My New Models

I finally managed to fit in a visit to my parents a couple of weeks ago. It was so lovely to see them and despite my mother still coming to terms with the passing of her father, the visit was a reassuring and comforting one.

On hearing my new ideas my grandmother had given my mother a gorgeous set of matryoshka dolls to give to me. The face on the doll reminds me of my mother and is now the model behind the first work in what I imagine will be quite a large series.

I am beginning to feel that anxiety I get when I am overwhelmed with new ideas and don't know where to start. Some weird sort of panic sets in, perhaps a fear that I may not get to bring all the ideas to fruition. I do hope I can. This body of work will be, in fact it already is, so very important to me.

Let's Knife!

Last Thursday night I had the pleasure of attending Shonen Knife's Melbourne performance. May I just say they were so much fun and reminded me why I was allured by their bizarre and 'happy' ways when I was just a young and confused teen.

I first saw this all girl, Japanese, 3 piece, Ramones inspired, punk-pop band on RAGE when I was 13 or 14. I was at a 'slumber party', and as I so often did in those days, I would challenge myself to see if I could stay awake all night - (nearly always on my own as one by one my adolescent comrades would crash out in their sleeping bags around me). RAGE assisted me in my feat as I have always had a passion for music.

It must have been around 2 or 3am when a rocket launched on the TV screen transporting three cute Japanese girls in matching love-heart mini-dresses, singing in English with thick Japanese accents about riding the rocket. I thought it was the coolest thing I had seen in ages!



I was delighted when I first heard they were touring Australia. I had tried to find out if they were still performing when I was living in Osaka, Japan - their hometown - but like most things, getting legible information for those not so apt at reading, or fluently speaking, Japanese was always an almost impossible task. My broken Jap-English served me well enough to remain a vegetarian and find an art supplies store whilst over there but that was about it.

Despite Naoko Yamano being the only remaining original, (and founding), member of the band, the girls did not disappoint, and at 48 years young, Naoko is still as kawaii and youthful as ever.

It was just another reminder for me that Japan, and many things Japanese, have been major influences of mine since a very young age and although I am experimenting with other ideas in my art at the moment, I have a feeling the underlying Eastern influence will always play a large part.


The night also made me miss Japan somewhat and was made more enjoyable by a pre-show bowl of Udon at a very cute and authentic Japanese eatery with my dear friend Ayls - also a self confessed Nipponophile. For a minute, we both thought we were back in Japan... or perhaps it was just wishful thinking.

Little Package

Today in the mail I received a lovely little surprise package. I opened up the padded envelope to find a cute little matryoshka doll (aka babushka dolls), and opened her up to find two other matryoshkas inside her.

With the recent passing of my grandfather, (who was Russian), I have been slightly fascinated with that part of my heritage and have been sourcing images and information that have now become a major creative inspiration for me. I had come up with several ideas for new works that strongly feature these crafted wooden dolls, however, I did not possess a set of matryoshkas. My grandmother has a number of them but she lives some distance away, and I had not had a chance to head out to the city and look for my own. I had contemplated buying some online, but was still deep in procrastination when the parcel arrived in my letterbox.

It was possibly the kindest gesture received since my grandfather died and it brought tears to my eyes. The doll came with its packaging from the shop, Babushkas, along with a small gift card that simply read 'thinking of you. C'.

It was very unexpected but so very much appreciated.

Thank you Cat.

Draft (it's all Greek to me)

I have been contacted by an Arts/Culture magazine in Greece about doing an interview.

I received the questions today and have been toying around with responses today.

I'm going to copy and paste the word document here so that I can come back and review what I have written at any time, on any computer should I need to access it... or feel the need to try and make (more) sense of it...

It always just feels like drunken ramble when I write stuff like this...

How would you describe yourself?
Intricate and Complex yet somewhat simple at the same time. A lot like my art. For me – it is simple – I just want to paint… I need to paint… but getting there or ‘the journey’ is often far more complex and the work I do is rather intricate and time consuming and requires an awful lot of patience. Like a number of artists I am certain I accommodate several personalities, but all of them share the strong desire to make art.. At times, my passion for art, and the making of it, has been mistaken for selfishness – I refuse to believe that following your dream is selfish. I now surround myself less with people who think this way, and more with people who encourage this ambition not only in me, but in themselves and others.

Tell me some things about your life/status etc..
Art has been a major part of my life since the age of 3 when I professed to my father that I was going to be an artist and sat down to draw him a picture – which, he still has today! My father was a big influence for me as a child and also in my art. He is a wonderful illustrator and my mother is also a painter (abstract), so art has always been around me, some say it was bred into me. It was certainly nurtured in my family. I am fortunate that my parents supported my desire to pursue art from a very young age and thus allowed me to leave school at 15 to do so. I started working for my father as a Graphic Designer and continued working in that field for over 10 years. I am often told that my work has a strong graphic influence, no doubt stemming from my fathers illustrative influence and my time in the graphics field. I moved away from the computer generated graphic world when I started exhibiting my paintings. Like all but a select few artists, I still needed to source an income from somewhere outside of my art and found that hospitality was flexible enough, (even though at times incredibly frustrating), to support my pursuit both financially and time wise, whilst ultimately striving to get to artist’s ‘NIRVANA’: being able to live solely off the income of one’s art.

Tell me about your work. Past exhibitions, studies.
I attended Melbourne School of Art part time for around 3 years after leaving school, but just like high school, I never completed any type of certificate course – I was always a stubborn student and just wanted to pursue my own thing.
Aside from my time as a Graphic Artist I had a strong interest in drawing animals when I was younger and traveled through Africa at the age of 21 studying the wildlife in its natural habitat and producing a series of highly detailed illustrations as a result of my time there.
My work has morphed and evolved into something completely different now.
For a long time I had been rather fascinated with Japanese art and culture and first traveled there in 2003. Prior to that, my first exhibition of acrylic paintings was based on the subject of Geisha and my fascination of the ‘floating world’ in Japan. I have since traveled there a number of times and also lived and worked, (painted), in Osaka for 4 months in 2007. The women I painted slowly began to come out from behind their painted masks over the following years, becoming a lot more personal and revealing more about myself in the process.
My latest exhibition was actually a series of self-portraits, exploring my own ‘battle of wills’: my two lives, the artist vs. The waitress. the battle between necessity and passion – and how one feeds the other, as well as the frustration along the way – ‘fighting to create’. It also explored idendity and asked questions - Where would I rather be? What would I rather be doing? The painting waitress: the waitress who paints or the painter who waits…. Waits to create… waits to paint.

The work explores my everyday world… the means in which I need to meet to paint… as well as the NEED to paint. It also explores the mysteries or other persona of the waitress… such a personal yet non-attached job… an intimate yet generic job or role. Serving an audience. What does a waitress do when she is not waiting? Looking at the idea that she is more than just a waitress… the notion that she could be anyone or anything outside of her waiting job. Of course it is well know that many musicians, artists and actors have done this sort of job. Often it’s a way to make ends meet whilst waiting for a break or recognition or respect in their chosen field of the arts…. Waiting to be noticed? People have no idea of what else she, (the waitress), can do other than carry multiple plates and pour champagne with one hand behind their back and a smile on their face… In a sense they, themselves are actors, for the job is role-play.

There is also the personal and sensual element to the food itself and its appeal to our senses of sight, smell and taste. ( My partner is a chef, and when we met he confessed to me that he possessed no artistic talent... I soon enabled him to see otherwise – we were more similar than he thought, the difference being that his canvas was a plate, and food was his medium.)

What did you do before you started to paint?
I have always drawn, since the age of 3 (as mentioned earlier). When asked the question “what do you want to be when you grow up?” at school, my friends would change each year, from vet, to policeman/woman, doctor, pilot and so on, whereas my answer was always ‘an artist’. As mentioned, my parents were very supportive in nurturing my dream and working for my father Graphic design provided me with a great opportunity to do so. It was a foot in the door so to speak. After 7 years with my father I actually started my own Freelance Graphics business, and later began working in and even managing Commercial art galleries in and around Melbourne, eventually becoming a freelance art consultant - and it was during this time that I began to get serious about my own painting.

How come you chose to do that?
(Possibly answered this and the previous question in the above text???)

What is it that you love about pop art? How does it express who you are?
As mentioned, I have a strong background in graphic art – and obviously this show through in my paintings. I have always been quite technical in my approach and application, even when drawing, with fine line work and acute attention to detail. This style of work often looks so simplified, yet is actually so very intricate and time consuming to produce. I like the contradiction in this. The work I do seems highly structured – almost formulated – at first glance, but it is far more complex than just a bunch of clean lines. Pop culture is something I, and many others of my generation, have grown up with and can associate with. I like to use a ‘familiar’ medium and put different spin on it, be it through subject matter or humour for example.
Evoking any sort of emotion or response (sometimes even negative) for me, as an artist using a visual language is great. It is a known fact that when people are walking through an exhibit the average time they look at each piece is less than 3 seconds… so to capture someone’s attention beyond that is incredibly rewarding.


How come you prefer to depict women? I believe it is important to be able to relate well to my subject and as a woman I can closely do so. To some degree I see a self-portrait element in most art, deliberate or not. For me it’s a way to express my femininity and an array of thoughts/emotions through my (or a women's) eye – or perspective - without always having to be completely obvious. At times it is almost chameleon like. Art allows me to experiment outside the realms of reality – there are no boundaries. I obviously identify with women; therefore I explore the art of visual language using a female figure as my platform and ‘voice’

What are often just seen as pretty or sexy images – have an underlying mystery, deeper meaning, darkness, story or message. However, I am happy either way with how people view the work – it’s a win-win… if people see beyond the image itself, that’s great, if they just love the image for the aesthetic image itself that’s great too…. I don’t see that as shallow – I see that as interpretation and personal choice.

Tell me about the characters of your paintings. They explore the realms of sensuality and sexuality as well as often possessing a sense of fun or humour – I like to have an element of humour in my work, be it subtle, sarcastic or obvious. Its not essential that people ‘get’ the humour or even the idea behind each piece – as I believe strongly that art is open to interpretation but when they do see it or ‘get’ it – it is certainly a buzz for me.

Is there one that you particularly like? (pls include it in the images you’ll send me)
I often look at many finished pieces and ask myself how I could improve it or if I could have done it better but each one breeds new life to the next piece and the journey is never dull. I am very partial to my recent Food and Desire series, as it is possibly the most intimately personal work I have created. Do I like everything I create? No. Is everything I create necessary? Yes. It’s an ongoing process and for me making art is essential.

Who are your influences-favorite artists? I am influenced by far more than imagery of other artists; this includes a lot of writers, such as Haruki Murakami, Jeanette Winterson, Jack Kerouac and Tom Robbins; and also musicians, among them are Leonard Cohen, Tom Waits, Radiohead, Patti Smith, PJ Harvey and Bjork. As far as visual artists, to name a few, Basquiat, Hokusai, Egon Schiele, Gustav Klimt, William Kentridge, Karel Appel and Frida Kahlo, as well as a number of contemporary Japanese artists.

You also enjoy blogging. Have you been always writing? What’s the story here? I have always loved to write, be it short stories, poetry, journal or blog entries, even just stream of consciousness. I see it as another way to express myself. It is a very raw, quick and honest way to expel my thoughts, feelings, frustration or emotion. Writing can sometimes also help me with artists block because it is much more of a free flowing medium for me than painting. It is also, in a sense, a documentation of my life, which allows me to continue to look back and reflect.

Describe a typical day. How is your life as an artist different?
No day is typical as an artist. Just like each painting, every one is different and unpredictable.
I am not sure how different my life is to other people or other artists. I do know that as an artist, I am always taking situations or experiences and asking how I could interpret that through a work of art. I do have an extremely over active mind and I see art in everything… almost!

What are you working on right now? What are your plans for the near future? Do you have any exhibitions planned?
My dear grandfather recently passed away and he was a big inspiration for me as a child. He also used to paint. He was born in Russia and I have recently become fascinated with exploring my heritage through my art. I am not going to give too much away but you can definitely expect to see a shift from the Japanese influences, (at least for now), and a focus on the Russian ones. I am currently talking to my gallery in Perth, Australia about a solo exhibition next year. There are also a number of group exhibitions on the cards for 2010, including one in the U.S.A. For more information and updates people can check out my website. (www.simonemaynard.com)

Posting for Posting's Sake

Is it possible to feel inspired and yet so un-inspired at the same time? Maybe it's inspired but un-motivated. Perhaps that's tautology. Or just some form of an excuse. Either way, I feel like doing nothing, and it feels O.K whilst I am doing it, then after a few hours of doing nothing I start to feel incredibly guilty and frustrated.

