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On The Comic Trail

31/7/2015

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So this is where I am at in a loose timeline with my creative life:

On the strength of my comedy radio show, The Wonderful Thing, on Bay FM and my comedic monologues in '05 and '06 for the writing competition Once Upon A Deadline (you can view the actual performances here), I was invited to perform an original comedy piece in NYC at the New City Theatre as part of The Globesity Festival. As luck would have it a close friend of mine in LA was going away on a film shoot and invited me to house mind in Santa Monica for the subsequent six months. The plan was to hook up through some existing contacts and try and get a TV writing gig. I'd completed my UCLA screenwriting courses a few years previous and had written six features by then, so I was confident and ready to attempt living and working there. As fate would have I landed during the infamous (and extended) writer's strike. No work for anybody. 

Cut to arriving back in Australia, still amped and hungry to write / make things happen. I approached the legendary comedian Austentayshus with some film ideas and we did some brainstorming together. Nothing on film came from it but a friendship evolved and Austentayshus invited me to go on a stand-up tour with him and see if I liked it. I was part of a duo - two dumb, Ocker doormen - called The Boing Boyz. I had done stand up solo before on numerous occasions - but never billed and paying gigs.

Let's just say it was a learning experience. What I learnt was stand up is fucking hard. As much as I love comedy and enjoy performance, the pressure and expectation from pub and club crowds tests the mettle of the most devoted. I surrendered. Lesson learnt - stand up was not for me.

Back to painting. I was sleeping on the floor (on a futon) of my parent's walk-in-wardrobe at the time. Almost fifty, yes. I had made it! They were kind and gracious enough to put up with my presence for a number of years as I re-established myself. But was I ever established in the first place? Hmmm... Regardless, I boldly decided to have an exhibition of small works (done in the wardrobic space) of a couple less than fifty paintings called '48 Reasons To Love'. The show went pretty well and encouraged more painting. 

Around that time I met a kiwi girl who also liked art and we made a studio in her Bondi garage. I went to the studio everyday and produced a large volume of works. And they were larger. From there I had two more shows of my paintings. Cut to the dramatic break up. Worst part: no more studio. Hundreds of orphan paintings stored in a-friend-of-a-friend's garage, then when she moved half in another benevolent friend's garage and the rest in the spare room of a divorced guy I knew from poker. 

With nowhere to go to physically paint anymore I was excited and uplifted to discover a symbiotic and rewarding relationship with digital creation. The newly released Samsung Galaxy Note had a large screen, great colours and a nifty S-Pen that allowed me to create a new studio - one that I could carry in my pocket. I created new works everyday in cafes, at the library and in my car, parked at the beach during the day or outside a club at night, waiting for the next poker game to commence.

For the next two and a half years, I made new pictures. I was able to find a way to print the best ones as limited edition art prints and had three successful exhibitions of the works. 

After doing 5,000 of these images, the newest generation of the Note, the Note4 was released. I got it on the release day. It was wonderful to have jumped from one to four. The quality and speed improvements were huge. I was excited. But doing more of the same didn't feel right. It felt like the end of that era. I had graduated. Somehow I decided to work only in black and white. And to include text. And to make them observational, commentary, funny. You know, like comics. Yeah, they were comics. And, with a bit of focus and devotion and trial and error... they came pouring out. 

So, I've done 2,000 of them now. We're in the present. I have decided to collect them and put them in a book. A paperback of 200 or so pages. Actually, three of them. A trilogy. So I have gone back through all the work and selected the top 600. The ones that will be published. I'm going to start with the first book, first. Makes sense. There are considerable processes involved - using Photoshop (which I have skills with) and InDesign for the formatting (which I will have to learn). But, I have my mission. I plan to have the first, self-published, run out by year's end. And, the other two in reasonably quick succession. 

Comics are fun because they make people smile and laugh and feel good about life. And that's something I have always enjoyed. So, it's a good place to be in.
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While You Can

27/7/2015

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Drink from the river
Breathe in that mountain
Make your skin quiver

While you can, while you can

Follow the new path
Taste the unknown
Step up to the new task

While you can, while you can

Shake yourself silly
Run naked at midnight
Be ready, be willing

While you can, while you can

The dying man was angry
He had let too much slide
Squandered his birthright 
Kept too much inside

Learn from his rage
His pain is your lesson
Whatever your age
Don't let it go missing

There's nothing worth saving
Spend your soul, open your heart
Go hungry, push the whole way
Give everything, go hard

Life is but an instant
A flash from a star
Dive in and taste it
Don't live from afar

Push all your boundaries
Find your truth, perfect your plan
You are in it; so win it

While you can, while you can
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ambitious abandonĀ 

12/7/2015

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Success.
Do you really have to go out and get it?
Really?
Aren't there enough people already out there, trying to grab a hold of their self conceived, righteously perceived bounty?
Too many.

