Lighten up!

There is an abundance of things to be stressed about, enraged about, feel hard done by.... and I'm not just talking about our current government.

Sometimes it seems like the whole world is on the brink of collapse. And maybe it is.

I think its great to join together with others and join protests, take action against injustice, offer support, etc. But, as well, on a personal level, you want to avoid getting over burdened by fretting about events that you can not change and that are beyond the scope of your sphere of influence. There is just too much bad stuff going on at the moment that to take it all on mentally is just going to bring you down.

So, what to do? 

Seek the silly.
Favour the fun.
Follow the path to the pun.
Grow your own mirth.
Group giggles.
Funny accents whenever possible.
Jigs, slapstick, loud farts.

There's a lot you can do. The list goes on. I am not advocating ignoring reality, I am suggesting that you augment it with a fair share of lighthearted enjoyment. As often as you possibly can.

For in the end, whether the world eventually balances out and becomes the utopia it could be, the natural, just and egalitarian kingdom we all want it to be, or whether it all explodes in a flaming ball of human greed and foolishness, you may as well have a snicker or two along the way. Like a school day. It's mostly a bunch of useless bullshit being heaped upon you; play truant sometimes, have fun with your friends, cause some disruption. Cause just like when you make it through school and realise that it was all just a construct of control and oppression... well, so is modern day life in our society. So give it the finger, ignore the bla bla bla, zone out, dream your own dreams, slip out the back door and go find some sunshine and freedom to bask in.

Like Ghandi once said, "Fucking hell! What's the point in endless suffering?!" 

And soon after, decided to never wear a business suit instead and wrapped himself in his bed sheet. Good man.

The power hungry are eating us up
The money people have all gone insane
They're never satisfied, never having enough
But we never chose to be part of this game

Corruption rules, lies are the norm
A government we can no longer trust
Now we grow strong, the castle we'll storm
And take it back, for the people we love

I wanna see it all come tumbling down
The system smashed
Oppressors cut to the ground

I wanna see it all come tumbling down
Cause it isn't fair! And they don't care!
Those greedy mogrels, those self serving clowns

The production of destruction
We cannot let them rule
Trying to sell us lies, seduce us
Do they think we're all just fools?!

The food is tasteless now
The air is unclean, polluted
The planet far worse than
It ever has been, the innocent deserted

I wanna see it all come tumbling down
We'll do it better the second time round
I wanna see it all come tumbling down

Time has come for the pigs to run
The change is us and we'll act as one
Eventually, after anarchy, after calamity
It's a certainty, we'll be free, we'll be free

I wanna see it all come tumbling down!

Sitting here watching some old episodes of the tv show The Voice on my computer. I love the emotion of it all. I love how unknowns are given a chance and underdogs are discovered and nurtured by the professionals after they have passed the blind auditions and are selected on vocal merit.

Some of the performances are captivating and deeply soulful. Singers get to express their truth directly, through their voices. It is not something that can be faked. Honesty and soul shine through. 

What caught my attention is in the cutaway interviews, the judges talk about 'being an artist... '. What they mean is performing artist, obviously. But it made me think about visual artists. And the differences between us and performing artists, in particular singers. They make beautiful sounds straight out of their mouths, they enchant, enrapture, transfix and transform people. It is a very powerful talent. It runs so deep and is timeless and profoundly moving. A visual artist on the other hand, mostly labours alone, often in silence; feedback or encouragement is rarely immediate and sporadic at best. We spend years, playing, experimenting, honing our skills and craft, attempting to make images that will express our souls. 

A great singer can sing someone else's song and make it their own. A great artist can only make their own art. What makes a great artist is his or her ability to transcend the norm, transcend the limitations, restrictions, the expectations and create an image, or a series of images, that are so packed full of subtle power, so full of life itself that they cannot be ignored. To do this is extremely difficult and usually takes a long, long time. Devotion, passion, dedication and desire. Desire to journey to the edge of soul and gather up all the good bits, bring them back and throw them out onto the canvas in a act of pure mastery and magic. In it's own way it's just as powerful as an amazing song. Not as immediate, not as flamboyant or as attention getting, but just as moving, nonetheless. 

I've been seeing these images pop up on my facebook page over the last few days by an artist I don't personally know. They are incredible. They immediately move me, I am transfixed and intrigued by them. If I see in a book, or online, someone who's work I really relate to, I will sometimes check if they are on facebook and 'friend' them. Most artists, bless their souls, respond. We don't correspond, really, I just 'like' their posts of new works and vice versa. It's pretty cool and one of the things I dig about facebook. But this guy, the one I am referring to - I don't recall how I came to know his work or when I friended him. I kept seeing his works being posted over the last few days - so many winners! - these were awesome paintings, wow! Thick and fast. I finally went to his page and worked out that his loving wife was posting his stuff. He recently passed away. She wanted everyone to see the beautiful works he had been doing in the last few months, years. It was poignant and sad to realise that he will be creating no more. 