I don't really have much to write about today, but I am using this as some sort of outlet, creative or not, and to break this vicious nothing circle of the day.

My mind is on some sort of heavy duty spin cycle but nothing seems to be getting clean.

"Are you writing a book?", the waiter asked me on Monday. "No, I am writing my thoughts down to help me stay sane". The reply was said with a little tongue in cheek, and I got a laugh, a nervous laugh. We are all telling some kind of story, whether they ever become a book or not is another matter.

Sometimes I think if I was to ever have a book, I'd just like it to be filled only with images.

Post Mortem and the Meaning of Life...

I spoke to my grandmother this morning. I called her as soon as the thought of calling her entered my head, without any hesitation. In the past, I have procrastinated, delaying several phone calls. I am sorry for that now. I had my reasons I suppose, even if some of them now seem selfish, but it saddened me when I called today and did not hear my Opa answer the phone. It saddens me even more knowing that I'll never hear that voice on the other end of the line again.

He never spoke for long during phone calls, but there was some sort of security, or stability... normality I suppose... with just the knowledge he was there, at home, with my grandmother. It was somewhat of a comforting thought I guess, for I had never known it to be any other way. Today when I called, it was so apparent that he was no longer there; that my grandmother is now all alone. She is being very strong and possibly more reasonable and rational than I have ever known her to be. She seems to now have far less demands and expectations of the world and her family. This makes me both happy and sad.

After speaking with my grandmother, I phoned my mother, who is still terribly sad about the loss of her father. Of course, I did not expect her to be anything but this, I too still find myself bursting into tears on occasion when I look at his photograph. The other day I asked C if it gets any easier, or should I just put the photo away for a while to avoid some of the sadness. He suggested I leave it up until I can look at it without having to well up; until I can look at it and smile and remember all the good things... the happy memories. I have many of those.

My grandfather was a lovely man. He adored his two children and two grandchildren. In return, he was adored by all four of us. His story has now become a huge inspiration for me.

( Weird. I am sitting at a favourite cafe, outside in the light rain, and I just smelt his smell; the smell I remember so well from sitting in his car. Now it's gone again.)

I want to paint. I need to paint. I want to dedicate my next body of work to his memory. After all, I have him to partly thank for my creative passion and artistic talent.

I have found myself becoming more and more curious about his heritage and his homeland of Russia. I found myself ordering a book of Russian fairy-tales online last week. It is the same book that was given to me as a child but I could not find it in the house. I remember loving it as a child, so I see no reason why I won't now, in fact I will probably get more out of it now, as an adult, than I did as a child.

I already have several ideas for new works. I tried sketching some of them the other day but I was so anxious and eager to get the ideas out and the images/works completed that I could not even draw. It was very frustrating.

I have also found it a little bit hard to write lately, on screen or paper. When I see the words appear it makes everything seem so much more real and right now I am having a bit of trouble dealing with reality.

I've often been called a dreamer... and I am O.K with that. Sometimes, in that world, everything is much nicer. Being a Piscean however, I am also part 'realist fish'. Some days I swim with the tide, other days against it. Part optimist, part pessimist. Sometimes I feel I am an expert at being both happy and sad at the same time. I don't always get to where I set out to go, but the journey is always interesting... sometimes even surprising, even in a good way.

I accept that the world we live in is far from perfect. My glass is neither half full or half empty... but it does exist.

It was a struggle and a surprise last week when my mother, (a normally optimistic, vibrant and happy person), turned to me and asked me the meaning of life. "I just wonder... what's the point of it all? Life? When one day 'poof'! you're gone." I stared back at her blankly for a good 3-4 seconds, frightened of what might come out of my mouth - and although my initial thought was, 'oh mum, you are so asking the wrong person' - I found a strange sense of comfort in my words.

After my few seconds of stunned silence, I felt calm and confident enough to provide some sort of answer... or at least a response. After all, is there really an answer to that question? Sometimes I wonder if we, (humans), ever find out - if not in life, then in death? It's a daunting thought for most to think that we don't - I suppose it just seems somewhat cruel... unfair... but then again, how do we measure fairness or even purpose for that matter? It makes more sense to me why people choose some sort of faith, in order to hold onto some sort of belief that there is something else... ?

Maybe this really is all there is. Am I O.K with that? My answer, I suppose, is 'does it matter'? My answer, or response to my mother was something along the lines of... "remember telling me how happy and proud he was when he received his diploma? His joy at becoming a grandfather for the first, and second, time... and then a great grandfather?" Words were just coming out of my mouth and we both just listened. "Mum, do you ever get excited about things? Do you ever, even if only for a second, feel such an overwhelming sense of happiness... pleasure... excitement that you forget about everything else?" I continued to suggest that perhaps it was these things, these moments, these feelings or intense emotions that gave our life on earth some sort of meaning or purpose. "I suppose so... Yes", was my mother's reply... and with that, it was like we both just accepted, (or not), that this indeed was a good enough answer to THE question, for better or for worse - and even if it wasn't, it was a good enough solution for now.

My Opa - Part 2

Yesterday was my grandfather's funeral. Saying goodbye is such a hard thing to do.

It still all feels a little bit surreal. Someone I have known and loved my whole life, is now gone.

I guess in one way I am lucky to have only attended one funeral prior to this, (that of an ex-boyfriend's grandfather whom I got along with very well); and in 35 years that seems to be quite rare. I have been fortunate enough to have my loved ones with me all this time... until last week.

I got the call from my mother early on Tuesday morning. In fact I was still in bed. As soon as I saw it was her calling, I just knew it was bad news. I was told that my grandfather had suffered a massive stroke on Monday night and it was worse than they first thought, with untreatable hemorrhaging from the brain - he was deeply unconscious and not expected to last the day. My uncle and grandmother were at the hospital. I called my uncle who suggested I just go to work and do all my normal daily things as there was nothing I could do that would alter the outcome. I felt confused after that call. In hindsight I can understand where he was coming from but I could not just pretend it was not happening. I phoned my mother back to get some perspective. Unfortunately, she was in Coffs Harbour on holiday with my father and would not be able to get to Melbourne that day. This, I know, was a devastating thought for her. Knowing that my mother could not be there, I HAD to go. I then called my partner and he confirmed that I should get in the car and head to the Austin, even if hesitant, at least get down there and make a decision then.

I got in the car, and from that moment I was on auto-pilot. I drove for nearly 2 hours, arrived at the Austin, ignored the 'Car Park Full' sign and drove into the underground car park, parked the car and proceeded to ask directions to my grandfather's room.

I thought I would be ok, but as soon as I opened the door and saw him lying there I burst into tears. This was the last time I would ever see him. The reality smacked me in the face as soon as I entered the room. It was a feeling I have never felt before.

I hugged my uncle, embraced my grandmother, then walked over to my unconscious grandfather and held his head and kissed his temple and whispered words of love from my mother and from me, and I then sat with them for around 2 hours before I had to call my mother to let her know her father was about to draw his last couple of breaths. "How do you know? How does anyone know?", she frantically shouted into the phone. I just knew, we all did. It was the hardest phone call I have ever made. A moment later my grandfather drew his last breath.

We see and hear stories of death every day. They never fail to sadden me in some way, but, with no disrespect whatsoever, there is often an element of disconnection when you are not directly involved with that life. It makes it no more or less sad than my loss - in fact, my grandfather lived a long and eventful life and was fortunate to have endured and experienced 87 years on this earth. Many are not nearly as fortunate and I acknowledge that. Still, I feel a sadness in relation to his death and our family's loss. I still cannot look at his photo without getting teary. He will be greatly missed.

Though I have little funeral attendance experience, I will say the service was pleasant. I'd even go as far as to say it was a 'nice' service - under the circumstances. My grandfather would probably agree.

My mother had asked me not only to write the eulogy, but to also read it at the service. I agreed instantly, however, prior to the service I had become quite nervous and anxious about the whole thing. I honestly did not believe I could get through it without falling apart.

I had words with the celebrant prior to the service to discuss proceedings and formalities. I also had words with my grandfather in the bathroom just before the service started, asking him to give me the strength to get through this tribute without bursting into tears - I told him if I cried it would set everyone off and that would not be good because I had a story to tell - HIS story!

"Hello", I think is what I started with. Anything that was not written down is now a bit of a blur. "Not a bad turn out for an old fellow", I do remember saying... but I don't remember hearing anyone laugh. My grandfather would have. I needed to use some of his dry humour to get me through this delivery. It worked and I proudly told his story, and eventually even got a few smiles and chuckles from a very tough crowd.

When Lara's Theme was played at the beginning of the service, I saw my grandfather, dancing and smiling, as if to say it was ok... HE was ok.

Lara's Theme is the name of a piece of music written for the film Doctor Zhivago (1965) by composer Maurice Jarre. It then became the basis of the song - Somewhere My Love. I thought the words were quite fitting, as though my grandfather was saying this as he danced off the stage...

Somewhere, my love, there will be songs to sing
Although the snow covers the hopes of Spring
Somewhere a hill blossoms in green and gold
And there are dreams, all that your heart can hold
Someday we'll meet again, my love
Someday whenever the Spring breaks through

You'll come to me out of the long-ago
Warm as the wind, soft as the kiss of snow
Till then, my sweet, think of me now and then
Godspeed, my love, till you are mine again

Someday we'll meet again, my love
I said "someday whenever that Spring breaks through"

You'll come to me out of the long-ago
Warm as the wind, and as soft as the kiss of snow
Till then, my sweet, think of me now and then
Godspeed, my love, till you are mine again!


I received much praise at the conclusion of the service, but I gave all the credit to my grandfather - after all, it was his life that made the story I told so remarkable.

My Opa - Part 1 (re-edited 31.7)

Yesterday I paid $15 to watch my grandfather pass away. It was a shit day. The parking fee afterwards was like rubbing salt in a wound. I laughed awkwardly at the ridiculousness of it, as I imagined the machine saying, "thanks for coming, hope you enjoyed the show!"


The handsome figure above is that of Boris; son, brother, soldier, saviour, survivor, nomad, husband, father, migrant, builder, provider, grandfather, great grandfather and a truly great man. He was born in Smolensk, Russia on the 3rd of March 1922 and sadly passed away here in Melbourne, Australia on the 28th July 2009. He lived a remarkable 87 years.


My mother, pictured above centre, and below left, has asked me to write a eulogy and speak at the service as she feels she cannot. I of course agreed and am using my blog as a bit of a first draught.

Boris was one of five children and at the age of 16 he left whatever known comforts family living had offered and marched off to military school as a cadet where he spent the best part of the next two years, with the occasional visit home to see his family. At the age of 18 he marched away from the school and his family for good and marched off to fight in World War II. He never saw his parents or siblings again.

World War II ended in 1945. Fortunately my grandfather survived. Unfortunately, returning to his birthplace of Russia, was not really an option for him. Instead, he walked from Poland to Germany, where he was taken in by the Americans and declared ‘without a country’, therefore a nomad.

It was in Germany, that same year, he met my grandmother, Kate. No doubt she swept him off his feet with her good looks and flamboyant nature, just as I am sure she was smitten by his dashingly handsome features and masculine charm…. Eventually! For as I only recently found out – there is a little more to the story than the boring old ‘love at first sight’. My grandmother tells me they met at the house of the local tailor. It just so happened that one day whilst my grandmother was there, Boris walked in to have a new pair of trousers altered. Apparently he took one look at Kate and asked “who are you?” Not wasting any time, he then smugly professed that he would come back the next day and take her out!

He did come back the following day - however, Kate was nowhere to be found. Determined to win this frauline over, he managed to find out where she lived and marched on over to her house, only to be greeted by Kate’s stern, and not so impressed mother, who promptly told him to go away.