What if you don't like crowds? Bustling, hustling, rustling feathers? 
Business lunches, scheduled get-togethers?
What if you're adverse to taking calls, meet and greets?
And you never bother to update post or send out tweets?
What if you're the kind of person who prefers to read... books!? 
Prefers to eat alone, think in peace, avoids the crowds, do as he pleases?
An outsider, an observer, a dreamer, a foot soldier... gone AWOL, never to be found?
One of those spectres, the ones you don't see round.

What if he is all that but still would like to taste...
Victory for a change.
Could that not be arranged?
Why, his dues are paid - well in advance.
Sure, when he was younger, you say, he had ample chances.
Did he waste it? His youth?
Did he squander it?
Tell the truth.

He didn't. He has never stopped trying.
He has invested his soul and his time in creating his works.
He has devoted his being to seeing what works.
He experiments, pushes boundries, believes in what he is doing.
Don't you see that? He's devoted, he's focused, still searching for true meaning.
The man is a poet, he's a painter, a romantic, for chrissake!
Give him some hope now, come on! - give him a break.

He's one of the good ones, he cares, he's authentic.
He's not going to beg, though, or compromise his beliefs.
Maybe that's the problem. Too principled, idealistic.

He still reads comics, you know. 
And he talks to himself. 
Sometimes, he cries. Shhhh...
If this was a dating site, these admissions may help.
But he refuses to seek romance that way.
Yeah, yeah, an idealist. A dreamer, a romantic. Ho hum.
What is this shit, anyway? This whole thing?
Some kind of bla bla bla? For who's sake?
For god's sake, wake up, lad! (In an Irish accent.) (With or without face slap SFX.)

He's decide to free write. To let it out. To not stop. To not edit. 
Not a good idea, some would say.
But he doesn't listen.
You should have worked that out by now.
But he does listen. Especially to things worth hearing.
Like birds. And the sea crashing to shore.
And melifluous voices, especially if accompanied by an alluring face. 
He's going mushy! 
The whole exercise is going to shit!
But does he care? 
Not about images. Except the ones he makes. And looks at. Artworks and the like. Art galleries, book stores.
This has become a dating site! OMG.

James Salter died this week. James Salter - he was a real writer. His words - oh, wow. Profound. Moving. Ethereal.
He wouldn't be into this. Or maybe he would. Now, anyway. Now he's dead. Standards drop, apparently.

Riffing. Like rap or hip hop. What's the difference again? 
Like one of those, anyway, without the backing track.
Or the anger. Indignation.
The dude is mellow.
Maybe too mellow. 

Which brings us back to the original assertion.
How hard to try? And what for?
Maybe better to just be yourself and let things happen as they will. 
Maybe better just to go with the flow. 
Sometimes just a trickle.
Or a droplet.
Still, moisture.
Stay moist!
Ahem.

No drugs used in the transcribing of this inner monologue gone wrong. This escapee, barfing, ramshackle concoction of stream of conscious piss taking soliloquy.
None needed no more.
Man has evolved. Into maniac. 

But that's it, isn't it.
There is freedom being expressed here. Freedom being enjoyed. Fun being had. Play.
Do I care about being acknowledged, rewarded for my efforts with my writing and my art? 
Or do I just want to have fun?
Both. 
But if there can only be one?
Fun! Fun! Fun!

Let's leave it at that.
It's 4am.
Almost bedtime.
For kids at heart. 
Almost dreamtime.
Mmmmm....! (Homer voice.)
Dreaming!
Let's have some of that.
Yes, please.
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Disposable Incoming

8/7/2015

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It makes sense to feed yourself nourishing, healthy, natural food. The body responds well to it, functions smoothly, grows and repairs from it. There is encouragement from some elements of society and the government to do so but there is an even stronger push - in the form of advertising and marketing from corporate factions - to get people to consume processed edible items that are overloaded with sugars, salts and a variety of toxins (including GMOs) simply for their taste and/or convenience.

We are used to this now, as a species. Many are trapped in a unthinking cycle of buying and consuming foods that don't sprout from nature and are conceived in a factory and dressed with fancy and alluring packaging. It's a modern malaise and has a high cost to the well being of society.

On a parallel track, one less heralded or commented on, is the trajectory of our mental consumption habits. 