If I think about the feeling I get listening and watching a great singer doing their song and the feeling I get when I look at his works, I realise they both inspire me in different ways. A song, sung in a certain way can bring me to tears. These artworks, on the other hand, fill me with something equally as moving - not as immediate - but more esoterically, more subtly and in some ways, more profoundly. This man is not painting for an audience, he is not performing. He is following his calling, attentively, joyfully perhaps, recording in images his interpretation of the sensation and experience of being alive. He has left behind a beautiful and abundant legacy. I never knew him, but I feel like I do. And as a fellow artist, I respect and admire him for his talent and devotion. I thank him for his inspiration. Conrad Mecheski; you live on through your art, sir, and those of us who are priviliged enough to hear your unique, enchanting song exude from your gentle, complex, captivating images will continue to be uplifted and exhilarated by them for a long time. Thank you.

As a sentient being there is no escape from feeling and experiencing life. We like to believe that there is a reason behind it all, a justification, a validation for our demanding and formidable journeys. But what if there is not? What if this realm is truly just a harsh and difficult existence? One that, for reasons beyond comprehension, has to be experienced? Nothing gained can be taken with you. Any relief from the never ending demands are just temporary and fleeting. In fact, they may only add to the magnitude of suffering that is to come. 

Buddhist teaching says that life is suffering and I have to agree. It just seems almost too hard sometimes. I don't see what the purpose of this enforced series of procedures is. Endure, endure, endure, then die. OK. What was that for exactly? Some lives have extended times of loving and beauty and freedom and joy, but from what I have witnessed; most do not. There are times of comparative relief and short periods within a day or a month or a year or a life that are not stressful and demanding but mostly, it's just hard going.

I have engineered my life to have as few demands and stresses as possible. I try to have plenty of free time to pursue art and writing and thinking and just being. I have time for exercise and connecting with nature and relating with good people and play. And yet still, there is a heaviness, a constant, sublime feeling of uneasiness. Sometimes it's simply because life itself is so much to comprehend. We are mere mortals. Puny. We are specks. Star dust. Flippity-floppety little human entities. What are we doing? What are we really here for? It seems as though there has been a mistake made along the way in evolution, we've taken a wrong turn. If this is of our own spiritual creation, our own devising.... why would it be like THIS??? 

I find it hard to abide. Really. Sometimes more than others. And, of course, I acknowledge the incredible beauty that surrounds us, the dignity of fellow beings, the miracle of life, the gorgeous glory of newborns and children, etc. But I still feel that there is a quantifiable imbalance. Life is not what I imagined it would be. I thought that the struggle during teen years, through the twenties.... and on... would lead to some kind of resolution, a settling. Some kind of peace, mental and spiritual. But I have found no evidence of this. Am I missing something? I live in a great country, in a wonderful, peaceful, friendly small town, I have a supportive family and great friends across the globe. I have my health, physical and mental. And yet...

I'm raving, I know. But that is what this forum is for. An occasional ablution is necessary. Even this writing, though, what is it? Little symbols that form words and concepts. You can read them and get something. You can hear my soul. Is it singing or is it screaming? Am I a madman shouting or an ordinary man who is questioning that nature of reality, one who is not content to turn away, one who is compelled, often despite his own wishes, to face the immense, throbbing, pulsating, infinite series of vibrations and molecular clashes that form a never ending cacaphony of thoughts, images, sounds, sensations and experiences? 

I am screaming. Silently. Am I calling for help? No. Not really. Am I looking for acknowledgement? No, not really, that either. Then... ? 

I am trying to express the complex nature of my relationship with life. It is compelling. It is complex. It is relentless. I have travelled through it for 53 years so far. No bad. It's been quite a journey and there have been plenty of times and experiences that I cherish and am thrilled to have had. Plenty. I am not complaining. I am not bitter or angry or resentful by any means. In fact, I am grateful. But the fact remains, that between when I get up each morning to when I go to sleep each night, there is a series of thousands, tens of thousands maybe, of feelings, FEELINGS that pass through me, some lingering, some flashing, many of little consequence, a few profound.... FEELINGS.... that make up my day. By the end I am tired. As I go through it, I am challenged. I cannot name these phantoms, I cannot categorise everything - although I often try to in an attempt to come to terms with it all. 

