The Chop

True to form, I have initiated a 'Spring Cleanse' by doing something either dramatic, spontaneous or both; this time it was chopping off all my hair.

For the first time in almost 20 years, I have nothing to hide behind.

... I'm still waiting for the feeling of so called liberation to set in! Perhaps after the initial shock has worn off..

Hiatus, Bronchitis and other things.

Today I was forced to take my second day off 'work' work in 6 weeks.

My first was Tuesday of last week, when I drove to Melbourne to catch up with Andrew Chan, an artist friend of mine who was visiting from New York. Andrew and I exhibited together at Jackman Gallery in Melbourne some time ago. It was an enjoyable day, albeit somewhat rushed. I live a fair distance from the city centre so I don't travel there as often as I used to, or would like to.

I call it 'work' work because it has nothing to do with painting, or 'making art', other than the fact that in some way it will help me be able to afford the supplies I need to do so.

The past few months have created a number of extra financial woes and several weeks ago I took the opportunity to take on some extra work outside of painting and hospitality. This resulted in me working 7 days a week for close to 5 weeks until my day trip to Melbourne.

Today, I am home with a nasty cough that has gotten progressively worse over the last few days. After a sleepless night and several violent coughing fits, I managed to fall asleep this morning at around 6:30am, after turning my 7am alarm off. I re-awoke just after 9:30am and whilst my head was thinking about going in to work for a half day, my body would not allow it. My stubborn cerebellum had to surrender to my weary and continuously coughing corpus.

My painting hiatus has played on my mind every day over the past 6 weeks but I have been so physically busy that I've not had an opportunity to dwell. I am sitting only inches away from a tonne of art supplies but my fuel tank is empty. It's taking enough energy to type a blog entry. Although I am well aware this is just another one of those temporary pauses, I do feel a sense of both guilt and frustration that I am not in a position to offer the attention my art desires.

Sometimes in life we are forced to just stop and rest for a while, even if it is against our will or our ethics. It's against both for me but I'm doing it anyway!

Art for a Cause.

Several months ago, I was invited to participate in a Screamdance project titled Schaffas 2.

Adelaideans Sam Barratt & Chris Edser (Screamdance), hand-picked art-friends from all over the world to customize their own breed of schaffas. They were each sent a similar blank shape and given free reign to add, subtract, paint or destroy these objects.

I received my blank Schaffas sometime in January. I contemplated for a number of months as it sat on a bench next to Matryoshka and Kokeshi dolls in my studio.

It looked like this.


After a lot of time spent staring at this naked wooden creature, Shinjuku Schaffas-San was born.

Unfortunately, I did not make it to Adelaide for the great unveiling of the Schaffas 2 creations, however, they were all made available for viewing online here.

I am happy to say that Shinjuku Schaffas-San found herself a new home, and all proceeds from the sale of the Schaffas went to a wonderful Oxfam cause: Close the Gap.

Thank you to Sam and Chris for organising such a fun event for a great cause.

Schaffas 2, the book, can be purchased from the Screamdance website.

Golden Opportunity...

Pardon the pun, but I couldn't resist the title.... and who knows, maybe it is.

I am determined to keep an open mind about any new galleries that approach me. If I feel some kind of rapport through initial communications with the gallery director/s then I am prepared to take a chance. I choose to see it as an opportunity - for both parties... but unlike any professional relationships in the past, there won't be two chances. One should be ample. I'm not speaking from a sales angle, I am referring to the way in which the artist, and their work, are treated during the relationship with a gallery.

After being contacted by a Gold Coast gallery on July 10, I am feeling a sense of optimism about entering a new relationship of this nature. I have agreed to be represented in Queensland by 19 Karen Contemporary Artspace, and have a scheduled group show, (June), and solo show, (August), for 2011.

The communication I have engaged in with Terri thus far has been somewhat refreshing. Her words have been encouraging, but her actions, to date, have promptly cemented my optimism.

BB and the Babushkas

This time last year, I received what was possibly the worst phone call of my life to date. It was my mother. She was somewhere between southern Queensland and northern New South Wales, my grandfather was in Melbourne, at the Austin hospital. Mum was calling me to tell me he had suffered a severe stroke and was not expected to recover, doctors expected he would not see the day through. They were right.

On this day last year I watched my dear grandfather drift away into the unknown.

On this day last year, I had to make the hardest phone call I have yet to make. I had to call my mother and tell her that her father had taken his last breath and that she would not make it home in time to kiss him goodbye.

It was my first experience of such a situation. It is a vision I will never forget, but he lived a life full of wonderful things to remember... and celebrate.

Despite feeling the past 12 months have gone somewhat quickly, it seems hard to believe he has been gone that long. My memories feel much more recent and his name is still next to my nan's on my phone's contact list.

I have recently been celebrating his life, and influence on mine, through my painting. I'm sure he would have gotten a kick out of them.

In loving memory of BB. 3 March, 1922 - 28 July, 2009.