If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. And that is exactly what Boris did. He even went as far as to place oranges that he’d purchased from the black market on Kate’s windowsill and would write on them “from Colombia”. Fortunately for Boris he had somehow already won over Kate’s father with his desirable American cigarettes, but Kate and her mother were yet to be convinced that this nomad could offer them anything of substance. Eventually however, whether it was the oranges or not I can’t say, Kate gave in and went out with this persistent man. The date can’t have gone too badly because she continued seeing him after that – with or without the oranges.

They married on April 22, 1947 in a tiny church in my grandmother’s hometown of Gunzenhausen.

In October that same year my mother was born. This makes me laugh. I imagine that alone made them somewhat rebels or non-conformists for their time. It explains a lot about the following two generations. (My guess is that they really were good oranges!) Good on them I say, for that unity of their marriage lasted an outstanding 62 years!


Two years later, in October, my grandparents and my then one year old mother boarded a ship to Australia. The journey took them one whole month, during which time the men were separated from the women and children. My mother not only had her 2nd birthday as they crossed the equator, she was also very ill whilst travelling causing my grandmother much distress. Fortunately however, the three of them arrived on Australian shores safely and in good health in November 1949.

The family were positioned, along with many other migrants of that time, at Bonegilla Migrant Reception and Training Centre, where I believe again, the men's quarters were separate from those of the women and children. The men were sent off to work in various factories like the power station and the sugar factory, without any particular trade. With a little money under his belt, he set out to find accommodation for his young family, during which time my grandmother and mother waited in anticipation at Bonegilla, for around 2 weeks, for the news of a new abode and a new beginning.

After Bonegilla, my grandfather was contracted to Newport Power Station for two years. The family moved in with an Australian fellow in somewhat of a ‘communal’ bungalow-style dwelling and continued to learn and adapt to their new culture and environment. Determined to throw everything he had into this new life, full of new opportunities, my grandfather spent his weekends laying the foundations for a new family home on the of land he had managed to buy in Altona for around 100pounds.

On April 21, 1950 my uncle Harry came into this world – one day before my grandparents 3rd wedding anniversary. This addition now completed the ‘household’. All he had to do now, was complete the house.

After many laborious weekends, he did just that, and I am proud to say, the house still stands today.


Once settled into their new family home, Boris decided to study via night time correspondance, whilst continuing to work days, with a view to becoming a draughtsman. He officially achieved that goal, which made him proud as punch, in August 1960 when he received his diploma from the British Institute of Engineering Technology. After completing his contract with the Power Station and working various factory jobs, he gained employment as a Draughtsman with a company called Gerard, where he worked for over 25 years, until he retired at the age of 65.

Each year after his retirement brought a little more gentleness to his character, though his spirit remained as strong as an Ox.

He was a loyal family man, with a dry sense of humour and a strong sense of pride. And we, his family and all those who loved him were, and still are, so very proud of him.


And in closing, four lines that he would often recite, from the novel Spring Torrents by Russian author Ivan Turgenev

Days so happy
Years so gay
Like spring torrents
Have passed away.

Lady Bug

‘She was already a star in my eyes. She was manic, passionate, obsessive, miserable, even a little bit neurotic - the stuff I always believed artists were made of – the stuff I could so easily relate to. I loved her from the word go. She had a frantic energy that allowed you no other choice but to notice her and pay attention. She could also paint. Her work was great and possessed that same frenetic energy as her personality – and why wouldn’t it – it was HERS.’

I thought about her yesterday when Tom Waits' Swordfishtrombones started playing on my i-pod whilst walking to the bus stop. I had a vision of her dancing in her bedroom like some kind of praying mantis-like Goddess.

I have not had a car now for 18 months – (since a man in a ute drove into the front of my car and the insurance company declared it a write off – they handed me a cheque for some measly amount but by the time it finally arrived, after all the stuffing around, the money had already been spent) – I’ve since realised just how much I took having a vehicle for granted – mostly for the simplest and closest of tasks.

I very rarely ventured too far from home even when I had a car, especially since my parents moved to the N.S.W border. My main reason for heading into the city used to be to visit them… or my Melbourne gallery, who I left last year after a six-year relationship, of which 2 or 3 were quite tumultuous. Most of my work is now exhibited interstate or overseas so I have even less reason to travel to Melbourne.

So, back to my walk yesterday. She entered my thoughts and I wanted to write about her. The words just began to arrange themselves in my head and I was so disappointed I did not have my pen and notebook with me. I used to always carry them with me but have slacked off in recent times due to a lack of inspiration. I find it so much harder to write now than say, 2 years ago… so when I do get the urge it is frustrating to not have the utensils I need to make them permanent.

I drink a lot less than I used to. I often wonder whether this plays a part in me writing less now than I did then. I pretty much wrote every day back then. Whether it was poetry, short stories, diary/blog entries, random obscure emails or just stream of consciousness, (which later got labelled psychobabble by a reader) – whatever it was I was always able to write easily and freely. Perhaps my consumption of alcohol allowed me to be less inhibited – who knows. I do know that whilst walking to the bus stop yesterday and having all these thoughts race through my head, I felt like running back home and opening a bottle of wine and Microsoft word. Instead, I went to work and lost my mojo.

It’s weird; I struggle with the same inhibitions when it comes to my painting. The first word is like the first mark on a blank canvas. Intimidating.

I paint for myself, just as I write for myself – FOR ME… and I don’t hide my work because I feel there is nothing to be ashamed of. If others choose to view or read it is their prerogative. So why do I feel this intimidation? Will I be 40 before I finally say, “I don’t give a fuck! I’m just going to do it!”? What am I really afraid of?

I’m writing this morning. On an empty stomach. No alcohol has been consumed. I had an awful, broken sleep… it’s an effort to find the words but I am determined.

‘We met in Sydney. The meeting was for business but quickly became a pleasure. We fast became ‘friends’ and I religiously travelled to Sydney for a number of her shows. I even purchased a work of hers, a self-portrait, on my second or third visit. It hangs proudly in my living room.

I stayed at her place a few times – every trip it was a different location. We’d talk about art and pain. We’d drink tea and I’d passively smoke her second-hand tobacco. She introduced me to the likes of Louise Bourgeois and we would write sad and beautiful prose whilst listening to Tom Waits. If we ventured out we would walk the streets of Paddington weaving in and out of galleries.

She had the ability to force answers out of me to questions I did not even realise existed within me – about myself, and about my art. My head would always spin after our conversations – but it was invigorating.

I was always a little bit in awe of her though I never really knew just why. She openly expressed so many things that I seemed to suppress, and I am hardly a shy or introverted person. I looked up to her, even though she was tinier than me. She was like a ladybug on speed… always feminine and always frantic. Her energy made me both happy and sad at the same time.

She would sometimes disappear. She could often never explain.

If I was her lover, I just know she would have broken my heart.

I miss her. I often look at her painting and wonder how she is. I hope she is ok.’

Perhaps I’ll write her.

Come What May (go what WAS May)

May came and went like some kind of whirlwind. I can't remember much of it other than work. It's now June, the month that has seen me get back into the studio after a reluctant absence. I'd be so much more productive if I had an extra 3 hours in every day - (preferably with daylight).

I am finding it harder and harder to paint under artificial light. I have tried a variety of globes/wattages, lamps and flood lights - nothing compares with natural light, but with shorter daylight hours over Winter, my window of opportunity is currently limited.

I recently managed to complete my 8 weeks of boot camp. It was like nothing I have ever done before and as much as I struggled with certain parts of it and found it a huge physical and mental challenge, I enjoyed the overall experience and despite ongoing body 'soreness', I feel I have benefited from my efforts. So much so that yesterday saw me run 10km without stopping. I surprised even myself with that effort. I must thank Naomi for suggesting it and motivating me to do it. Running with someone else really does make a difference - in one way it pushes you harder than you might push yourself, yet on the same hand it somehow makes it feel easier... maybe because someone else is feeling the same pain!

My increased physical exercise has certainly helped my creative mind. It has provided me with some much needed clarity which has allowed some fantastic and exciting ideas for new work. Now it's just a matter of finding the time to apply myself.

Day 35 (Finale)

Today is the last day of Project 35 but was only the second session of boot camp.
As one project finishes... another is just beginning.
7 weeks to go and counting.

Day 34 (1 Down, 15 to Go)

The first session of bootcamp yesterday morning was hard, but despite the body aches and exhaustion it is somehow managing to motivate me. I never realised it would be such an emotional experience.
8 weeks of this. Every Tuesday and Thursday morning at 5:50am. Thursday will hurt.

Day 33 (Bootcamp ain't no Bandcamp)

Day 32 (Numb)

Day 31 (Pick Up This)

I didn't have a very good day.

Day 30 (Masquerade)

Day 29 (Keep Your Eyes on the Road)

Day 28 (Wash it Out)

Day 27 (Anxiety)

Day 26 (Taking Time to Reflect)

Day 25 (Lady With the Spinning Head)

Day 24 (Fair's Fair)

Day 23 (Blah Blah Blur)

Day 22 (Outside the Square)

Day 21 (Two, One)

Day 20 (Didn't Fool Me)

Day 19 (Hey La Hey La)

Day 18 (Reunion)

Day 17 (Forget About the Working Week)

Day 16 (Silence)

Day 15 (Distraction)

Day 14 (Creative Constipation)

I sat in the studio
for a good part of the day
I pushed and pushed
but nothing
happened...

Day 13 (Wednesday)

Wednesday for Wednesday....

Day 12 (In the Name of the Father)

Day 11 (Work, Rest and Play)

I am going to post my 11th image and have a little rant before I fall asleep as I am so very tired this evening.

I listened to part of an interview with Irish musician Luka Bloom on RRR today. I did not tune in specifically to hear the interview, it just happened to come on the car radio as I pulled up in the supermarket car park. I don't follow Luka's music but I did go and see him play live a number of years ago - perhaps 8 or 9 years ago. I was made aware of him as a musician through his cover, (and very different take), of what was originally a rap song titled 'I need love'.

I remember enjoying his performance but never bought an album. I think you can still appreciate certain musicians/artists work without having to purchase it. The internet seems to make it easier for the world to do this these days, everything is becoming more and more accessible through the world wide web. He, (Luka), touched on this point when talking about his latest album - stating that he still believes music fans should go to a record store to buy music not download it from the internet. I guess a similar thing applies when talking about art - (though sometimes buying artwork through a gallery is not the most financially beneficial way of selling for an artist) - but the internet does make art or images sometimes feel a lot less 'exclusive'.

It's a fantastic marketing tool but like everything in life it has its good points and bad points. Either way I do think it is important to support those who make the music or art in a way that sees the creator truly benefit as a result of their hard work... and it is 'work'. Another point Mr. Bloom mentioned about making 'art' or in his case music and songwriting - that it IS work... sometimes hard work. I think a lot of people do not understand that about any sort of 'artist'. His words rang so near and dear when he said that it is fantastic when the inspiration is there and everything is flowing but when it's not, it's hard work... he sees making his 'art' as his job, and like any other job you have your good and bad days but you must still 'go to work'. For most people I know, with any sort of job, at times comes some sort of stress - making art is no exception. Sometimes a day of staring at blank canvases and asking yourself questions to which there are no answers can be just as 'stressful' as working a 9.5 hour shift on a frantically busy restaurant with the most demanding and thankless customers.

When the inspiration IS there however, it is the BEST job in the world! Stress or no stress - there is nothing else I would rather be.

Day 10 (Tick Tock)

I am finding it hard to keep my eyes open. And whilst this post may seem a half arsed effort, it's a post none the less... and an effort. I miss C and I miss Z's.

Day 9 (When the Eyes Tell the Time)

My working day started at 5:30am and ended at 11:30pm, with not a second spent in the studio. I almost missed project curfew today... and whilst I felt a little rushed to include a 'self portrait' for the day - it is probably the most real to date as everything, including my creative mind, is just a little exhausted on this day.

Day 8 (Procrastinate)

I often wonder if all artists have the same fears.

Day 7 (Double Exposure)

I could not decide on an image for today. I had fun with my ideas - perhaps so much so that I could not decide on a single image. I asked C and I struggled to agree with his opinion... though I must say I do enjoy involving him in my little creative projects. It's a way of sharing a major part of me with the one I love. I don't always agree with his opinions but they are always valued and respected.

So while I chose the above image, he chose the below one.


