The banjo

"This Machine Surrounds Hate, Forcing it to Surrender", this banjo and the sound it represents is the epitome of my muso friend that i painted it for.

The weirdness of this world

What is it to see, if i look do i necessarily see or is seeing much more difficult to define.

I watch people, no in a creepy stalker way, but watch their interactions, reactions, opinions, thinking faces and iv e come to think that a lot of people are strange. Sometimes i think if people could see themselves, simply defined and from an objective view, could they make their lives less complicated.

Along the same theme

Along the same lines as the previous work but a little weirder looking. This too is a flower past it's flowery prettyness but whaqt i noticed was left were these rad little seed pods. Even in death the possibility of life exists.

Inspiration in the most humble of forms

A friend gave me an iris and it subsequently curled and shrivelled in it's detatched state. It was only then, that i had this intense desire to paint this flower that, in haveing lost its lustre, had taken on this wonderfully interesting and intreguing form. It was like, in death, it took on a new life.

Damn the DIY

So there seems to be a craze amongst us and it's called DIY, Do it yourself bloody renovations. Bombarded i am with magazines and tv programs professing the easy and cheap nature of DIY reno's. Lies, all lies. I admitt i have, more than once, been seduced by the romantic notion of redecorating my dated home with the slick styles of today but it's a ruse and after an expensive trip to Bunnings and an afternoon of getting nowhere i'm stuck with a half painted room or unfinished bathroom for at least a month, maybe a year. So rather than renovating, i now have my own version of DIY homeyness. I hone in on a wall that bothers me, i get a big black texta and i draw all over it. A once boring and drab 70's wall with weird marks and old hook holes is now transformed into a wall of whimsy that i love.

New Life

A descarded doily, an old wine bottle and some weeds from my abandoned garden. Combined they are no longer unlovely, rather life has breathed into them.

The Dainty Delicacies

I love markets, theyre my dirty secret, the more cheap, grubby, secondhandy and trailer trashish the markets the better. Today i went to some markets. In sweltering heat i trolled over discarded treasures and castoffs. On a particularly dusty patch of ground laying on a couple of old tarps was a pile of unloved material. Riffling through the hideous patterns and moth eaten tablecloths i stumbled upon the most precious of things. Three to be precise, delicate, patterned, yellowed with vintage yummyness, i claimed these crocheted doilies.we went home together where i will help them start new lives, my dainty little delicacies.

The Middle of My Table

So ive noticed there's a million multitudes of pretty, funky, classy, whatevery things you can put in the middle of a table. Technically theyre little nothings but a rather large portion of these pretty nothings are very very expensive. Mine, however, are not. Pretty, i think so, interesting, definately but pricey they are not. Find a jar, any jar, clean him up and place something weird in it. Its something interesting at the table when dinner or guests are not.

Food for the heart

Even though Edgar Allan Poe's words are full of sorrow somehow my heart seems fuller by reading them.

Edgar Allan Poe

Annabel Lee

It was many and many a year ago, 
   In a kingdom by the sea, 
That a maiden there lived whom you may know 
   By the name of ANNABEL LEE;-- 
And this maiden she lived with no other thought 
   Than to love and be loved by me. 
She was a child and I was a child, 
   In this kingdom by the sea, 
But we loved with a love that was more than love-- 
   I and my Annabel Lee-- 
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven 
   Coveted her and me. 

And this was the reason that, long ago, 
   In this kingdom by the sea, 
A wind blew out of a cloud by night 
   Chilling my Annabel Lee; 
So that her high-born kinsman came 
   And bore her away from me, 
To shut her up in a sepulchre 
   In this kingdom by the sea. 

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven, 
   Went envying her and me:-- 
Yes! that was the reason (as all men know, 
   In this kingdom by the sea) 
That the wind came out of a cloud, chilling 
   And killing my Annabel Lee. 

But our love it was stronger by far than the love 
   Of those who were older than we-- 
   Of many far wiser than we- 
And neither the angels in Heaven above, 
   Nor the demons down under the sea, 
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul 
   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:-- 

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams 
   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; 
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes 
   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; 
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side 
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride, 
   In her sepulchre there by the sea-- 
   In her tomb by the side of the sea.

Wayne King - The Pianist

Does it mean i'm an immature person that i find this hilarious, am i a rudey or should this musician seriously consider an alternative stage name.

Dandelions

'To Trust the Wind is Precarious but the Wishes of a Child are Precious'
2009

I cant grow proper plants, you could call me a plant serial killer, i must be something of a horror legend in the plant world. What i can grow are dandelions whose flowers are fun puffy things that precariously cling to the stalk. My little 3 yr old bear loves to make wishes as he blows them off their little stalk to be carried away on the breeze, to who knows where.

Past Conversations

'The Barnacle'

                                                                            2009

I went on the ferry from Woy Woy, not for any particular reason but to see what was there.i find water vocations fascinating, each vessel, marker and clump of mangroves had its own intriguing personality. In particular there was this old fishing trawler. Covered in flaking faded paint with a myriad of ropes, pulleys and ladders adorning it's decks, it was the old man of the bay. It's life written all over it's face and was still as steadfast and reliable as the crustaceans fixed to its hull. it was The Barnacle. 

My Lonely Friend

In the corner of my lounge room there is a wooden easel with a wooden chair. It sits in the airiest, sunniest part of the room, beckoning me each time i walk by. Clipped to it are deliciously stained and textured papers, waiting,just waiting. My friend loves to hear my imaginings and listens to the whisperings of my thoughts as they dance out my pencils and brushes onto the paper. But i am terrible friend, i have not visited in a long time and rather than ink and paint gathering on your pages dust is what adorns you now. I'm sorry my faithful friend there is no excuse but life and its ever consuming demands. I will visit soon, i promise and we will laugh at the world and whisper our thoughts. i will visit soon my lonely friend.