X

Fuck EOFYS.

If I hear that term, (EOFYS), once more this week I think I might scream.

I don't go to the sales, not just because I don't have money to blow, but I hate crowds, especially ones that are full of people mindlessly and madly fighting to access then purchase things they don't even really need. To me, it's just a reminder to do my tax. In recent years, I've even ignored that, having submitted three years worth earlier this year - but, alas! I am actually organised this year... for the first time in a LONG time... and it feels pretty good.

My recent visit to see my parents proved to be a very positive exercise in many ways. Although the stay was very short, I came back with a fresh mind and renewed enthusiasm. I've changed my way of thinking about certain aspects of my life... or even just life, and am slowly putting thoughts into action - little by little.

So - It seems I am once again grabbing onto some sort of symbolism that relates to the time of year and new beginnings and blah, blah, blah... but I've learnt that I don't have to wait for any specific day or event to remember resolutions or make positive changes - I can start whenever I like. I even said goodbye to blonde this week. It took almost a year to get close to the desired colour, but the maintenance became tedious and expensive so I decided to abandon it. I was toying with the idea of shaving it all off but decided just to kill the light with darkness. (As opposed to trying to kill darkness with light in most other situations.)

I've been approached by a Gold Coast gallery this week about representation. I'm seriously considering the possibility as it is actually a gallery I have been watching for a little while and so far feel quite positive about what they do and the work they show.

I have my gallery in Perth to thank for restoring my faith in the system a little. I am sure they are the minority - but the important thing is: they do exist.

Road Trippin'

I returned home today from a short stay, but most enjoyable road trip to Moama. It was a long overdue visit to see my parents.

I had not seen my mother since a friends wedding last November, and my father since September. It seems like an awfully long time but has somehow gone very quickly. It always sounds so cliché saying things like "I can't believe it's the end of June already", and "the years seem to go faster and faster as we get older", even though it really does feel this way. I honestly did not think it had been so long since I last visited my parents.


I had decided to go on a surprise visit, but when I missed my turn off and drove a fair bit further on the Hume Highway than necessary, I called my father to let him know I was on my way - the long way - and that I had hoped to arrive before midday and surprise my mother at the radio station, where she was doing a community on-air slot that day from 9am - midday. For a little while I was concerned I was not going to make it in time but I got there with 40 minutes to spare... and the surprise was a success.

Although my father was already aware I was on my way, it did not stop him from exhibiting emotion when I walked into the studio. Every time I see him I am reminded where I got my ridiculously emotional character from! It was quite moving though, and made me realise I should do it more often, (visit them that is, not cry). Four hours on the road is really not an excuse to avoid visiting people you love. I can't expect my father, at 77 years of age, to make regular trips of that distance, and my mother, who, even though she is a fair bit younger than dad, got her license quite late in life, thus her confidence on the road does not extend beyond her surrounding twin township of Echuca/Moama.

I went alone this time, or at least with no other human traveling companion... I did however take one of my dogs, (Teak), to fill that position, and she proved to be the perfect choice.


My father, who pretends to not really be a fan of dogs, (although secretly, he has a soft spot for them, especially well behaved female dogs, as they remind him of a German Shepard bitch he had, and adored, as a young adult), actually let her sleep inside next to me, which was completely unexpected. Anyone who knows my father would understand what a big thing that was!


That part of Australia really does have a certain charm to it. Taking a morning walk along the Murray, for me, is one of life's simple pleasures. It reminded me that traveling (itself) is the important thing, not whether it's an exotic or overseas destination, or a lengthy duration - although I do enjoy the opportunities when they arise - but the feeling of 'being on the road', of 'no set agenda' that is appealing and liberating.


Ah, the wide open road. There were a number of moments where I had such a strong desire to just keep driving... and driving...

...and driving.

Head versus Hand

I read an interview with Rotraut Klein-Moquay, the widow of Yves Klein today. It was not all that in depth, but it was enough to trigger a few thoughts and emotions inside me. Since last writing, I have been re-visiting some of Sigmar Polke's work and once again finding it quite inspiring. After reading this interview today, I re-visited some of the work of Klein and also read a little more about him than I ever had before.

Although his work has never stood out in any brilliance to me, the process, evolution and construction of his work, (and life), is brilliantly inspiring. Sadly though, it was all cut short, Klein suffered a fatal heart attack at only 34.

I must say I spend A LOT of time on the internet... probably much more than I should, but in defense of all it's non-constructive distractions, and voyeuristic social networking, it does contain a plethora of information so widely and freely available that used to cost me a small fortune from the arts section at secondhand bookstores. It provides me with a 24 hour virtual gallery and bookstore, full of images and information on art and artists that was never accessible to me when I was at Art School, but has now become a great resource for me, (as an artist).