I also want to make mention of the fabulous EMPTY magazine, discovered through another online artist and after sending them my credit card details on Monday, their current issue arrived in my letterbox today. I was most impressed with the publication and look forward to the next issue.

Day 6 (Pictorial)

I have
no
words
today.

Day 5 (Keeping the Rythym)

In relation to yesterday's post, or at least the title, I've made a decision to compose all images of Project 35 in a square format.

I remember an old lecturer at Melbourne School of Art, (at which I attended part time from the age of 16-18 but never really completed a full course), that a square format/composition was the most challenging. Of course, this may not be everyone's opinion but since that day I have challenged myself to many a square composition and failed as much as I have succeeded.

Recently, after sending 4 works (2 square and 2 rectangular) over to New York for a 6 woman show in October last year, Ad Hoc Director, Andrew Michael Ford wrote to me with feedback on the show and my work stating ~

I personally feel that you work better in the square format, and that has been the general consensus about your work. This is of course regardless of size. You just happened to do small squares which many people enjoyed more than the rectangular pieces.

I find the square extremely dynamic as well as challenging, and whilst some of my Project 35 images will work in this format, and some will not, I am using each image, and the editing of, as a way of exploration of this format.

I thought about skipping a day today, as I am already tired of the 'self portrait image', (after only 5 days!)... but it is not about that - it is about the discipline. As simple and even bland as today's image is, it is also very symbolic, or related very closely to my most recent paintings of waitress vs artists - or on a broader scale me vs me. The tug of war. The double life. Wanting to be two places at once... and of course that B word that is BALANCE.

Day 4 (Squaring Things Up)

Day 3 (Sunday's my Friday)

I was fortunate enough recently to discover, or perhaps 'uncover', the generosity of a number of Australian artists.

Whilst many people are claiming to be 'bushfired out' - which I find a really strange term - it is evident that the devastation caused by the recent Victorian bushfires still effects many, both directly and empathetically. Just watching this evening's news and seeing footage of last night's Bushfire Aid concerts, with 81,000 attending the Victorian gig, is confirmation that the majority of Australians just want to contribute 'something' as a way of a donation to this appeal.

I knew I was not in a position to donate a lot of money personally, so I contacted the very generous and empathetic Mark Jamieson, (director of Brunswick Street Gallery), about holding a charity art auction, who quickly said yes to lending me a hand and donating the gallery space. I could not have put it all together without his help, and of course the help and generosity of the artists who donated work and the volunteers who donated time... and last but not least - despite the weather being hideous that night - the people who came out to support the event and purchase art in the name of charity.

Of course, with the current economic status, people weren't spending big dollars, but as a collective, we managed to raise just short of $13,500 for the Australian Red Cross Bushfire Appeal, as well as give people the opportunity to own some great art for the cost of a humble donation.

Day 2 (Without Words)

Project 35

I worked/painted in my new studio today - for the first time. I've just finished for the day as I have to go to work and whilst I did not achieve a lot, I am looking at the bigger picture as a huge achievement and looking forward to spending a lot more time in there. I sat in there for a couple of hours yesterday and couldn't even make a mark - so today was progress. I was so anxious yesterday that I had far too many ideas going through my head that I could not even get started on one. So it was a great feeling today to be making some marks on the canvas again. Another joy I am reveling in is not having to pack everything up before going to work. My last 'studio space' was part of the lounge room in our house and I was forever making sure everything was away, protected from kids, dogs, vacuum cleaners and the likes - and whilst I will still strive to maintain some sort of order in my work space, it is a luxury to be able to leave things wherever I like in my space and just shut the door behind me.

I think it will take a little while for me to get my painting mojo back but the desire is as strong as ever. I'll just enjoy the ride. I find myself just wanting to latch on to everything in my life in an artistic way - or for artistic inspiration... wanting to turn everything I do into something 'creative'... it makes sense to me anyway. So while I contemplate my next body of work (paintings), and try to once again familiarise myself with artistic discipline, I am going to use my blog and my digital camera, (amongst an array of other things), to help me attain that. I am going to set myself a series of little goals to help me with that D thing. Or is it C thing? Commitment perhaps.

Today I am starting Project 35. A shorter version of the evergrowing and popular 365 Project, (that may have a few other names), where artists create a self portrait image for every day of the year - or at least make their best effort to. As I have recently turned 35, I thought I would use this number as my project guide and see if I can discipline myself to be at least a little creative for at least some part of every day over that time period.

A lot of people have said to me, and other artist I know, that we (artists) are a self obsessed bunch. That may or may not be true - in any or all of the cases... but just as I write this blog for me, and only me - to document things that I choose and perhaps even hope will be of interest to me, or used as reference, in the future - I am also doing 'Project 35' for myself alone.

I don't often write in this blog as though I am speaking to anyone else, as it is me speaking to myself about I... but if anyone else is offended by anything I say or post on here, you have the choice to not read it or view it.

Standing on the Outside Looking In

It's time I get back in the game.

Having an extended break from making art has its positives as well as its negatives. It's high time I put them together and turn them into inspiration... and then into art.

I'm so grateful to have my new studio space... and in a sense, no more excuses.

Holy Smoke!

With fires still burning in a number of areas in Victoria, it does my fucking head in that people STILL throw lit cigarette butts out of car windows!

Pause for a Cause

I've not written for some time, nor painted... not since I was 34.

Another year has passed.

Recent weeks have seen me busy organising this.


Despite the news of them dying down, the fires are still very much alive. They have destroyed so much and far too many. May they soon cease.

Nothing on my Tongue but Hallelujah!

My anxiety began at work on Saturday, at around 1pm. I was going to see one of, if not THE most influential artist/s of and 'on' my life and my own art. Nothing was going to stop me from fulfilling this dream now!

I arrived home 3pm, where C was getting ready. I don't think he'd seen a smile as big as mine for quite some time - not on my face anyway. I had waited a long time for this. Actually, for many years I was convinced I would never have the opportunity to witness the presence of this remarkable man. His words, poetry and music have lived inside me for years, and I had resigned myself to the fact that that alone would have to suffice. And for many years it did. Mr. Cohen has had, and continues to have, an extraordinary influence of my life, my writing and my art. In my mind - he is something else. He is not just a poet, he is not just a musician, or a wordsmith, or an artist, or a wise old soul - he is all these things and a whole lot more.

His books, his poems, his lyrics and his music have both moved and challenged me. They have pushed and pulled and stirred up emotions of every kind - even some I was unaware of until I was aware of him. He has done all of this without ever knowing me. For this - I thank him.

C and I took the motorbike which proved a smart transport option, as the traffic was near a stand still for a large stretch of the road that lead to the estate where he would perform.

The sun was shining over the vines as we entered the winery - on what seemed a perfect afternoon... could it get any better? I was about to see Leonard Cohen... LIVE.

The great man was due on stage at 7:30 but casually strolled out around 15 minutes early - as though he could not wait any longer to grace the stage and do what he was born to do. It had been a long time between tours for him - and even longer since he had performed in this country.

In Cohen's own words - It's been a long time, about 15 years since I was on stage - I was 60, just a young kid with a crazy dream. and now - this 74 year young kid was making one of my dreams come true.

He opened with 'Dance me to the End of Love', his baritone voice resonating through the 7000 plus crowd. His voice was everything I had imagined it would be - only better - and his presence was something else. I was moved to tears several times and as silly or corny as it may sound, my heart hurt a little when he skipped off stage for the final time at the end of his 3rd encore.

I did not want the music or the night to end.


Set 1
1. Dance Me to the End of Love
2. The Future
3. Ain't No Cure for Love
4. Bird on the Wire
5. Everybody Knows
6. In My Secret Life
7. Who By Fire
8. Chelsea Hotel #2
9. Hey, That's No Way To Say Goodbye
10. Anthem

Set 2
11. Tower of Song
12. Suzanne
13. The Gypsy Wife
14. The Partisan
15. Boogie Street
16. Hallelujah
17. I'm Your Man
18. A Thousand Kisses Deep [recitation]
19. Take This Waltz

Encore 1
20. So Long Marianne
21. First We Take Manhattan

Encore 2
22. Famous Blue Raincoat
23. If It Be Your Will
24. Democracy

Encore 3
25. I Tried to Leave You
26. Wither Thou Goest

The set list was one I could have only dreamed of. If I had to pick highlights, Hallelujah! and a sublime recital of A Thousand Kisses Deep would be up there. Just seeing the man was a highlight - hearing him sing, and everything else was just a bonus.

Thank you Mr. Cohen. Thank you for making the night a gift.

Humbled in Love

I want to thank Mr. Cohen for such a fabulous performance last night. He is truly a master and I believe, truly a gentleman.

I could, and most likely will, say a lot more when next I write - when I am not so tired. For now, I am still digesting all the thoughts and emotions that Leonard conjured up inside of me last night.

I am just so grateful and elated to have seen him perform.

Every Breath We Drew...

Two years ago, on this day, Jeff Buckley's rendition of Hallelujah had a profound effect on me. I'd heard it many times before, but from that day on, my thoughts wandered to a special place whenever it was played.

My connection to the song itself was always evident, only now it runs deeper.

It seems only fitting that I may hear it sung, live, by its creator tomorrow evening.

We are all beautiful losers in some way...

Mii, Myself and I

It's a little bit sad that the most creative, or artistic, thing I have done lately is create a Mii for me on the Wii. I'm having serious paint brush withdrawals.


I also created one for C. I had to laugh at the likeness - in both cases.

Blog and Block

I have a water logged ear. It's been blocked since Tuesday morning. It's now Thursday evening and still no change of tide in the canal. It's annoying but not unbearable. I dare say I will have to have it looked at if it stays like this for longer than another 24 hour period. Just when I think it's going to go 'pop' and make that sound of water draining somewhere into or out of my head, it remains stagnant. I can only imagine how nice it will feel when the water 'breaks'.

And all because I went to the gym, (+pool), for the first time in around 6 months - that'll teach me for wanting to get fit! Now I truly know why I no longer make new years resolutions.

Is this all I have to blog about? Pretty much yes. I dedicated a good 70+ hours to work last week - unfortunately none of it was of the artistic kind - hence I've really not much inspiration to ramble on about anything much.

It's getting closer to our house moving date and I am getting a little excited at the prospect of setting up a new studio space. I've a feeling I may not paint until then which will be hard in the short term - but possibly all worth it in the long run. It's almost time for me to start packing my art materials and all other possessions into cardboard boxes anyway.

Moving house is a big thing in a number of ways. Sometimes it's not always desirable or positive - but in this instance, for me, it is both.

On the subject of art however... or subjective art perhaps - this article on the front page of The Age caught my eye today. I am too tired right now to express any thoughts on the matter but it is something I may come back to at some point. Or not.

The Annual Reflection

Despite not officially making any resolutions for the new year - partly through fear of failure - I am reflecting a little on the year that was 2008.

Due to my obsession with things, (and moments/times), being symbolic, the new year is always a transient period for me, or at least it is inside my head. My mind is today, packed with a capacity crowd of thoughts and memories, which, mixed together, lead the way to much contemplative reflection... Hopefully followed by a great leap forward.

Happy new year world.

A Full Plate For Summer

The year is nearly over, but for me, the madness of the season has just begun. I have every intention of making this the last Summer I spend caught up in hospitality chaos - where a standard day involves a good 15 hours working, at a fast pace, on one's feet.

It's a catch 22 this Summer as I will possibly be working harder for the silly season than ever before - for anything but a silly reason. C and I have recently made a financial commitment that must be fed by these crazy Summer hours, and, although I am neglecting my art temporarily - and feeling terribly guilty for it, it is all for a good cause, and hopefully one that will allow and encourage me to focus even more attention on my art than ever before, and turn my plate into a palette, once Summer is over.

I've not seen my family or old/close friends for quite some time now and I must say I miss many of them very much. Sometimes I feel like I live in a different country, not just a different suburb or city. I do believe those that know me will understand the reasons for distance and also know that the distance is only physical, not emotional. For the first time in quite some time, I missed the annual catch up with the girls, (from school days - 2 I have known since I was 5), and I must say I was a little upset to not have made it this year. There were a number of reasons for my absence, including work, transport and C's son's 7th birthday. It's just a mad time of year for many I guess.

