loving it + perch in their dozens. The weed is probably teaming with food for them. The mere thought of it gives me a shudder. There are all sorts of living or once-living things littering the drifts along the shoreline. Some I can't even look at, others I can nudge with a foot, until finally I progress to the few I deem safe to poke with one finger.

There's not much in the way of shells but there's an incredible array of sponges, different shapes/textures/colours/sizes, fleshy + alive. I feel guilty about the couple I've collected + will return them once I've had a chance to draw them. Like most sea-things, they seem to lose their magic once they're removed from the beach.

The walk back took me past a beachfront retirement home + some very elderly residents who were also enjoying the sun. One asked if I'd been fishing + when I looked confused she pointed to the plastic bag I was toting my treasures in. I explained that I'd been walking + collecting, + pulled out a lump of old fencepost I'd found to illustrate my point. The lady looked at me, nodding + giggling, + told me I was very lucky. I'm taking her words as wisdom rather than confusion. I can hear the sea now, the gentle thudding thunder + roll of the waves, + I FEEL lucky.

meme me, part three

This blog is experiencing technical difficulties. I can't get my comic meme images (below) to open in a separate window, + hence be read + understood. Makes the whole exercise a bit useless really. I'll revert to Plan A. Stay tuned... again...

sunday self portrait