One thing that has surfaced with my recent 'internet viewing', is this current battle between my head and my hand. Whilst my head conjures up images that are free flowing, multi-layered and dynamic, my hand continues to paint these finely tuned, super-flat, graphic slash 'pop' images. I stare at my painting with a sense of bewilderment, wondering how my hand once again managed to trick my head, how these finely painted lines and highly detailed figures keep making their way onto the canvas when my head has other ideas. Often I am even convinced that my head is governing my hand because the work may start out one way... but then the hand takes over and the head must just surrender into some kind of auto-pilot mode.

It's not that I don't enjoy painting this particular style of work... it's just that I so desperately want to 'break out'... or break the mold, step outside the square for a little while.

I've even been trying to convince myself that after spending hours upon hours fine tuning a piece, re-working every line, that I should either sand it back or paint a white-wash over it so that it becomes not the final image, but merely the base layer of the work... but I deliberate, after considering just how long the work has taken to paint and get to the polished and detailed state that it's in.

There is a sense of freedom and even liberation that comes with creating work that is not so refined and 'confined'. Of course, there is also a sense of satisfaction that still comes with paitning graphic and slick images that require enormous amounts of patience - (part of the satisfaction is the fact I have actually found that much patience within me). However, many of my recent ideas do not lend themselves to the hard edged pop style of painting, so I need to find a way to release the tiger from its creative cage.

Above image: Yves Klein covers a naked model in blue paint to use as a 'living brush'.

So Long, Farewell, Auf Weidersehen...

Another one gone this week.

I speak of the artist Sigmar Polke, yet another influential artist of my time and an inspirational figure to me, who passed away on June 10th. He was 69.

I have been fortunate enough in my travels to see quite a number of his works in the flesh, including a fantastic retrospective exhibition in 2004 - I think it was in New York.

"Polke for a long time has been the most interesting, least predictable of the painters around." critic and curator Robert Storr, 2007.

Ruhe in Frieden Sigmar Polke.

above image: Sigmar Polke, Kandinsdingsda, (Wir Kleinbürger), 1976.

Fingernails and Fairytales

I'm watching Roman Holiday while my 3 dogs search the house for my lost, or misplaced, inspiration.

My inspiration is not so much lost as 'cluttered'... confused. My ideas are currently torn between those from the past and these of the present, between child and woman, between innocence and cynicism... I feel like I am hovering somewhere between Betty Boop and Bettie Paige!

Perhaps there need not be any conflict of interest inside my head. Maybe all these ideas can work harmoniously, (or otherwise), together...

"If I’m honest I have to tell you I still read fairy-tales and I like them best of all."
— Audrey Hepburn

Props for the Procrastinator

Perfect.

...and a handful of relative Henry Moore quotes.

'It is a mistake for a sculptor or a painter to speak or write very often about his job. It releases tension needed for his work.'

'Art is not to do with the practical side of making a living. It's to live a fuller human life.'

'The important thing is somehow to begin.'

'I sometimes begin a drawing with no preconceived problem to solve, with only the desire to use pencil on paper... but as my eye takes in what is so produced, a point arrives where some idea crystallizes, and then a control and ordering begins to take place.'

'I find in all the artists that I admire most a disturbing element, a distortion, giving evidence of a struggle... In great art, this conflict is hidden, it is unresolved. All that is bursting with energy is disturbing – not perfect.'

Ambition and Fear

I have managed to master the art of procrastination over the past couple of weeks. At least, I have done far more of this than painting... or even attempting to paint. However, I did make one today, an attempt that is, but it felt half-arsed.

Since returning from Perth I have, creatively, been stuck somewhere between ambition and fear. This kind of anxiety is ridiculous.

It's hard to explain the fear side of things... (the ambition is self explanatory); it's like I get so worked up about starting a new piece in case it may not work out the way I want it to - hell, I should know by now that they very rarely do, and that often the further away from the initial idea they are, sometimes the better the work ends up being... it's like some sort of self-evolving lucky-dip... but lately, more so than usual, I have been so nervous about starting something new - it's like I feel that my every move in the studio is being watched and criticised - when clearly, it's not, (or should I say the only one doing so is ME)... but somehow, stupidly, I allow this kind of fear to enter, be it to provide an excuse to procrastinate, or be it genuine anxiety driven fear... with the ridiculous thought that every mark I make on the canvas will be seen - when in reality, I don't have to show my work to anyone. If a piece does not work, or I am not happy with something, I do not have to present it to the public to be judged. I can paint over it in the privacy of my studio as if what's underneath never existed... I can even slash it or burn it if I so desire, and no-one else has to know.

It's such a weird state of mind. I wonder sometimes if it is laziness - this procrastination... but I have a genuine desire to be busy. I find myself frantically cleaning the house or doing other tasks that are indeed productive in other ways, but in no means towards my art.