I have to believe that surrender, surrender is what should be done. Let it go. Let it be. And I do that. I really do. Still, still, still...! Can you hear me? I am a sentient being hurled into a life form that has become comfortable and familiar, not only second nature, but first nature. I acknowledge that I am a person. Humble, vulnerable, fragile. But with powers to take it on, whatever. With a will to live and endure till the end. A will to survive, to thrive. I am weary, I am wounded. I admit that this brand of reality is not what I would have chosen. I'd like something more like heaven, all the cliched juice with a bit of sauciness and some thrills. I'd like more of the good stuff and less of the pain. I'd like better endings, more satisfying middles and unlimited new beginnings. I would like, you know, utopia. Bring it on. Seriously. Like now, already!

So, if it lays up ahead for us all, waiting to surprise us, reward us for our hard work, our labour, if it is our destination. Well, then, OK, I will continue to endure this weird blend of exquisite suffering until then. But seriously, it better be there up ahead.... or I'm going to be one disappointed corpse!

The future is coming at us, thicker and faster than ever. Every month now, amazing new discoveries and inventions; scientific, technological and biological... The advancements are arriving at a breathtaking pace. I don't have to convince anyone. Just browse through the net. No, not that old fisherman's net. That's just crab shell and a dead half fish carcass. I mean the internet. You must know it. It's one of the inventions that has changed the world. Forever. And for better. So long as we all shall live. Anyone who disagrees, go to the comment box now or forever hold your mouse. Or donate it to science. They are used in a lot of experiments.

A couple of things I remembered yesterday:

One: pinball. Played it every weekend for hours on end in my early teens, with my brothers in the game centres of Tokyo - Shibuya, Hibiya, Yurakucho, Azabu Juban.... somehow, if there was a decent game centre (geimu sentaa) tucked away in a basement, obscure building or mini mall, we'd find it. We had our skateboards and knew the public transport system inside out. We loved playing pinball. (Wizard, Fireball, TimeZone, etc... mid 70's were when pinball design peaked, I reckon). Each place would usually have ten, twenty of them lined up. Lots of choice. Lots of fun. We were all pretty good a getting free games, too. Nothing like that >crack< when you notch up a game.

Two: other play. I was driving to the beach and saw an import Tarago. Notice it as called Lucida. Thought about how Japanese come up with their names for things. Must've looked up the dictionary found lucid and added an a. Fair enough. If they put an 'n' in their, it'd be a nice girl's name... Lucinda. Then, flash!, I remembered that back in the late nineties, I had a relationship with a girl with that very name. I had completely forgotten about her. I met her in a bar in Kings Cross, the Bayswater Brasserie. It was a one night stand that kept going. She owned a house in Surrey Hills, Sydney. She worked in an ad agency as accounts manager. She liked vodka lime and sodas. She loved flowers and knew a lot about them. She was a great cook. One of her specialties was gnocchi. She was very pretty. Like a little doll. She had a great body, perfect proportions, silky skin, long straight hair. She was also very intelligent and successful. She never came to my place in Bondi. She liked her routines. She would often phone me after work, early evening and invite me over. Drinks, dinner, sex. All things I enjoy. Then I would go home in the morning, when she left for work. We didn't do many day time things together for some reason. After a few months of this routine, I was beckoned to Tokyo for a 3 month job. We did the phone and fax (yes, fax) 'I miss you' communication thing for a while and then just let it go. I never saw her again. And until yesterday, completely forgot about it. Interesting how it was sparked by an import Tarago parked at the beach. It was like finding a little treasure on the shores of my memory.

One of the joys of keeping an artist's journal like this is that there are no plans or pressures. I just start writing, whenever, whatever and let the flow take me where it will. It is oft times as revealing to me as it would be to anyone else. Of course, I have a more intimate knowledge of myself than anyone else, and yet, due to the complex nature of consciousness, psyche and psychology, revelations can and do still appear out of nowhere.

By now, although an amount of ego still remains (mostly dormant, reading a book in the shade), I act predominantly from other areas of self. These writings for example, although about self are not recorded in an attempt to elevate my self opinion or baste my ego. They are done as means of introspection and revelation. I use my self as a case study of sorts in an attempt to dissect and understand the nature of being human. I happen to be this person, so I observe him and make reports. I am glad to be him, er, me, because, if nothing else, as a specimen, I am unique and can be amusing at times. I mean; he is.

The other morning when I awoke, I got up and went online. I noticed how quiet it is, to sit at your computer and sample the internet. I realised that this is one of the things that I like about using my computer. It is quiet. Almost silent. Peaceful. 