There is a huge volume of shrill and sugary distractions being presented to us every day, coming at us from all sides. On the net, TV, radio, magazines, the newspaper... we are bombarded with information and messages - in the form of both news and entertainment - that is the moral equivalent of junk food.

Hard to resist, tasty perhaps for an instant but lacking any substance or value for one's evolution as a sentient being.

It's interesting to look back on your day and what you may have taken in to see how much of it was actually nourishing your soul and how much of it was clogging and clouding your clarity and essence.

Truth is that is imperative that we make an effort to challenge, improve and expand ourselves; intellectually, morally and spiritually. To do this we can only work with what we put in.

Affirmative actions, positive behaviour and healthy interaction with others - any poz interpersonal stuff - is good. So is stuff like meditation, reading books and quiet thinking.

Creative pursuits also rank high. They allow one to get in the zone, touch base with the universal sauce, or source; same diff.

Personally, I get a sweet natural high every day doing my comics and/or writing. It's not always easy but afterwards I feel nourished, a sense of accomplishment. It's my job, I suppose - one with very flexible hours and parameters - plus a decent boss who gives me free reign. 

I'm no saint, though. I squander plenty of time: surfing the net, binge watching my favourite series in the evenings and occasionally leap frogging from one foolish clip to another on You Tube. No one's keeping score. Do what you want. But my advice and the gist of this piece is that it is good to be aware of what is going in to your consciousness. 

Sidestep the avalanche of goo-goo garbage generated by the morally dubious entertainment conglomerates and - like picking fresh herbs from a garden or fruit of a tree - get some wholesome and meaningful content into you and pay attention to your own opinions, insights and intuitions. Consciously develop yourself into someone worth being.

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Evolution Expressed

5/7/2015

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Don't bother to hold on to anything.

Not your things, not your concepts, not your

It's all impermanent. Like everything; forever changing, evolving. And, in fact, it makes sense to surmise that the quicker you evolve the stronger you will be.

So much, so much, holds us back. Mostly things that we ourselves feel we can not let go of. 

I am speculating here, not giving a sermon. I am going with the flow of my own stream of consciousness to see where it leads and, if perhaps, there is something worthwhile at the end of it. 

Writing as discovery. Writing as play.

As a side bar, since we are talking about writing, I borrowed a big fat, squat, chunky book from the library last week called 1,001 Books You Must Read Before You Die. I actually took it out for some sketch ideas for my comics, but as I have been leafing through it, it turns out to be a fascinating compilation and even in a single page synopsis, reveals much about each piece of fiction and it's author. What struck me is how most of the featured writers are visually eccentric, charismatic, striking or mysterious. Writers create worlds that did not previously exist. They bring mini worlds into our world. They offer up places to go and characters to get to know. I have found this book to be immensely inspiring, insightful and motivational. What a noble pursuit. What a gift to humanity, a wonderful legacy a well crafted and enduring work of fiction is. 

Anyway, I have taken a tangent. I was talking about holding on and letting go. I was riffing on the subject. Seeing if I can surprise/educate/liberate myself with some automatic writing.


As you get older, your priorities shift. Your motivations change, your needs morph. You are lying in bed and thinking back on activities a decade or two ago, some still fresh in memory, present in influence on current character/behaviours, and you realise that since those times so much has changed - circumstance, cast, location.... reality! ..... that it may all just be a story. But it was only just yesterday! It happened! I was there! 


Meaningless. It's gone. Life has shifted. Everything is different now. 


You have to catch up with yourself. You cannot linger too long. What about now. Now is going to be the memory of ten years from now. Are you making it worthwhile? Or are you wasting time re-running old clips?


Take stock. Be rigorous. Be ruthless. Don't keep what is no longer of any use. And that includes concepts. In fact, especially concepts. What use are the old ones? This is now, now, now!

Past a certain age there is more and more that cannot compete with the highs of youthful delights. You can't be as wild, you can't fuck as much, you can't ride high on ego and delusion and drugs and induced micro oblivion sessions. You can't run as far or as fast - to things or away from them. You can't delude yourself into believing that you are going to change the world. You can't get caught up, lost, in romantic notions, fantasies of perfect results or days of wasteful, hedonistic indulgence. You just cannot. You have come head on up against one of the undeniable realities of existence - we get older. Then we die.

And at a certain point of getting older, even getting older becomes something precious. You want more of it - as challenging and, in some ways (if you are using the old, un-adjusted ways of thinking) less ostensibly enjoyable (on the surface level) as it is - because well, the next phase is... is.... death. And no matter how diminished it may be or may get, it has to be better than the alternative.