I feel a little silly even writing about it but I am sure I will curiously re-read it with interest one day. Just as I am sure if I was to scroll back to any blog, diary or folio entries after previous exhibitions, I would probably see some sort of pattern in my way of thinking... perhaps it is just that 'post-exhibition confusion' that an artist can sometimes feel after a show. I am in no way feeling 'down' at the moment, I am, in fact, generally happy... just not very productive. I realise I am the only one who can change this and I truly hope me, myself and I get their act together soon.

Blanket Magazine

Thanks to Bec Brown and crew for the feature in Blanket Magazine - Cosmos Issue.

In their own words...(taken from their website)

Blanket is an online PDF magazine that uncovers art + design + photography from the talented people who create it.

Bec has put together a talented team of Blanketeers, dotted all over the world, who help her create a beautiful magazine each and every issue with their contributions of artist interviews, cheeky and humorous stories, craft, cartoons and, of course, beautiful art, design and photography.

Blanket Magazine can be downloaded here for the tiniest of fees and is definitely good value and a good read.

Reconstruction of the Father Mother

I received an email from my mother today.

It read, simply...
She had read my entries about the late, and great, Louise Bourgeois. I was so thrilled at the thought of my mother wanting to read this that I almost put my copy in the post to her, but then thought twice... I have a feeling I will be wanting to refer to it for one reason or another - as it has barely left my side over the past two days... so instead, I am going to buy her a copy online and send it to her as a gift.

I had actually been wanting to buy my mother a meaningful gift for a while.

I've no doubt it will inspire my mother, as a woman, and also an artist, the way it has me.

A Bit More of Bourgeois...

(above: Portrait of Louise Bourgeois with Fillette, 1968, by Robert Mapplethorpe, 1982)

I have been reading bits and pieces from the book all afternoon, remembering the wonderful Louise Bourgeois.

The rawness and honesty of her words make them so powerful and allow the reader to gain a modest amount of insight into her amazing and ever creative mind. She says things that many artists are either too proud or too afraid to say, she happily contradicts herself if the words come from an honest place... it's more a case of sharing her evolved knowledge on a previous thought or topic rather than contradiction in the true sense - regardless, her words strike a chord with me and I admire her tremendously.

From an interview with Stuart Morgan, first published in Artscribe 1988 -
SM:

What's this piece called?

LB:

It embarrasses me to say I don't know what it's called. As time goes on it means different things to me, so I don't have a title. This is not my job. As far as I'm concerned it should have four or five titles. My subjects recur. They might look different but the subjects themselves are the same.

A diary note from 1986 -

Self-control means:
Do not show your arrow, idiot.
Do not make threats, stupid.
Do not frighten horses.
Do not rock the boats.
Do not push a tantrum.
Do not show your jealousy.
Do not show how much you care.

A statement from 1979 -

Once I was beset by anxiety. I couldn't tell right from left or orient myself. I could have cried out with terror at being lost. But I pushed the fear away by studying the sky, determining where the moon would come out, where the sun would appear in the morning. I saw myself in relationship to the stars. I began weeping, and I knew that I was all right.
This is the way I make use of geometry today. The miracle is that I am able to do it - by geometry.

8 August 1987 -

You are born alone. You die alone. The value of the space in between is trust and love. That is why geometrically speaking the circle is a one.
Everything comes to you from the other. You have to be able to reach the other. If not you are alone...

3 October 1987 -

Transparency interests me. I want to be transparent. If people could see through me, they could not help loving me, forgive me. What is the difference between the two? None.

From a series of statements published in 1992 -

When I was growing up, all the women in my house were using needles, I've always had a fascination with the needle, the magic power of the needle. The needle is used to repair the damage. It's a claim to forgiveness. It is never aggressive, it's not a pin.

If a person is an artist, it is a guarantee of sanity. He is able to take his torment.

By withdrawing, by recognizing you have no power, you become more than yourself. You get ideas which never would have occurred to you. In my art, I live in a world of my own making. I make decisions. I have power. In the real world, I don't want power.

Self-expression is sacred and fatal. It's a necessity. Sublimation is a gift, a stroke of luck. One has nothing to do with the other.
I am saying in my sculpture today what I could not make out in the past. It was fear that kept me from understanding. Fear is the pits. It paralyzes you.
My sculpture allows me to re-experience the fear, to give it a physicality so I am able to hack away at it. Fear becomes a manageable reality. Sculpture allows me to re-experience the past, to see the past in its objective, realistic proportion.
Fear is a passive state. The goal is to be active and take control. The move is from the passive to the active. If the past is not negated in the present, you do not live. You go through the emotions like a zombie, and life passes you by.
Since the fears of the past were connected with the functions of the body, they reappear through the body. For me, sculpture is the body. My body is my sculpture.

The intensity of Francis Bacon's work moves me deeply. I react positively. I sympathize. His suffering communicates. The definition of beauty is a kind of intimacy in the visual. I feel for Bacon even though his emotions are not mine.
The physical reality of his works is transformed and transcended. His room does not obey the laws of perspective. To look at his pictures makes me alive. I want to share it. It's almost the expression of love..