So mad in fact that last week, whilst coming home from one job to prepare for another, I managed to lock myself, my phone and the dog, out of the house. I'd come home to feed the dog, and myself - time allowing, and a few other little things, only to find the laundry a little worse for wear... so out came the mop and once the floor was clean I threw the dog in the bath, along with his bedding and gave everything a good clean. Whilst wringing and drying everything outside, the back door slammed shut and initially I though nothing of it as I was in 'let's get this all sorted' mode. So it wasn't until I went to get changed that I realised the door was locked, and the keys were inside. I reached for my phone but already knew it was not on me - besides - I had no pockets. I was in a t-shirt and underpants... trying to spare ALL my clothes getting wet. For a brief moment I really was not happy and struggled to think of what to do next. I spotted a solitary towel on our hardly ever used clothes line, wrapped it around my waist and walked out to the front yard to find my neighbour - who I have never spoken to in the 18 months I have lived in this house - working on his front fence. I smiled coyly and asked if he had a mobile phone I could use and proceeded to explain my predicament.

It was after the explanation that I officially introduced myself, thankfully he was aware I was his neighbour and not just some random walking the streets in a towel. So with around 5 weeks before we move into our new place, I now know my neighbour's name is Campbell - and to Campbell I'm now grateful.

Fortunately I was able to reach C at work, who then promptly came home to save the day.

Christmas came and went and felt just like another day for the most part. C and I worked until around 4pm and were reminded that it was a special day when the kids came over to collect their gifts and spend the evening. I must confess, I have become a wee bit fond of the Wii that was given to 'the family' from Mr. Claus himself. Thanks big fella. And even though doing Wii Fit yoga is not as good as the real thing, it's helping to at least make me feel as though I am doing something for myself other than working - I plan to get back to real classes some day... though I will not be making any new years resolutions - I don't need to put that sort of pressure on myself. I will just continue, as I have every year, with my quest to find balance.

So, whilst I am lacking a little of my desire, or the motivation, to write, I continue to make the effort so as not to stop altogether. In some ways, even though I do not have much to speak of on the artistic front, writing helps me feel as though that creative side is still present inside me... just caught up in other things temporarily... and this time, it feels less like an excuse and more like a grand plan - and for that, despite how much I am missing my paints and canvas, I am grateful.

And despite not having many words to say that directly relate to my art - I suppose in some weird way it is all relative... and I must thank L and G and all those involved in the recent sales of my work in Perth, apparently 4 works to one client who has said to be interested in a 5th piece. It's these moments, (and not even for the financial windfall - though it is a bonus), that keep me striving towards my goal and remind me that it is, and will be, all worth it.

Passion Fruit

I just got back from the supermarket...with two perfect pomegranates. This little find was rather exciting (for me)... but as I must rush off to work now, I will return to this topic, with an explanation of my excitement, next time I write.

Sometimes it really is just the little things... and those are really good 'times'.

Something Old, Something New; the car my grandfather gave me was blue.

Just before my last post on this here blog, I took an empty garbage bag, and proceeded to fill it with bits and pieces from my car as I prepared it to be towed away the next day.

I knew the day had to come. After months of procrastination the battery had completely given up, which saw the vehicle never move from the one spot in the front yard. The tyres eventually completely hidden by the tall, lush grass that grew around it. The grass the gardeners avoided. All the while drawing more and more attention to itself - that phone call from the real estate agent was inevitable... and then it came, prompting me to finally do something about it.

So, finally I did.
"Hello"
"Hi. Just wondering if you are interested in a 1989 Ford Telstar."
"Sure. OK. We can take it."
"Tonight?"
"No. Tomorrow"
"What time?"
"4 o'clock."
"How about 9am?"
"OK. 9am tomorrow. See you then."
"OK. Bye."

Of course, in that brief conversation with Mr. I'll tow-you-car-away-24-hours-a-day-for-free, I provided my details and without even discussing it, accepted that I'd be getting nothing for the scrap metal gracing my front yard.

It was no longer worth anything much to me anyway. It's only value was sentimental. Something money has nothing to do with.

I had been involved in an accident late 2007. And whilst the other party was at fault, (his insurance company even agreed on that), the car was declared a write off after I was told to take it to the nominated panel beater to be repaired.

The repairs never happened and after a drawn out ordeal with the other person's insurance company - which included a number of frustrating phone conversations and a lack of assistance, with a dash of 'we're in no hurry to help our non-members' attitude - I got my car back, (in even worse condition than when I'd dropped it off), and eventually received a cheque for what they considered a fair price. I accepted it with a 'that's better than nothing' attitude and the case was closed.

There was not much I could've purchased with the amount they gave me so C and I spent $30 at the wreckers to at least get her back on the road without drawing too much attention to herself.

I let her rego lapse in May, not realising the new laws that prevented you from being able to be a little lazy with paying that bill/renewal for that large amount of money that always seems to come at a bad time. So that was that. It was no longer worth fixing. So she sat and sat.... and sat....

..until Tuesday, at 9am, when she was towed away to the wreckers.

(to be continued)

11:51am, Friday 12 December, 2008.

I was going to create a new post to finish this entry but decided it should remain as one.

I had to rush off to work last night, leaving my entry unfinished. I had not intended for the blog post to consist of as many words but I sort of went off on some tangent. My initial inspiration for writing about this event/experience was the process of cleaning out the car; post tow. Of course, this too was a part of the whole emotional reaction to a material object - so despite preferring to consider myself as someone who has not completely surrendered to the material world, there are certain things and luxuries that I enjoy and, whilst I may sometimes take them for granted, appreciate. Having a car, in itself, regardless of make and model, is still a luxury as far as I am concerned. This is a fact that I am realising even more so now that I am without one.

My grandfathers car was nothing special - on the outside anyway. It was a humble Ford Telstar hatch. It was an automatic. Given a cheque and a choice, it would not have been my pick of vehicles. However - it was reliable, had done very little kilometeres and had been looked after in every way. Best of all, it was free.

When my grandfather, (who is now almost 90), became too old and impaired to drive a motor vehicle he was reluctant to get rid of it and it just so happened that my Toyota had given up around the same time - so when the car was offered to me, I gracefully, and gratefully accepted. It omitted a lot of hassles.

I took every effort to look after that car out of respect for my grandfather. He would always ask me how the car was whenever we spoke and come out to see it when I would go and visit. It was almost sad. The car was kind of symbolic of a child that had left home. My grandfather was always a family man.

I felt awful when I had to tell him of the accident and the eventual outcome. Granted, it could have all been a lot worse - and I am truly grateful no one was hurt - but it was still disappointing to have to explain that the car was 'broken'. (He suffers from dementia so I am expecting he might ask me how the car is again at some point.)

So then it became me who was reluctant to get rid of the vehicle - for different reasons - however, both were ultimately sentimental.

On the topic of sentimental, the experience of cleaning out the car was very much that. As well as filling a garbage bag with genuine rubbish - (my pride in the upkeep of the car began to dwindle after the accident - plus the backseat was full of pop corn and other random bits and pieces from beach trips with the kids) - there were also lots of other things that I discovered. Cleaning one's car, room, cupboard or house - even sometimes just one drawer - can be an exercise that triggers many memories of people, places and things - past and present. Amongst the random findings in my car were photos, and words, of and from old lovers and friends. Piles of invites from various past exhibitions of mine in Melbourne and Sydney. Unidentified objects that were more than likely bits that had fallen or broken off bigger objects no longer in the car. And in the front console, which consisted of a tray and a box, I found a mini solar powered calculator, a mini swiss army knife, a shoe horn and a compass - all had belonged to my grandfather and were obviously travel essentials in his mind. They made me smile - especially the shoe horn. My car had become a time capsule.

I think what made the experience a little more emotional was the fact that 2 days prior, I had a dream that my grandfather passed away. I woke up feeling extremely sad.

I threw a lot out and only kept a few things - including my grandfather braces. I'll probably never have a use for them, but I just couldn't throw them away.

Work in Progress

Life is a work in progress is it not?

Often as unpredictable as the next painting.

It's 7:48pm. I want to paint but know that I won't pick up a brush before tomorrow's sunrise. I have left it too late in the day to begin working in the studio. The moment of peak inspiration and maximum motivation has passed for this 24 hour period. Sad really.

It's already been too long.

The fact that it's 7:51pm should not matter. There are no excuses. Not even long hours working in another job is an excuse.

I am perhaps just all lacklustre.

There is a lot to do before we move in February, and whilst just the thought of that is exhausting, I am very much looking forward to a new space not only in which to paint, but also to live and begin a new chapter in this 'work in progress' known as life.

It will be nice to have an area exclusively for my art/painting. A space that need not be packed up or dismantled. One I can make a mess in and not have to worry about it. I believe that alone will enhance my motivation and feed my desire. It will also be interesting to see how a new space effects the subject matter, style or content of my work, or even the size.

Will I see myself closer to attaining that seemingly unachievable yet always desirable thing called 'balance'?

One can dream can't they? Or at least remain ever hopeful. Regardless of what they wish for.

Working Dog

This is the first Saturday night in quite some time that I have not had to work, (with the exception of the one about 5 weeks ago for my brothers birthday). I feel like I should be doing more than sitting here on the couch contemplating this blog entry, yet at the same time, I have not the energy to do anything but.

I really should be in bed - even though it is only 10:30pm... That's early for a Saturday night. My body wants to sleep but my head is rebelling - perhaps only due to the fact that it IS Saturday night and I am NOT at work.

There is some mindless show on the idiot box as C sleeps on the couch next to me on my right and the dog chews a plastic coat hanger on the floor to my left. I don't even know why I am choosing this moment to blog - when my mind is all a fuzz with tiredness and delirium. Perhaps it is only to introduce the new addition of the household into my blog world - that being the 'dog' I mentioned - who is all of 8 weeks old, therefore, technically a puppy. We discovered and purchased him last Monday. It was inevitable. As soon as we saw him we both just knew he was coming home with us - despite having discussed that we would hold off any new additions until we moved to our new abode in February.

So I suppose, seeing as I have not painted since I last blogged - I will dedicate this blog entry to our four legged friend that we named Obi.



I must say, it is nice to once again be a dog owner. It was awfully sad to have to say goodbye to my last two canine friends several years ago. I am remembering just how much joy they can bring into one's life.

I should sleep. These 6:30am starts, (work), are taking a little getting used to. Hopefully this coming week will see a little more order amongst the chaos and an opportunity to start my next body of work - for which I am now champing at the bit to get started on.

I will say one thing about working such long hours over the past couple of weeks - I have actually slept better than I have in over 12 months. That alone is worth something as I was really starting to feel the negative effects of sleep deprivation.

That said - I am hitting the hay.

Just...

So. I'd intended to enter blog zone tonight and write about some art related business - including a mention of an enjoyable meeting with two gallery directors last Friday and my delight in being able to use all those words in the one sentence.

I'd also intended to get my head into a book tonight as a prelude to an early night. (I am starting work at 6:30am tomorrow and have not been sleeping well of late). I've not read since we were in Japan... nor had I written much since my return; other than the few blog posts here and some run of the mill emails.

As the evening had it, I found myself in conversation with a friend and fellow artist that I'd not heard from in some time. The conversation prompted me to re-read something I wrote, ( kind of spur of the moment ), the other day... 13 days ago actually.

I don't always share my writing. Sometimes my words are like those little sketches that nobody ever needs to see but are vital to the creative process of making art. I'm choosing to post those words here tonight so that my friend will always know he is not alone.

I sit here
with a glass of red
perhaps for no other reason than
I am trying to remember
(or trying to forget)

what does one do
when one no longer knows themselves
or at least
is no longer familiar
with the person…
the being
that they inhabit?

I used to write a lot
almost every day

when did that stop?

when did I lose the ability
to say what I wanted to say
to express how I really feel
to just WRITE

I have hundreds of letters
that have been written
inside my head
but never made it to paper

words of love
and thanks
that have never made it
to those who deserve them

I used to write
as if
I was dancing like no one was watching
as if
I was singing with nobody listening

when did I become so concerned
with what other people ‘might’ think
when did i
lose the desire
to NOT CARE?

In losing the ability
to randomly ramble
with such carefree honesty
and passion
have I lost touch
with myself?

let me allow myself
to introduce myself
to myself

Hello.