Right? The inevitable alternative.

So, between being young and being old (as in debilitated level old, compromised old) there is a stage of reckoning. 

I was this and that. Now I am. 

A level of acceptance is necessary. One could call it a degree of surrender. A letting go.

All that is left is what is to come.

Let it go. Face forward. Peer up ahead. Not too far. Not the edge of the cliff. What's left of the journey. Do you want to go somewhere in particular? Amble? Rush? Take it as it comes? It doesn't matter. 

But what does matter is what you feel matters to you is treated with respect and reverence. You need to honour your higher self. And you can do that by bolstering your present self with as much dignity, passion, thoughtfulness, care, time and joy as you decide is necessary.

The game is not over. Not by any means. It has just changed completely. Its not that the rules have been rewritten. It's that you need to rewrite them. Gulp. Right?

What did you expect? Easy? Nah, save easy for when you are dead. 

Now is the time to really awaken and embrace all the fucking beautiful and wonderous shit you can.

Be astute, be open, be willing. 

You have been given a second chance. 

Sure, in some ways it's not as loaded up as the first chance, but at least this time you know it's not going to last. So you can make each moment count more.

Ready? 

You were born for this!
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Reading As Transportation

2/7/2015

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For me reading is an integral part of my existence. I find the actual process of reading - rushing across letter, bouncing from word to word, sucking them in with your eyes, letting them swirl around in your brain and amplify into meaningful sentences, paragraphs... concepts. Munching on delicious combinations of adjectives and nouns, inventive, rhythmic phrase clusters that titillate and delight the cerebral neurons like cheeky pixies.

I began really loving reading around the age of ten or eleven - comics were a big part of it, of course, but also magazines like Time and Newsweek and books. The Hardy Boys series was a huge favourite. Those cliffhanger chapter endings! My love for books really kicked into high gear around the age of fourteen when I started reading adult fiction in paperback form. I would buy them second hand from a local second hand bookshop in Tokyo. The shop was filled with Japanese books, of course, but there were about three or four shelves of titles in English. I chose very carefully. To buy a book and not be able to read it, legitimately enjoy it was something I only did once or twice. I hated to think of the title I had missed or excluded that would have perhaps opened a new world. So, I ended up spending one, two hours in the shop sometimes, before deciding on my purchase. As a discipline, and because I wasn't very cashed up, just one at a time. Unless there were two amazing ones, guarenteed reads that I didn't want to miss out on.

It was a thrill to be able to read 'adult' fiction - whatever I wanted from a young age. It helped me mature, formulate my world view, learn things about the world and it's inhabitants. Authors like John Fowles, Alistar Mclean, Woody Allen and on, that guy who wrote The Joy of Sex, all contributed to my development. 

I was known around school for always having at least one, if not two, paperbacks in my blazer side pockets. The commute to and from school was close to an hour - three train lines, two switches - which was two hours a day of extra reading time, thanks very much. There's no question I learnt more from reading books of my own selection than I did from set scholastic studies. It's possible, likely even, that my respect for and love of writing stemmed from my reading passion.

It's a habit that continues today. I always have one book on the go that I will read from cover to cover over a week or two period. Then there are the 'circlers', two or three that I pop in and out of. As well, there are the 'chancers'; ones that deserve a chance - a chapter, 20 pages - if they keep my interested I keep going with them. 

These day fiction writing mostly doesn't cut it for me. I visit the library several times a week - generally gravitating towards the art books, of course, but then the auto biographies. Mountain climbers, creatives, criminals, soldiers, inventors... a good yarn told in the first person - particularly one that is honest and illuminating - is satisfying and often inspiring in some way, insight into the headspace of a person who has done something extraordinary.

So, yeah, to me books are beautiful things. Powerful, mysterious, full of promise - teachers of the best kind; they lay it out there for you to discover for yourself. No pushing. No hard sell. A simple invitation... come along for a few steps... if you are compelled to continue, well, let's take the journey together. At completion you will be a slightly different person. You will have evolved.  
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    ART GETS ME HIGH

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    Author & Artist

    Lewie JPD 
    Blog Mission Statement: 

    "I am taking this opportunity to openly and freely express my simple truth in a relaxed, stream of consciousness manner, without self judgment or editing while transcribing and celebrating the process and practice of being an artist.

    My goal is that I will have some fun recording sentiments and thoughts as they come to me, coupled with my recent imagery. As well; to learn something of value and share something that may inspire/offer insight to other artists, creatives and sentient beings."


    Disclaimer: He's high!
    Er, obviously.

    Pass the paint brush!
    *no drugs required

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