I am glad she shared her insight, knowledge and experience in print.


I do not know who took the above photograph of Louise, if I find out, I will credit note it - but I love it so much I just had to include it.

Farewell Louise Josephine Bourgeois

I should be painting today. I've not done so since returning from Perth a week ago. I had planned to spend all day in the studio and not succumb to any distractions, but when I learned that Louise Bourgeois had passed away, I felt compelled to pay some kind of a tribute to her, even if only in the form of a blog post. However, my respects run far deeper than the words on this page.

To look at my work you would not necessarily recognise that for the past 10 years, Louise Bourgeois has been one of my greatest artistic influences. I don't choose to imitate but rather allow inspiration to take hold and manifest in it's own wonderful and often peculiar ways.

Unfortunately, I never met Louise Bourgeois, nor was I allowed to take photographs of her work at an exhibition in Dublin years ago, (way before the iPhone!); so I have grabbed a few images from the internet to illustrate this post.


I have mentioned here in this blog several times as well as dedicating this post from 2006 to her, quoting some excerpts from her book Destruction of the Father / Reconstruction of the Father.

I just adore that book, and refer to it often, it showcases her fertile imagination and holds a wealth of experience and inspiration... and through her words, her images became more appealing and meaningful to me.

To be born an artist is both a privilege and a curse. How can it be taught? It is not possible to become one, you can just accept or refuse the gift. It is not in my power or is it my responsibility or am I willing to try the impossible aim [of] teaching someone to "become" an artist.

A diary entry from 1983:

Success or good news is terrifying and provokes attack, anxiety attacks or aggressive and murderous attack; it is the fear of the alter ego. I do not want to be rewarded or exalted. I detest it. It makes me bite. It is not ingratitude, it is not fear, it is terror.

Every time I open the book, I am greeted with this...

My name is Louise Josephine Bourgeois.
I was born 24 December 1911, in Paris.
All my work in the past fifty years, all my
subjects, have found their inspiration in
my childhood.

My childhood has never lost its magic, it
has never lost its mystery, and it has never
lost its drama.

Almost childlike themselves, they are possibly the most simple words to grace the book, said with the kind of innocence that many of us strive to hang on to, but with a lifetime of experience that many of us will never know. She lived ninety-eight years. I have to wonder, to make it that far and not see out 100, was it a choice? Was she ready to go beyond her lifetime on earth? She has certainly left behind an amazing legacy and will no doubt forever inspire future generations of artists and women alike.

In a questionnaire from 1971, Louise was asked -

Do you feel you have as much recognition of your work as you would like?

She answered simply -

No. But recognition will come in time, and this is enough for me.

I think she can rest assured that she has made her mark in this world and not only in the form of recognition, she was also a true inspiration figure to so many and shall continue to be well beyond her time on this earth.

Rest in Peace SpiderWoman.


above image:
Louise Bourgeois in 1990,
behind her marble sculpture Eye to Eye (1970)
Photo by Raimon Ramis

With a Heavy Heart...

It is with a heavy heart that I write this post. I have just heard news of the passing of one of the most amazing women to ever have graced this earth. The wonderful, beautiful and SO, SO inspirational Louise Bourgeois passed away yesterday, May 31, aged 98.

Despite her age, I had somehow believed she would live forever, so news of her death is still somewhat of a shock to me.

I need to gather my thoughts in order to come back and pay my respects.

RIP the amazing Spider Mistress.

Today the art world, and the WORLD, learned of a great loss.

Photo credit for the amazing image above - the wonderful Annie Leibovitz

RIP Dennis Hopper

I was saddened yesterday, when I heard that Dennis Hopper had given his final performance. To many, he was one of my more unexplainable crushes in my late teens and early twenties... but those who knew me well, and appreciated his work, understood why.

He was intelligent, charming, mysterious, alluring, passionate and talented... at least that's what he projected as a figure in the public eye.

Sure, he had his demons... don't we all? In film he played crazy and bad to perfection, but he had the versatility to play a great 'funny guy'.

Above and beyond a fantastic career as an actor and director, Hopper was also rather fascinating to me because of his passion for art. Though probably better known for his photography, he was also a painter, poet and sculptor, as well as an avid art collector, who possessed works by artists such as Basquiat, Warhol and Schnabel.

To me he was rather inspiring.



Rest in peace 'Mad Dog'. x

Home is Where the Art is... sometimes

My flight from Perth arrived in Melbourne just after 10:30 on Monday night. C picked me up from the airport and we got home around midnight.

It took me a while to fall asleep, despite being dog tired and xanaxed. Once I did, I slept until close to midday.

I didn't do any shopping whilst away, all I brought back with me was a cold, but I certainly enjoyed catching up with some old friends in Perth; some I had not seen for over 10 years. It always amazes me how you can often reacquaint with someone from your past, know nothing or very little about the last 10 or so years of their life, but feel totally comfortable in their presence and converse like it was only yesterday or last week that you last hung out. It's a nice thing, and somewhat comforting when you are in a new, strange or foreign city, away from home and it's comforts.