A list of some other things in life I really appreciate:

solitude
serenity
as few demands or expectations as possible
freedom
self devised schedule
few time constraints
staying up late
sleeping in
commune with nature
library visit
reading time
thinking time
creative time

I have directed/constructed my days so that there is an ample amount of these things in each day.

My phone rings maybe once a week. This suits me fine. Even less would be better. I used my phone - a large screen Samsung Note 1, with a stylus to create artworks in a program called SMemo. An average of three hours per day which yields four or five new works. I create these works mostly in a cafe or at the library. Sometimes sitting in my car.

My car is from the 90's. It's small, rusty, rattly and lots of things don't work. But it gets me there. A nice car is something I would really like and I do spend a fair amount of time imagining the joy and luxury of owning a Range Rover Evoque, a Lexus or a new model Merc. These are fantasies akin to those that a hungry man on a desert island would have of unlimited access to a bountiful and succulent buffet. They get me through the rocky ride home. And still, I am grateful to have a vehicle that takes me to destinations of my choice.

I live from week to week. My income is at the poverty level. I have enough to rent the smallest room in a share house of four, buy fruit and veges for the week and put petrol in my car most of the time. A few times a week I will have a meal out, the average budget is $11. My favourites are the Sunday curry, which I eat sitting in my car by the river at sunset, the bean nachos from the tiny, rowdy small town pub which I eat while reading my book, surrounded by unruly, loud and friendly old school ockers and the mid week small pesto and pumpkin pizza at the RSL club, which I supplement with a generous amount of apple sauce from the condiments table. These simple treats give great satisfaction.

Although I would, of course, like to have more money to do things like travel, buy big canvases and lots of paints and update my technology (and the car), I am not willing to trade in all my freedom and time for it. I have lived for decades now with very little and have come to appreciate the glorious things that are free. Like the beach, friendships and family, exercise, creating, writing and reading. A characteristic of my personality is that I require a pervading low pressure zone.

In some ways I am a social outsider, living on the fringes, but truth is, it's better here. Society, mainstream society at least, although filled with mostly good hearted and well intentioned people, has some priorities, expectations and demands that are excessive, misdirected, unjust and antiquated. I don't feel like I fit in, so I stay out. Luckily, I am an artist, so I can do this. Compared to a more conventional modern existence, it may appear lacking, but it isn't. Like many fine characters I know, I can't do normal. And, hey, that's OK.

Dear Artists,

It's a funny thing we do, eh?

Make pictures. 

Use line and form and colour, shading and perspective to make images. They come out of nowhere. Out of our heads. From out souls, through our bodies. 

Control and release. Control and release.

We watch ourselves in action, make amends. Where is it going? Shall I reign it in now or keep the flow? Will I go too far? Will I ruin it? Is it any good? What IS good?

Years and years and years it takes to truly find your groove. 

When you are beginning, it's experimentation. It's easy, joyful, tentative. With a few of the early pictures, there's the element of pride and a sense of accomplishment. "Look what I've done!' It feels amazing. It's almost like a drug. As you progress, you venture further, you apply yourself for longer and longer. You realise that it is no longer just a distraction. You become aware that you have found something, an activity, that gives back as much as it demands. 

It's one of the most complex puzzles that exist. It is never ending. The only rules are that there are none. You can do what ever you want. There are no wrongs or rights. It's all up to you. The freedom is incredible. And somewhat overwhelming, too. So much. Too much. There has to be some kind of structure. One that you make up for yourself. A form, guidelines within which you can let loose. You decide what is good. You feel what is good. It's very honest. There is no kidding yourself. 

Before you have a relationship with art. It's sublime. The more you enter into it, the more time and energy you invest; the more you get in return. But your return is not necessarily evident to anyone else. It is not tangible. It is not a trophy or money or a cheering crowd. No, no, art is too, too precious, too mindful and murky, mysterious and profound for that. It is connected to pure soul. It is not something that can be bought, traded or sold. Not the spirit of it. A great work of art contains spirit, sure, but what is captured on the canvas or the paper is only a remnant of what has gone into. A hint. The size and quantity and breadth of the passion that has powered the artistic creation is immeasurable. Immense. 

Creating a work is not unlike riding a wave. It cannot be boxed, labelled, re-created. It is fully being in the moment. Fully. Being. In. The. Moment. It is ecstasy. It is release. It is a pure connection with the absolute. 

You know what I am talking about, right? You've been there, too? Not often, but often enough. Enough to want more. Enough to be grateful. Grateful to be lucky enough to realise that whatever else may transpire in this chaotic, demanding, wounding, beguiling world: you are an artist. You can transcend. You have been given the tools and you have, with passion and diligence, applied yourself, focused your body and mind, channeled your spirt and contributed to the beauty and wonder of what is real, what is true, what is pure.