I found an article
on Leonard Cohen
in the paper
last Saturday
it made me smile

as I read it
knowing that I had tickets
to see him
made me cry
but they were not
tears of sadness
but rather
ones of joy

I have waited quite some time for this
Mr. Cohen

sometimes
when I listen to music
it reminds me
of who I really am
it reminds me
that it is ok to feel
what I feel

it reminds me
of people
and places
and things I want to remember
yet often forget

of things
I want to forget
but need to remember
in order to remember
who I am

A Small Bite

I'm a little full of random thoughts lately as opposed to focusing in on any particular thing. Not that multi-tasking/function is rare, especially inside my head but I am possibly a little more scattered and sporadic than usual.

The delight for me is that despite being incredibly busy, I am still noticing little things like a sparrow desperately pecking at some fluorescent pink bubble gum that had been squished into the cement footpath. I curiously admired his persistence and determination as I carried two chai teas to meet C for a short break. I wondered what the attraction was to the gum. Was it the colour? The flavour? Or was the sparrow just into challenging itself? I thought for a minute - 'sweet tooth'? Then realised such an expression could not be used for a creature with no teeth. Sweet beak. My thoughts became a whole bunch of random nonsense but it was kind of nice. It even made me smile.

Even just now, as I poured myself a celebratory glass of red wine - (I got news of my first New York sale today) - I wondered to myself, do people still pour a standard size glass of wine when pouring for themselves at home? As insignificant as that this thought was it once again allowed me to be amused by my mind.

I automatically poured myself a standard glass.

I raise my glass today to Andrew Michael Ford in New York. He has been so wonderful to work with since inviting me to be part of In the Language of Angels and has restored a lot of faith that had recently been lost - not in me, but in others - and for that, I am very thankful.

No-Mo-vember

So it's November already.

I'm not writing a novel, nor am I growing a mo. In fact I'm not doing much other than working, unfortunately not as in 'making art'.

So with not much else to say I will end on 'happy birthday Ryan' and 'best of luck Obama'.

Hallelujah!

Just two weeks after writing this in my blog -

"There are two artists I would still love to see live, but doubt I will get the opportunity to. Seeing Patti on Saturday night almost makes up for this. I am speaking of the great Leonard Cohen, and the fabulous Mr. Tom Waits. All three of these wonderful artists have been a huge influence to me over the years. All three, in my opinion, have quite a way with words."

Leonard Cohen's 2009 Australian tour has been announced.

After a couple of hours of clicking I managed to find tickets.

Hallelujah!

Tickets and concert info can be found here and here.

Just a Few Notes...

I really don't have much to say at the moment. Not in blog form anyway.

The group show In the Language of Angels opened in New York on Friday night. Andrew sent me this link today of opening night photos.

I'm busy working two jobs and getting the first painting ready for this. Just something I thought I would try - for two reasons at least. One is in relation to my frustration with the majority of the commercial gallery world, and two, to encourage myself to be more dedicated to what is important to me - my art.

I also wanted to make mention that I managed to get to Melbourne last week to see Christine Polowyj's exhibition at Jackman Gallery last Thursday. It was a most impressive body of work and well worth the trip. I have been a bit of a fan of her work since I first saw it a few years ago on a collector's wall. Anyone who may stumble across this entry and be in Melbourne, it's on until Sunday 9 November.

Headfuckers and Helpful Humans

Why can't there be more of the latter...?

I am a little stunned, though not completely surprised, by the actions and mentality of a certain so-called superior. I even sat in front of a kids TV show this afternoon to try and get a grasp of such juvenile behaviour but the difference is... it's ok for kids to be juvenile, (albeit, to a degree) - it's their right. The other difference is - children are usually fairly innocent, while when adults act in such a way, (that has recently been displayed to me), it is just downright malicious and spiteful. Put simply, I have been lied to.

I really despise liars. Especially under these circumstances, and especially when the person looks at you, (though not in the eye), and tells you they are a straight shooter.

So in actual fact, I am not sure what I am more angry about. The fact that I have been lied to, or the fact that this person thinks I am stupid.

I'm not stupid.

So... on to the latter of this blog post title. Helpful Humans. A much nicer breed than Headfuckers.

The group show I am involved in, 'In the Language of Angels', opens in New York this Friday, 24 October.
Not only am I very pleased to be hanging with 5 very talented ladies: Sarah Joncas, Camilla D'Errico, Lisa Alisa, Mia and Mijn Schajte, but I am extremely grateful to Ad Hoc Art Director: Andrew Michael Ford.

a. For inviting me to be part of the 6 woman exhibition.
and
b. for being so incredibly efficient, helpful and professional from the word go.

The above mentioned qualities have often been hard to find in a number of others in the same profession. In this country anyway.

However - to mildly contradict that last line - (and there are some other exceptions) - I would also like to thank Mark Jamieson from Brunswick Street Gallery. Mark was an absolute delight to work with whilst preparing for my most recent exhibition which opened on October 10. His enthusiasm and professionalism came as a pleasant surprise and was most appreciated. I would also like to thank him for believing in the work enough to then offer to take it to Art Sydney, which opens tonight.

As for the Headfucker/s... perhaps the only positive is that I can perhaps paint out some of my frustration and possibly create something beautiful from something awful.

Linked In

I am inclined to wonder whether one day, the internet will be the only marketing tool needed. It indeed makes the world somewhat smaller and the things in it more accessible - at least to view.

I'd like to thank Andrew Michael Ford for this, Juxtapoz Magazine for this, and a fellow blogger - Tim - for this.

For anyone in the vicinity of New York - next Friday is the opening of 'In The Language of Angels' at Ad Hoc Art. I have 4 paintings in the exhibition - one is pictured above.

Musings

I'm not feeling too crash hot tonight. My stomach feels unsettled which is making me restless. However, I am at home, alone, with all the time in the world to do whatever I want and I don't feel like painting. I feel like writing... though my entry may be a little scattered due to the way I am feeling physically. Still... I will give it a shot.

I am still delighting over Saturday night. Patti Smith has dominated my thoughts over the past few days. She really was, (and IS), quite amazing. I only wish I had gone to see her on Sunday night when she performed a tribute to Allen Ginsberg, and also to her artist talk at CCP on Saturday, or her Q&A on Friday for Dream of Life. I am not sure what I would've asked, if anything. I possibly would've been all tongue tied and twisted and simply awestruck, but either way I would've liked to have witnessed both events and to have perhaps witnessed her in a more intimate environment - not that she did not make Hamer Hall as intimate as she could have on Saturday night when she performed in concert. At one point she walked through the audience in such a casual and comfortable way, receiving due respect from adoring fans, some who just wanted a hug - and got one. Her presence was most powerful, and in some way she seemed to bring everyone there that evening together, even if only for the briefest moment. At least that was my perception. I would actually be interested to hear the thoughts of anyone else who saw her on Saturday or Sunday evening.

Patti, Patti, Patti... I feel, (sound?), like a schoolgirl with a crush.

There are two artists I would still love to see live, but doubt I will get the opportunity to. Seeing Patti on Saturday night almost makes up for this. I am speaking of the great Leonard Cohen, and the fabulous Mr. Tom Waits. All three of these wonderful artists have been a huge influence to me over the years. All three, in my opinion, have quite a way with words.

"In art and dream may you proceed with abandon. In life may you proceed with balance and stealth". - Patti Smith

The Queen of Cool

Last night I was fortunate enough to have the opportunity to experience possibly one of the best live shows ever. Speaking for myself, I am inclined to say it was the best live show I have ever been to, and I have been to quite a few.

I am talking about the one and only Patti Smith. No two words could describe her performance better than fucking brilliant... and yes, the word fucking is necessary on this occasion, if for no other reason than to place huge emphasis on the brilliant part.

For many years I have been inspired by Ms. Smith, not just Patti Smith the Musician, but also Patti Smith the Poet, the Activist, the Artist... however, last night, I was blown away by all of them. I am now in awe of Patti Smith, the Woman... the Person. At 61 years of age, she is ageless as a performer and so incredibly powerful in her delivery of words in every shape and form.

I am sure, after seeing (and feeling) her live last night, she will - in many ways - be a huge influence on my next, (or a future), body of work.

Snapshots from Singapore

I am of very few words at the moment... so it is perhaps the perfect time to upload more snapshots... this time from Singapore. A place I very much enjoyed on the way to and from Japan.

Snapshots from Japan

Some of my favourite images from my recent trip. Surprisingly, yet thankfully, Japan still continues to fascinate and inspire me.

Slug...

I'm not doing a very good job at blogging regularly at the moment. I still have a selection of photos from my recent trip to Singapore and Japan that I've been contemplating posting... perhaps they'll appear some day.

A letter in the mail has inspired this brief post. My painting 'Food and Desire - Conflict II' has been selected to hang in the finalists exhibition of the Kilgour Art Prize (for portraiture), to be held in November this year at the Newcastle Region Art Gallery.

Home, _____ Home

We arrived home early Sunday morning after a sleepless overnight flight from Singapore. I must say, Singapore Airlines are now my preferred 'carrier'. We flew with them for all four flights of our trip and they were a delight to fly with. By far the most helpful, consistent, attentive and cleanest flight/airline service I have ever used.

We were fortunate enough to get bulk head/exit row seats for all four flights much to C's delight - his height and leg length are not usually economy class friendly but the staff were ever so helpful in making his flight, (and in turn, mine), more comfortable.

I was also lucky enough to stumble across a delightful foreign film that I might not have otherwise seen. It was so beautiful, in a sad yet poetic and joyful way. It was a German film titled Kirschblüten - Hanami, directed by Doris Dörrie. I watched it on my third flight of the trip. From Osaka to Singapore... and despite being extremely tired and having very heavy eyes, (it was my second film of the flight),I managed to keep my lids open and focus on the subtitles for the duration of the 127 minute work of art.

The film moved me to tears at times and the acting, in particular the characters Rudi and Trudi, played by Elmar Wepper and Hannelore Elsner, and also the delightful young Japanese character, Yu, played by Aya Irizuki. In my opinion the film was flawless and, despite being quite obscure and poetic in parts, in every way believable. Not only was the story quite sadly beautiful, but it was so aesthetically pleasing to watch, it was shot in such a wonderful and mood provoking way. I adored it.

I also adored Japan - yet again. It is truly a different experience visiting the place on holiday as opposed to living or being based there. The fact that most of our time in Japan was spent, by choice, in Kyoto helped also.

Kyoto, I can confidently say, is still one of my favourite places in the whole world. It did not disappoint me and it was wonderful to share the city and it's delights with C. It was his first visit to Japan and he certainly enjoyed it. I had a strong feeling I would return, not to mention an ongoing desire to do so, but I really did not believe it would be this soon after living in Osaka for 4 months last year. I am very grateful to have been able to do so and also grateful to Kyoto, for yet again inspiring me - just when I thought it may no longer be able to do so.

Home Sweet Second Home

Osaka, Japan. Here once again. I flew into Osaka early this morning, for the 5th time. The excitement did not really hit until we were flying over the hills and about to land. Then it hit me... I love this place more than I even realise.

I had been so excited about bringing C here... ( to the place that I loved so very much and had been such a powerful influence to me - especially creatively ), that I had forgotten to get excited for myself.

It is a strange feeling being back here. There has been a lot of things that have happened in my life recently that either happened here or possess some significance to the place. So much is familiar, yet there is still so much to discover and explore.

Within the first hour or so of being in the city, or more specifically, Shinsaibashi, I had managed to visit two of my favourite places here in Osaka. 1. Maman Kitchen - a humble little venue that makes some of the nicest macrobiotic delights I have ever tasted... and 2. Banco, a modest little cafe on the outskirts of America-mura, a great place to sit and enjoy a drink whilst watching the hoards of people pass by. Also managed a visit to `Dig Me Out`, a kind of too cool for school 24 hour cafe slash art gallery/venue. The place was introduced to me by my friend Chika, whom I met whilst living here last year. It is a shame I cannot catch up with her again this visit - but it is with good reason as she is now living in New York, painting and studying art.

I am blogging from the hotel lobby on their dell computer. I decided against bringing my laptop with me this trip. Amazing how much we depend on our electronic devices these days. I feel rushed on this public machine... hence I will most likely blog briefly whilst on holiday and then upload photos and perhaps recap on my return to Australia.

Japan. It is good to be back.