Speaking of home, it was nice to come back. Whilst I enjoyed Perth, I was more than ready to come home on Monday. Five days was more than sufficient. I was not there as a tourist, nor to see any sights or sites, nor was I there for a cultural experience, I simply went over there for the exhibition opening and to actually, and finally, see the gallery my work has been, and is being, exhibited in. Catching up with a handful of lovely people was a bonus, and certainly made my visit to the West far more enjoyable.

I returned a little exhausted but full of fresh ideas to blend with some older ones for a new body of work. There is a part of me that can't wait to get started - to head back into the studio and get busy painting... but there is another part of me, right now, that just cannot be bothered - not just yet. Partly, I suppose, due to having this cold and feeling a little run down, but other than working Wednesday and Thursday, I have very much enjoyed a couple of days doing pretty much NOTHING. I'd be bored if the nothingness were to continue for too long, but there is no chance of that happening with everything that needs to be done... but for today, it suits me JUST FINE!

There's always (at least) one...

I awoke feeling a little less cloudy today, despite the weather turning in Perth.

As the rain falls outside I sit up in my double bed and wonder why all motel beds leave me with such a sore back. I open the blinds to see a grey city. I can hear the sound of Saturday morning traffic, made louder by tyres on the wet roads.


I reflect on the past few weeks and in particular, opening night of the exhibition.

It was a good night, but why does there always have to be (at least) one tosser who unknowingly tries to make it not so.

I didn't catch his name, purely because I lost interest very early in our conversation. He was around 60 I suppose, quite rotund, balding white hair and a bulbous nose - the type worn by a number of aging alcoholics. His rosacea of course, may not have been caused by excess drinking, but the bullshit he was spinning caused me to believe it was a real possibility. Either way, his appearance was not the offensive part, but as he kept talking, he became ugly in my eyes.

I'm often in two minds as to whether I should attend my own opening nights. Whilst I used to enjoy the attention, I now feel a little more awkward about being in the spotlight. It's my work on show, not ME. There is a part of me that wants the work to speak for itself. The other part is a little more curious and wants to see people's reaction to the paintings, and even eavesdrop on their conversations about the work - although the comments are not always complimentary, it still always fascinates me. I must say, I also do enjoy and appreciate those people, whom after the speeches have pointed out my identity, put a hand on my shoulder and say "thank you" and smile. Such a simple gesture can lift my spirits and give me hope, unlike the words of the aforementioned tosser.


I happened to be standing near 3 of my works when we crossed paths. We were introduced without the exchange of his name. I was prepared to talk to him and smile as he asked me questions about my work. That quickly changed to wanting to roll my eyes and walk away as he started up about seeing me across the room and thinking I looked like an artist and some other bullshit about being pretty. I let those dimwitted remarks slide and continued to answer a few of his questions until his comments just became too fucking stupid to listen to anymore. He'd picked up on the fact that I was the model for some of my pieces and one in particular, of me and a bear, which just so happens to symbolise my late Russian grandfather. In the painting I am naked, but all you can see is my right breast. This man proceeded to eye off the painting, raise his eyebrows then look back at my bust, (and I certainly do not possess a rack of great proportions), and say "well Simone, I wouldn't mind getting to know you better".
Now, whilst I have painted naked, and clothed, women in a sensual and/or sexual light before, what was kind of funny, and what this man failed to see, was that in this particular piece, the nakedness of the figure actually represented innocence, vulnerability and a sense of purity. Regardless of his words being said in jest, (or not), it was such a fucking stupid thing to say to an artist, or any woman, let alone someone you have never met. It's NOT funny. I am not a prude by any means but that sort of talk from someone I have just met is just fucking stupid and I can't be bothered.

I walked to the back of the room and engrossed myself in conversation with someone I did know, (and had not seen for about 14 years), and despite a few attempts from him to get back into a conversation, I managed to pretty much ignore him for the rest of the evening.

I had to laugh when he came up in conversation the next day. The gallery directors took us, (the artists) out to lunch and he came up as we discussed 'last night'. They asked if he acted inappropriately, to which I responded yes, but said I could handle it. I did say that it was probably fortunate that it was me he'd spoken to like that and not another, perhaps more 'easily offended' or younger artist, and as much as I thought it was inappropriate, I knew to just walk away from him and not engage in anymore of his bullshit. It's not the first time and won't be the last. It was nice that the guys were concerned though, as some of those 'tossers' in the past have actually been the ones in their position.

Lunch was enjoyable and I am so grateful to be dealing with people who know how to treat their artists well and truly believe in the work. The effort that they, and their team went to in preparation for this exhibition is a testament to them and the fact that there are still good guys on the other side of the art world!

So whilst there might always be (at least) one tosser, the good guys outweighed them this time!