You have allowed your soul to shine through. Through the quagmire of daily demands, through the mist of social confusion, through the representation of at times debilitating personal demons - the ones that are out to get you! still!! - through that, through that to something timeless and ethereal, something momentous. You have brushed up against the infinite for a few seconds, in your avid pursuit of image and splash. 

You have glimpsed the glorious nature of nature and the brilliance and light. You have shifted shapes and animated line. You are a knight, a warrior, a hero to no one other than yourself. And even then. No, no, you are  a hero. For a time. You have put your entire being on the line for something you believe in. Something intangible but more real than anything. Life itself. 

You have communed and communicated. Touched and responded to the essence. Struggled and struggled and struggled some more. Until, years, decades later, you have found yourself. Standing in front of an image that you have conjured up out of nowhere. You know it but you don't it. You made it but you didn't. It is more that an expression, a picture. It is alive. It is you.

I was thinking the other day, while walking on the beach about just how many projects there are that I have conceived or started but not finished. There are so many! Ideas come to me fast and thick and are never ending. The ones that come to full fruition are only the tip of the iceberg. One in a hundred or less.

There are multiple reasons for this. Timing, circumstance, attitude... Even if I was a hyper achiever, I'd still probably only be able to execute 5% of what I cook up. Sometimes I justify not doing more by telling myself that it's just the kind of person I am, my destiny; to enjoy thinking things up - and then letting them go. I do very much find satisfaction in the conceptual part of a new project. It's all so potentially perfect, so grand, so unrestricted. Often, I will have an idea for a book/movie/creative project that I will see appear in the public realm five, ten years later. I'm sure this is not uncommon.

On the other end of the spectrum, many times I have attempted to make things happen, to manifest ideas - and reality has just not cooperated. For example, in the late nineties, after studying screenwriting at UCLA, I spent two years full time writing screenplays. I completed a total of six feature films - one for young teens, a chick flick, a feel-good indie, a fantasy film, a comedy and a coming-of-age action/drama. After they were done I spent a year trying to get interest/sell/get funding for them. I concentrated mainly on the last one - which I think is the best and has the most commercial potential. I am not, however, a great sales person by any stretch, and nothing came from any of it. They sit in a box in storage. It was disheartening, I cannot deny, and yet, I did still get great pleasure in the act of writing them. Of course, I have continued with my writing and had subsequent success with radio plays/ comedic monologues and short films. But screenplay number seven is yet to be.

I have also written full outlines for a three character one-man-show and a grand scale musical over the last few years, but they, too, remain concepts - unreleased, not invested in, scribbles in a notebook. 

Sometimes, I do the work to manifest something and it is blocked at the last stage of realisation or snatched from my hands. A documentary about Bay FM radio station, Bliss Jockeys, that I wrote and directed was snatched from my hands by a megalomaniacal/paranoid producer at the very final stages because of ownership disputes. After a deal with SBS fell through, he ran off with the tapes and chopped them into segments, put them up on his YouTube channel as his own. That was a full years work. 

In 2002, after self publishing my first book, 'All I've Ever Wanted Is What I Know I Can Never Have', and getting satisfaction and encouraging feedback from it, I embarked upon a follow up, 'Karma Rama'. I spent the next 18 months working on it. Once completed, I fully designed the front and back covers, and got it print-ready in Quark. While I was busy trying to scrape together some money for a first run, my computer died. Salvaging it from the hard drive would have cost more than I had at the time. The book never happened.

All sounds a bit sad, in a way. But it isn't necessarily. For me the best part of a project is in the thinking up and the creation. What happens with things after that is a bit boring. Of course, it is wasted effort and disappointing when they get so close to fruition, but I am so quickly onto the next thing that I soon forget.

As an evolving creative entity, my lessons and greatest joys are in the actual doing of things, the initial spark, the first rendering, the birth of ideas. From nothing to something. What kind of somethings they become and whether or not they solidify a place of any distinction in the world is not where I put my attention.

My journals are full of things that could have been. Books, movies, exhibitions, shows. It's not too late. Some may still find there way back into the process. Who knows. But most of them are just part of a wild and zesty creative machine gun process. Benign bullets billowing in the air. With a charged-up and staccato-laughing genius/madman alone on the beach with his never-ending supply of artistic ammo, filling the horizon with new thoughts and concepts that take shape and form for a time, then, like the clouds, drift off into the ether, the endless blue.