Singapore

Am currently in Singapore. We arrived late yesterday. It's hot. Humid. I'm sitting on a couch in a friend's apartment. I have things to write but do not wish to be rude in the eyes of my hosts spending too long online rambling about my day.

It's not the easiest city to navigate one's way around but we did manage to find the Singapore Art Museum and paid a visit to the Toy Museum which was more enjoyable than I had expected.

Then there's the food. SO much food.

It's my first time in Singapore. My previous 'Asian' travel has always seen me flying into Japan.

I like it here. The heat has taken a little to adjust to after coming from the Melbourne winter... but for some reason, the heat is more bearable when I am travelling... in some weird way it makes me feel more alive.

More to explore tomorrow.

A Stick In Time

It's funny how something so small made me so happy today.

This tiny little Kingston memory stick brought me much joy today. You see, I thought I had lost it. I had searched the house a few weeks back, emptying drawers and cupboards, without any luck and had given up, coming to the conclusion that it must've fallen out of my bag somewhere outside of the house.

Today, whilst perusing my bookshelf for a travelling companion of the written kind, I happened to find my Kingston hiding behind a book of short stories by Haruki Murakami. Kind of, (dare I say it) - 'symbolic', as my destination is Japan... (again).

It's amazing how much I rely on my trusty laptop and my memory stick. I had intended to copy all the contents of the stick to my laptop but 'lost' the stick before getting around to it. I was quite upset when I thought I had lost all my high res images of early artwork and other bits and pieces that I feel are important. Needless to say, when I found it today I copied the contents onto my laptop and also to an online library to ensure I need not have to worry about losing them again.

I have now packed my little Kingston along side my passport. It was a timely discovery.

Shaking Monkeys

I have fallen behind in the blog stakes. I have fallen behind with my art too. Well, at least with the production of it. Everything else seems to be moving at such a rapid pace I am having trouble keeping up with it all.

It's been over a month since I have written here. In fact, it has been over a month since I have written, (for me), at all. It has been a full month.

I've been in the process of shaking a few monkeys off my back recently. I even started seeing my psychologist again, whom I had not been to for around 3 years. I must say, the visits this time around are shorter and fewer and far between. I guess it's kind of a 'refresher course' on past progress and perhaps getting the final formula to rid some of these little primate parasites for good. I feel it's a step forward, not a step back.

The mind is a fascinating and powerful tool.

I find it funny too, how therapy can often make even more sense of my art, (to me). In other words, while reflecting on recent work during this time, it has become even clearer to me why I have been and am painting the way I am and the 'things' I am.

Speaking of painting. I have paintings going here and there at the moment and for the next few months and some interesting projects and collaborations are in the pipeworks.


‘Lullaby and Exile’ , (above), was selected as a finalist in the 2008 Corangamarah Art Prize. The exhibition will open on Saturday 9 August and will run until Sunday 17 August.

I've been communicating with a few different publications, national and international and am looking forward to the possibilty of pursuing some ideas that have been discussed. I would also like to thank Katie at Juxtapoz magazine for this.

I've also been invited to exhibit in a group exhibition in Brooklyn, New York with 5 other female artists at Ad Hoc Gallery. The exhibition, titled ‘In the Language of Angels’, will open on October 24. The other artists exhibiting are Camilla d'Errico, Sarah Joncas, Mijn Schatje, Lisa Alisa and Michelle "Mia" Araujo.

Autumn Haiku, the first piece painted after returning home from living in Japan last year, and the last piece in the 2007 series of Japanese works, will be hanging as part of a group exhibition at Brunswick Street Gallery from 15-28 August. I will also be having a solo exhibition at BSG in October.

I'm itching to get back into the studio and perhaps make friends with the last monkey on my back. I have many new ideas.

Perhaps symbollic of new beginnings, I recently cut my hair. For most, this may not sound like much, but I had not had mine cuts for many years and when it was, it was an inch trimmed here and there. The length of my hair was longer than that of my spine, but it was time for a change. I never knew just how much 'weight' was in that hair. It was an unexpected relief.

A Humble Thanks

I did a studio interview on the radio yesterday morning for the third year running.

I would just like to say a big thank you to Phil and Adelaine from ABC Radio Australia for their undying encouragement and for supporting what I do - i.e: my art. As many an artist will know, there are moments where we question what we are doing, despite the fact that we know we'd be miserable if we could not make art.

During those times of vacillation or even sometimes self doubt, it is the support of people like Phil and Adelaine that give you that good kick up the arse and remind you that it is, always has been, and always will be worth it.

Thank you.

Doing it For The Kids

For the 6th year in a row, I will be donating an original painting to the Artists for Kids Culture fundraising art auction.

This year the exhibition of donated works will be held at Brightspace from 3-7 September. Opening night will take place Tuesday 2nd September from 6-8pm.

The auction of all donated artworks will then be held at Ormond Hall, 557 St Kilda Road, Melbourne (enter via Moubray Street) on Wednesday 10th September 2008.
Doors open 5.30pm.

Time Flies - Or Does it?

It was on this day last year that I arrived home from Japan. In fact I think it was even this time on that day that my plane touched down in Melbourne.

As fast as the past 12 months have gone - Japan seems like a lifetime ago.

Small Words, Small Works

It has been a very busy and productive week and there is much I am inclined to write about. However, I am extremely tired and the glare from my laptop screen, (even after only this very short time), is making my eyes sting.

I will publish this entry for two reasons.

1. To remind myself to write of my thoughts and inclinations when not so tired.

and

2. To promote the group exhibition that opens this Friday night at Brunswick Street Gallery. (see below)

In-site, On-site

I have been very lazy when it comes to art via cyber space.

It has taken me quite some time but I finally have my website up and running.

Corpor-art

Yesterday I took part in a rather interesting event.
I was asked to participate in this event, along with 5 other artists, at Aitken Hill Conference Centre, working with 60 corporate clients from Telstra Super Fund. The event was organised by Lord Ivy.

The day involved setting up a room with 60 easels, each with a blank canvas, a palette, water, brushes, and 4 tubes of acrylic paint (blue, yellow, red and white).Only the organisers, (corporate), and the artists knew what was taking place, the other 50+ corporate people had absolutely no idea what their special 'activity' was going to be.


It was our job to encourage them to think outside the square and motivate them to paint for around 2.5 hours without touching their work at all in any way.

I admit I was a little sceptical about the whole thing prior to doing it, as were the group of corporates that appeared in a herd from over the hill we were situated at the base of. As they read the sign that explained briefly what was about to take place there was a lot of head and eye rolling and other displays of negative body language, along with some cynical mutterings.

I then saw it as a challenge and was inspired to inspire.

Despite one or two very negative and cynical attitudes once we were up and running, I actually quite enjoyed the experience much more than I thought I would. I once pondered studying psychology, particularly in relation to art,(or so called 'art therapy'), and the exercise yesterday reminded me of why.

I was very fortunate to have some really great and very co operative people amongst my allocated group - they certainly made the afternoon all the more enjoyable for me.



It was really interesting not only watching peoples initial reaction to the idea of painting, but how they approached the process. Some took a long time to make that first mark, not all necessarily through reluctance, some through fear. Others jumped straight into the exercise, one even opting to apply the paint with his fingers as opposed to the brushes that had been provided. I also managed to get a few of them applying paint with paper towel, paper bags and the other end of the brush. I certainly warmed to the ones who seemed to really embrace thinking outside the square.

Of course, I would rather have spent the day applying paint to my own canvas but it was quite gratifying and lovely when a number of them came up and thanked me for making their experience more enjoyable.

Under The Skin

I happened to stumble upon a program on SBS last night whilst enjoying a lazy night at home. It was a documentary about Geisha: in particular, a young girl called Kikuyu, who was studying to become a Maiko, and eventually a Geisha (or Geiko). It reminded me of why I fell in love with Japan to begin with and in particular, Kyoto. It also reminded me of my first exhibition at Jackman Gallery in 2003, where the theme of my work was Geisha.

Just today I found a few old photos of some of the pieces from that Geisha series.

Although my recent work has moved on from the Japanese theme that dominated my work for around 5 years, I must say that watching the program last night re ignited some Eastern influences. I don't think I will be featuring the painted ladies in my work again just yet but I will say that for the first time since returning from Japan last June I had an overwhelming desire to return there. Despite seeing another side of Japan, other than the glamorised one, whilst living there - and experiencing moments where I struggled to find beauty, it seems Japan and I may have unfinished business.

Maybe one day.

Clean(s)ing The Palette

I have not painted since my exhibition opened last Wednesday evening. Actually I tell a lie, two days ago I put a base coat of colour down on two canvases that I will be painting for an upcoming group show. I find I often have a little emotional and creative battle with myself just after an opening. In some ways it is almost like I am rebelling. I still want to and feel the need to paint but there is a part of me that refuses to. The part that wants to read a book and watch a movie... and sleep in... and do all the things I don't get around to doing when I am working to a deadline. Another of those things is eating. I have never been shy about having a healthy appetite. I love food. It was one of the first things my partner noticed and enjoyed about me, perhaps partly because he is a chef.

The rather unfortunate thing at the moment however is that my appetite is almost non existent. Since being sick a few weeks ago I have just not regained my full appetite or general sense of well being. My stomach and my head are refusing to work in unison at the moment.

My canvases are accepting the subject of food a lot easier than my body at the moment. I must say, despite being a little pressured time wise whilst producing the work for my exhibition, I thoroughly enjoyed exploring the subject of food and desire, combined with my dual existence. It is a subject I feel I will continue to explore for the time being. Far too many ideas did not find their way on to canvas in time for this show.

Me, Myself Portrait and I - Part II

So why paint thy self?

Does it need justifying, or am I, in some bizarre way, trying to justify it to myself?

I quickly added this to a statement the other day...

The self-portrait is something most, if not all, artists explore at some point in their artistic career. It is a figure an artist can paint without worrying about offending the subject/model in any way. An artist can paint himself or herself however they like or however they see themselves, after all, we know ‘ourselves’ better than anyone else. There is perhaps a sense of more freedom and less worry of criticism when one paints a self-portrait – though there are ALWAYS critics – we ourselves are our own worst.

Another reason for this exhibition consisting of only self-portraits is the story I wanted to tell. The story of my battle of wills – the artist vs. the waitress as mentioned in a previous statement.

Since returning from living in Japan in June of 2007, I have lived away from the city, therefore away from my family and circle of friends, away from the social and cultural activities that enticed and inspired me before I left. I have not really had much interaction with anyone other than my partner, and the people I work with – leaving less opportunity to meet potential models and inspirational figures. I often work long hours in hospitality so my life has consisted of waiting and painting and not much else in between so it seemed inevitable that I should produce this body of work on exhibition aptly titled – ‘Food and Desire’.

Post...

Opening nights are a strange affair.

I used to think they were kind of exciting and basked in the social aspect of it all. These days, I feel very differently about the whole parade. If I had a choice this year I probably would've opted to not attend my own. Perhaps I have become more dedicated to and passionate about what I do that I only want to share what I do not who I am... as contradictory as that sounds - for I AM my art and my art is me. I suppose my body of work in this show narrates the most 'complete' story of any body of work I have ever produced.


It is me on the wall so do I NEED to be present while the works are on show?

My mind always races after the opening of an exhibition. I guess my thoughts shift from being so focused on producing the work before the show then all of a sudden I'm exposing what has been such a private and intense creative process and relationship with whoever walks into the gallery. There is perhaps a sense of security whilst my works are with me in the studio and I am constantly working on them and living with them... then the dynamic changes completely. They are no longer in the safe secure environment of 'my space' - they are out in the big world... like children leaving home. That may sound a little dramatic but I seem to be on a rambling roll at the moment so will continue... unedited. I mentioned to my partner the other day that my paintings are like my children. I am not a biological parent of a human being - my partner has two beautiful boys, whom I adore, but I will never give birth to a child of my own. I give birth to my paintings. It may be a difficult analogy for some people to grasp but it makes sense to me. The bizarre thing is I actually see similarities in my partners relationship with his children and my relationship with my art.

For the first time in six years I felt vulnerable at my own exhibition opening. I felt more naked than the figures in my work. I was not comfortable there. I am comfortable in my studio. Such a difference to the me of six years ago when I had my first exhibition at that particular gallery.To the me who used to manage a high profile gallery and organise such events with flair and flamboyancy.