The Aftermath

I never have many words on the morning after an opening night. My heads always feels heavy and my brain goes kind of numb. It was, however, a good night, and a very large turnout.

So while words fail me, I'll talk in pictures...

Notes from the West

So... I'm in Perth.

The flight was surprisingly pleasant and time flew (pardon the pun) much faster than I thought it would. I assume half a xanax and two gin and tonics assisted in making it a good flight, but I was also fortunate enough to have noone sitting next to me, so after requesting the aisle seat at check in (in case I needed to make a quick exit), I was able to move over to the window seat without feeling confined and anxious. It's weird - I seem to get worse, or more anxious, every time I fly... You'd never believe I've traveled all the places I have when you hear me talk about how flying turns me into an anxious mess... The worst of it is the prelude to actually taking off, I think that's the most anxious time for me... I seem to calm myself down once the take off has been successful and there's no turning back - it's all out of my hands so I have to just go with the flow of the flight.

Despite the xanax kicking in fairly early, I managed to force my eyelids open long enough to watch Crazyheart. Becoming engrossed in an in-flight movie always helps me forget I'm up in the sky. I think being at the very front of the plane helped the flight feel a lot smoother too.

The taxi ride from the airport was another thing... whilst my driver was a pleasant chap, and quite chatty - asking questions about Melbourne in comparison to Perth and telling me he was originally from Bangladesh... we then moved on to talking about small bingles and larger accidents that he had had in the cab... not sure if that's the best thing to talk to your passengers about unless you want them to start feeling unsettled... either way, I contributed my five cents worth to the discussion.

The funniest or perhaps even ironic thing was that he proceeded to tell me how Perth cab drivers have to sit something similar to an exam when going for their cab licence to ensure that they know the city well enough and know the quickest routes from A to B etc... He seemed pretty comfortable with my desired destination when I first got in the cab and said 123 Hay St, Subiaco (the address of the gallery) and headed off with confidence. It turns out Hay street is MASSIVE and passes through several Perth suburbs. Of course, as someone who has never been to Perth, I had no idea of this, but after telling me he had passed his 'exam' and saying "yeah, yeah" when I told him where I wanted to go, I had assumed he might have some idea. We ended up a little lost as he and 'Tom-Tom' were in disagreement as to where we should be heading.

I ended up ringing the gallery as we were parked outside the WACCA and getting directions - we were quite a ways away from where we needed to be...

So - in a city full of one way streets, we were forced to take a much longer route than we had hoped. I had to laugh. He was a nice guy and I could tell he actually felt a little bit unsettled that he had gone the wrong way. We ended up in the tail end of peak hour traffic where he apologised to me and said he would stop the meter each time we were in traffic because he felt guilty. Bless.

We made it - finally - and he helped me carry the last of my paintings into the gallery. I think he even knocked a little more of the final meter reading, and as we parted I said "now we both know where 123 Hay Street is". Funny.

The gallery is a lovely space. It was nice to finally see the place that has been home to my work in WA for over a year now. Whilst it was good to see the show almost completely hung, it was also nice to walk away and take some time before coming back to see it all again at the opening.

I was tired when I got to my hotel room. Probably more so due to the 2 hour time difference. I though I might've enjoyed a sleep in, but despite being so tired, I still woke up on my Melbourne clock.

The weather predicts a sunny 25 degrees here in Perth today.... best get out and enjoy it!

Deliverance

The bulk of my work arrived safely in Perth today. I spoke with the gallery and was pleased to know that the works arrived unscathed. I had been concerned since letting them go off on their own in a big truck last Thursday. I was even beginning to have dreams that they had arrived completely ruined.

As carefully as I can wrap my works with bubble wrap on top of more bubble wrap, cardboard and packing tape, it is always incredibly daunting when works that you have spent hours upon hours creating are handed over to someone else in the hope that they will be handled with care and arrive safely at their destination.

I have only ever had a few minor incidents with bad handling of my work in gallery storage and in transit, but I have heard some incredibly awful stories from other artists - enough to have left me full of anxiety for the past week.

I breathed a huge sigh of relief when I learned they were safe and in tact.

For the Love of ART

I love painting, though sometimes I have a tumultuous emotional relationship with it... always with intensity, and, some days, I just feel like screaming in the studio.

Once I have, it's easier to work.

Tick, tick, tick...

It's just after midnight... 12:24 to be exact.

I am procrastinating. Keep painting until I can no longer keep my eyes open, then possibly not respond to my morning alarm... or go to bed now and get up at around 5am and start painting again.

Deadlines...

I'm incredibly concerned about being able to get all the work needed complete in time for the courier this week. I wish Perth was a little closer.

I used to be able to paint all through the night, into the wee hours of the morning, then all of the next day... but I need sleep a lot more now than I did back in those days. I don't function too well without it and no longer even contemplate taking any substance that may allow me to.

If only I could paint in my sleep.

