Poetry and Prose

I am glad Christmas is over. Not to sound too negative, as my Christmas was quite ok. Really though, it is just another day for me - it's just that many people have other ideas and expectations for the 'jolly' season. Now that some of those expectations have been met, or ignored, I am getting stuck into my painting.

Although I enjoy the act of giving gifts more than receiving them, I must say I was given some wonderful inspiration for Christmas. Amongst other things, my partner gave me a book on Egon Schiele that I have desired for quite some time, he also surprised me with two complete series of Dr. Katz on dvd, and although this may seem to have nothing at all to do with art, for me, it has.

Dr. Katz is my animated hero, as is his son, Ben, and his receptionist, Laura. Dr. Katz is my claytons therapist...the therapist I have whilst not really having a therapist. I was never a big TV viewer but I was fortunate enough to stumble across Dr. Katz on SBS a number of years ago and it appealed to my obscure sense of humour. In many ways, subtle and otherwise, it has been an ongoing influence for me in both art and writing and is one thing that never fails to make me laugh.

I once had a video tape of many episodes that I had diligently taped from SBS over the period of around 12 months, perhaps more, as it was not always a regular programme. This tape was my friend. It was my therapy. It was an escape. (It was only a TV show?) Sure it was, but to me it was also something else, and one day, whilst living in Prahran, my temporary flatmate 'accidentally' taped over every single episode. I was most upset.

I do my very best not to get attached to material possessions but I had a relationship with this particular item that I do not expect anyone else to understand. The joy has now been restored and the laughter can once again flow freely.

Am I over dramatising? For the sake of writing, yes, a little, but as I said, I do not expect anyone else to understand.

As I sit here writing, for the sake of writing, I am listening to one of the most beautiful songs that I believe exists: Martha by Tom Waits. I have listened to this song hundreds, possibly thousands, of times, but the time that stands out was a couple of years ago, whilst sitting on my (ex)boyfriend's bed. I was alone in the room and although I knew the song well, I think it was the first time I really listened to the lyrics. I remember crying, initially not even realising why I was crying, but by the end of the song I realised I was shedding tears over the impermanence of everything in life and in love and there was a part of me that knew many things I had there and then that day, were going to come to an end some day. Many of them did, including the relationship.

That song can still make me cry, but I think I cry with a greater acceptance now, to a certain extent, though I must admit there are some things in life I don't think I will ever understand or even begin to accept, not with any grace anyway.

I did accept my gifts with grace though and I have fallen in love with Egon Schiele's work once again.

With that said I should ride this wave of inspiration away from the keyboard.

I have tried to make my silly season as short as I can and now, for me, it is painting season once again. I have a lot to do before the big move.