Back then, the whole event was about a lot of different things. For me now though, it is about the art and ONLY the art.

Go Figure... and Deliver

Ironically, I have been sick since my last entry. I spent Anzac day horizontal, paying my respects from the couch. I did not eat for a couple of days. The timing was not good, but there never really is a good time to be unwell - not for anyone.

I delivered my paintings to the gallery today and stayed for the hanging. The paintings always seem to take on a new life, or light, when they are hanging all together on a pristine white gallery wall. I felt pleased with what I had produced but was looking forward to a night away from the works and being able to walk in there tomorrow night with somewhat fresh eyes.

The feeling of seeing them on a gallery wall is so completely different to viewing them at home or in the studio. There is a feeling of vulnerability once they are out there and exposed for people to see - and no doubt judge - we are all critics of some kind.

I am debating whether or not I want to place some text on view about the works. A kind of 'guide' to the paintings on exhibit. Normally I like to leave my art very open to individual interpretation, even though I may have a definite message or story within or behind the piece. I don't like to tell people what they should see - I don't wish to force my work on anyone. If someone likes it, that's great - without sounding blase about it, for admittedly it is always nice when somebody likes or appreciates your work.

I guess the fact that these works are just so personal, I would not like to think they would be misinterpreted. Then again, anyone likely to misinterpret them would probably not be interested in the story behind them anyway. Should I really be that concerned?

I need a good nights sleep.

Plate or Palette?

I must say, one thing that suffers, (other than my partner), when I am 'in the zone' : painting or preparing for an exhibition, is my diet.

As a general rule, I try to eat fairly healthy, opting for organic produce when I can get it. I don't eat meat, other than fish, and my diet usually consists of a good balance of fresh vegetables, grains, legumes and fish. Over the past few months however, my diet has been quite poor despite my passion for good food.

I sometimes forget to eat when I am painting. I get so involved with what I am doing that in a sense, my art feeds me - or at least suppresses my hunger. Often too, even when I am hungry, I find I do not want to stop the momentum or interrupt any creative roll I may be on to prepare food so I either skip meals or eat something quick and easy - and often not too nutritious.

This habit or lifestyle doesn't seem to present too many problems short term, but the longer it goes on the more I feel it having a negative effect and denying me the sustenance I ultimately need.
I guess it all comes back to the whole 'balance' thing that I speak of so often... something I am STILL striving for?

Silence is Golden

Living in a Paint Box

Today I feel a little 'painted out'. I feel slightly claustrophobic. Stir crazy. I have made an attempt to paint all day but have found myself literally pulling at the neck of my t-shirt every few minutes. I was finding it very hard to focus let alone be disciplined.

Perhaps part of being disciplined is knowing when to stop, or at least have a break.

I think one can look at one's own work for far too long that distance is then needed for it to be appreciated again.

Being an artist is often very much a solitary sort of existence. I have had to try and explain to a number of friends as to why I cannot see them until the end of the month... or even have lengthy phone calls. To many this may sound rather strange or perhaps even selfish, however, I know those who truly know me do understand. If not now, they will after the show. One of my dear friends recently sent me a lovely text, after I briefly explained it to her via SMS (how times have changed), the last line meant the most to me, it read - 'Just keep painting, your people will still be there when you are done'.

Right now though, I feel the need to get out. Be outside.

I am going out! Even if it is only for a chai tea.

12 Months Ago

I missed Japan a little last night... not to the point where I wanted to be there but enough to cook myself a bowl of ramen noodles with tofu and flick though some photos.
This time last year I was going through my post-opening comedown and preparing to go back to Japan... uncertain of how long I would be staying there.

A lot can happen in a year... and a lot has... but I am not complaining.

Today I painted all day.

Patience and Persistence VS PMT

I have been losing patience with my work a little bit over this past week. Fortunately before I got to the point where it began to worry me, I realised I am extremely pre menstrual. I had been working on a piece earlier this week and as my hormones starting going haywire, along with my emotions, I began changing the painting.


I finally decided to stop and put it aside... and perhaps wait until I am feeling a bit more rational and patient. So I started two other pieces.

It is not unusual for me to work on two, three or several pieces at once, but I had been trying to be a little more disciplined with the works in this series and concentrate more on the whole start to finish process, one or two at a time. I think that may have contributed to my striving for patience and failing.

On the subject of patience, I must thank my partner. Not only does he have the patience with my PMT but also with my taking over the whole house with my 'art stuff'. In every place I have lived there is always a designated 'studio area'... this place is no exception, however, when preparing for an exhibition I have a tendency to take over the entire house. My 'studio space' is not equipped with a sink so I find myself using the bathroom to wash my brushes as the laundry is not as accessable. It does get cleaned on a fairly regular basis but I must say I am very lucky as C has never once complained or even made mention of the mess I leave behind.

I am grateful.

Time Flies

This time last year I was 'living' in Japan but was back in Melbourne for my exhibition at Jackman Gallery.

How time flies.

It is almost 'showtime' again and as it gets nearer I am thinking...
...deadlines are exhausting!

Riches To Rags

I took some time out from painting on the weekend and went to Ballarat with my partner and his two boys. A dear friend of mine had invited me to her partner's, (Ted May), exhibition at Ballarat Fine Art Gallery.

It has been a while since I have been to any sort of art event or exhibition opening. I think the last opening I went to was my own in April last year. A lot has changed since my days as gallery manager at Metro 5 Gallery, where it was a job requirement to schmooze at such events inside and outside of the gallery. I did get caught up in it all for a little while but I must say I prefer things a little more low key now.

There were a number of faces I recognised from those days whilst enjoying Ted's work on Saturday, and a number of them recognised me. One comment I loved was made by someone who did not recognise me at first glance and when his partner pointed me out he made a remark that suggested one of the reasons he did not recognise me was because I was not dressed as dashingly as I was when in that position. He did not quite know how to word it, possibly worried his words might be taken in offence, but I understood what he meant and I certainly did not see it as a criticism. In fact I felt more comfortable in my trusty cargo pants and plain black t-shirt than I would have in my white tuxedo.

This is not to say I don't like to get dressed up on occasion, but it is for different reasons now. When it comes to these sort of events, I am happy to dress down and blend in. I don't want to stand out. Art events are about the art on the walls, not a fashion show - and when it comes to my exhibition, I'd rather people notice my work than me or what I am wearing.

I have just questioned my subconscious - for perhaps this is the reason I am not wearing anything in my paintings. It's not about exhibitionism... it's more about a no frills type of rawness.

It makes sense to me anyway...

The Art Of Endurance

Finally I have finished the next piece in the new series. I feel exhausted after hunching over my canvas for the past few days and squinting whilst doing all the fine brushwork.

I am feeling happy about my work though so it makes this exhausted feeling worth it.

It is nearly time for a shift carrying plates... how fitting - this piece says it all.

Me, Myself Portrait and I

This current body of work is possibly the most personal and intimate that I have ever produced. So personal that I feel it will be somewhat of a risk to show it - or should I say exhibit it in a commercial gallery sense.

All works thus far in this series are self portraits - a subject I have had numerous debates about regarding mine and others. I am an artist who will happily promote this subject, and when needed, defend it... and my reasons are not as egotistic as some may think. Having said that, I don't know an artist without an ego - then again, I don't know many people, artists or not, who do not possess at least something that resembles one. It's not a dirty word.

This body of work is also the most articulate work I have done for a long time. I feel like I have been working on this current piece forever. I have spent the past few days working on it and I still feel like I have so much more to do before it is complete.

It will be interesting to see how this work is perceived. I could worry about what others will think of the work and whether they will understand my reasons for painting this series but I am choosing not to. For far too long I have let things like this worry me far too much.

Worry less - Paint more.

The Final Touch

It's always such gratifying feeling to complete a piece AND be happily satisfied with it.

My new work is really making so much sense to me. I feel I am beginning to make up for lost time. For the first time in ages I feel so connected to, involved in, and excited by the work I am doing and it's a fucking great feeling.

Calling it a Night...

Due to poor light...


Being in the hospitality industry, as I am at present, I work most nights, therefore it is quite rare for me to have the opportunity to paint at night, such as tonight. This being the case I have never really worried too much about lighting in the house/studio as not only do I prefer to paint in natural light, but it, (daytime), was really the only time I had the opportunity to paint.

Now that I am spending less time carrying plates and more time pushing paint I am going to have to look into purchasing some kind of artificial lighting - perhaps some that simulates natural light - to allow me to paint well into the coming evenings.

My eyes began to feel rather strained tonight so I had to stop. I feel a little anxious about stopping tonight as the piece I have worked on meticulously all day, (and not just today), is finally so close to completion.

My partner has watched me painting this piece (and a sister piece) for the past week or so and made a comment earlier today about the hours upon hours that can be spent on each piece without any real evidence of progress to the average eye. He is so right. However, finally, late this afternoon - the progress became visible.


I am finally feeling excited about and interested in my work again after a long lull. It's a good feeling.

Random Ramblings From a Visual and Verbal Diary

Food and desire...
The battle between necessity and passion – one feeding the other and the frustration along the way. Where would I rather be? What would I rather be doing. Exploring the idea or notion… fighting to create… the painting waitress – the waitress who paints – the painter who waits…. Waits to create… waits to paint.

Exploring my world… the means in which I need to meet to paint… as well as the NEED to paint. Waitressing to support my art. Also exploring the mysteries or other persona of the waitress… such a personal yet non attached job… an intimate yet generic job or role. Serving an audience. What does a waitress do when she is not waiting? More than just a waitress… the notion that she could be anyone or anything outside of her waiting job. Many musicians, actresses and artists have done it. Often it’s a way to make ends meet whilst waiting for a break or recognition or respect in their chosen field of the arts…. Waiting to be noticed? People have no idea of what else you can do other than carry multiple plates and pour champagne with one hand behind our back and a smile on our face… “she’s just a waitress” – oh no she is not – she is so much more…. Wanting to sometimes scream out loud… to paint the walls…. The disrespect from some… the demands to be ‘served’…. We offer a service but not our dignity. What makes you better than me? Then there’s the tippers…. Most are genuine – a few are sometimes patronising… ‘here – take my money, I have too much and you look like you could use some, after all, you’re just a waitress.’ There is a certain mystery to waitresses and waiters… its like role play… we ARE actors… we are not always happy to see the customer – sometimes we’d rather be doing something else…. I know most of the time I’d rather be painting, though there is somewhat of a fondness for the job, the people and for the role play – I guess ultimately I could be who ever I want to be, what would anyone know?… but all I want to be is an artist…. I AM an artist. An artist who waits.


There is also the personal and sensual element to food and taste… the quality, presentation and service can contribute to making someone’s night, or day, special… memorable…

Some remember you some forget…. the same goes the other way. Some want to know more about you, others pretend they already know and some couldn’t even remember which one of us took the drink order. Some are understanding some just demanding… some want all your attention some want hardly any… you learn a lot about people… but what do people learn about the waitress?

A battle of wills
A conflict of interest.
A slave to the wage.
It takes two
Waiting to paint
Plate or palette
Serve it up
My heart on a plate (I wear my heart on my plate/palette)
Serving up my soul
Dish
Culinary studio
Culinary culture
Taking orders
Passive aggressive
Versus
Me and myself versus I
Pushing to paint
What’s on the plate
Carving up the canvas
A recipe for dreaming
Place your order (here)
First course / Entrée
Main course
Just desserts
Time waits for noone

Canned Heat

I am struggling with the heat today.

Sometimes I find I have more energy on hot days - but today I am finding the heat oppressive. It is affecting my work and my time in the studio. It is battling with my creative productivity and it is winning today. As I tried to stitch into my canvas I felt like my hands were melting.

I sat on the couch to eat lunch and ended up falling asleep. When I awoke it took me some time to drag myself off the couch and back into the studio. I attempted again to work on a canvas but found myself back on the couch.

I don't even think it is actually that hot today, but for some reason I am feeling it to its full intensity and it is causing me to feel incredibly lethargic. Admittedly I have not had a great nights sleep in some time, and I have never professed to being a Summer or hot weather person but this feels somewhat extreme for me... and apparently the coming week is going to be even warmer.

It's a waste of time feeling like this. I am going to go to Bunnings and buy a fan tomorrow.