Pre Show Anxiety... (here we go again).

I didn't exhibit last year, apart from having works selected in a couple of art prizes and group hangings. It had been a conscious decision, for two reasons - one was the fact that we'd bought a house and dogs and had to re assess a few things in order to make it all viable, and two, I wanted to have a break from my Melbourne gallery; actually from showing in Melbourne altogether for a while and co-incidently, my upcoming show happens to be in Perth. It will be a three woman show. I am happy about that for a number of reasons, especially as it's the first time exhibiting with this gallery - but I know I could not have completed a big enough body of work for a solo.

In fact, I am struggling to get enough done for this particular exhibition. I am happy with the work I have done, but perhaps not how many works I have completed. You can't rush some things. Deadlines are funny... for me a bit of a catch 22, whilst they push me to be productive, there is another part of my character that rebels a little to being told I have to have THIS done by THEN. I must say though, the gallery have been extremely patient and supportive of me since we first met a couple of years ago. I am grateful for that - it's a rarity these days.

I painted all day yesterday until about 4:30pm, when I just had to get out of the studio, and the house. My back was playing up from hours hunched over the canvas. I just can't do the easel thing with the sort of work I do, even tables or benches offer little comfort - I spend most of my time painting on the floor.

I went to have a massage when I left the house yesterday afternoon, it was very intense and actually quite painful but I believe it helped somewhat. I had planned to paint again when I got home but I just couldn't - or didn't. I felt exhausted - possibly more from emotional 'anxiety' rather than physical exertion. I also find it much harder painting in the evening under artificial light, though sometimes it is necessary in order to get the work done, I do much prefer painting under natural light.

Whilst out yesterday I had a bit of a 'selfish' wish enter my head. I thought to myself...
I just want to have a week where I don't work - or paint - and just sleep until I wake (with no alarm), get up when I feel like it, watch old movies like Breakfast at Tiffany's and Roman Holiday, eat pizza and drink champagne regardless of the time of day, wear whatever I am comfortable in - or nothing at all... listen to music, (whilst dancing like an idiot in my loungeroom), finish reading books I started ages ago and have not had time to pick them up again, have baths instead of showers and generally be a sloth for seven whole days.... but without it affecting reality at all, so I'd still get paid for not turning up to work, and miraculously, my paintings would still all be done in time, as would all the housework, and...
that's when I knew it was not possible. A nice thought though. Is it so wrong to desire a week for yourself and only yourself? It's not hurting anyone. Is it really 'selfish'? I know I could not do it for much longer that 7 days as I would get bored, frustrated; I'd start to crave being more productive and pro active... but just one week like that would be nice.

It's not that I don't get any time to myself now - I do - it's just that pretty much all of my spare time at the moment is spent in the studio, even on the days where I feel uninspired. I have not even had much time to write.

I love painting, I really do, and it's something that I have to do, regardless of exhibitions... but sometimes you need to stop, take a step back, a deep breath and find new inspiration before continuing... and sometimes, you just need to do NOTHING.

One thing I am incredibly thankful for is the fact that I no longer work nights (in my other job), it's definitely made for a different and far more desirable lifestyle in so many ways. Combine working nights with (also) being an artist and you have the ingredients for a somewhat solitary existence. I can't imagine going back to the old way, and can't believe I did it for so long. Only people who have spent years working nights would truly understand just how much effect it has on everything in your life - especially friendships and relationships. In a number of ways it has almost been like starting again, unfortunately, there are a few relationships that were destroyed and cannot be rebuilt - but new ones have now formed in their place - so for everything lost, something has been gained.

I have been criticised through comments on previous posts, (some which I publish, some which I don't), for being self-centred and unappreciative. I believe these comments have come from people who don't even know me, those that know me, know me and I don't even need to say any more than that. I should not have to justify anything I write here as I write for myself, and other than this paragraph, 99 percent of the time I write here not even aware that anyone else may be reading what I have to say. If I feel like writing about how I am feeling at any particular point, I will do so, no doubt there are entries that I look back on and laugh, or even wonder where the hell my head was at, but they are MY thoughts, MY feelings, MY words. If I sook about something through words on my blog, I am not comparing myself to someone with bigger, longer term problems, and I am not being unappreciative of all that I do have, I am merely keeping a journal for my OWN purposes. I repeat what I have said once or twice before, the reason I have not made it a private blog is because I have nothing to hide, because a few family members and friends have expressed curiousity and an interest in reading, and also because I really never expect it to be read and criticised by anyone who does not know me. I read blogs, a lot of them, and there have been entries I read where I think to myself - if this person was saying this to ME, I'd have this response for them - but they are not talking to me, they are blogging for themselves - so I would be hypocritical to criticise. If you don't like something someone write on their blog - DON'T KEEP READING IT.

SIMPLE!

Tribute.

Last week I finally finished the painting dedicated to my late grandfather.
It is the first of many I am sure.

You were only waiting for this moment to be free...