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Howl All U Like

29/11/2015

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It pains me to think about all the books I haven't written. There are so many in there. So much waiting to come out. Intricate plots and characters diverse flow through my mind on a daily basis. I love books! I love reading! Hell, I even love writing! So where are the books? All the books I haven't written?

Will they stay in me until they come out? Or will they fade gradually, disintegrate, dismantle, vanish in a crowd of other things called distractions, called living, called demands of daily existence?

New ones seem to appear quite easily. Ideas, at least. Maybe it's all incubating, just waiting for my burst of rigorous self application, dedicated word production. 

I can live with that. I can believe that, even. Like a spring being pushed down... when the time is right... release! Book one, two, three.... Soaring up and out into the consciousness. All the thoughts and feelings, concepts and scenarios that reside inside me, along side me, abide my lenient, procrastinating ways.

An artist needs time. An artist flourishes with an overflow of non-commitment, excels at leisure, jerks at pressure, winces at expectations, scoffs at demands. Even from self. Leave me alone. If it's going to come out, it's going to come out. 

Who gives a shit about ambition? It's a fucking joke to imagine that you gotta strive for success. Fuck success. What we want, what we need more than anything is authenticity. Is real. More real than ever before - felt, lived, experienced, conceived - and then, at the right time, in the right light, with the right intentions, pure intention - expressed. Like the birth of a new sun. A new universe. 

To be false in any way, to be motivated by anything other than divine inspiration is just chewing time. And chewing time is fine, practicing, partaking in things that humans do; no worries. 

But the real stuff has got to come from the source. And that is not on tap. That is not accessed through will or demand. That is given to the worthy few who have shed enough skins, who have suffered their share, who have practiced and practiced and practiced their craft until they become conduits. Conduits for a higher purpose. And that purpose is enlightenment. The advancement of human consciousness. A worthy pursuit. A rewarding escapade.

So, what of me and my books, I wonder. What of the hundred millions other meez, all thinking and feeling the same thing. Will we find salvation? Will we finally pen our personal, poignant, powerful tomes, the ones that reside inside us?

It does not really matter. Because if we don't, another will. Then when we stumble upon their works we can smile and sit back in comfort and glee, content with a reflection of our own inner voices that while not a splitting image, is damn close enough. Yeah, we can all relax, you see. Whatever needs to be will be.
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how obvious the influence

28/11/2015

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People sometimes comment about how busy my paintings are. I was scrolling through fb today and I saw a photo by my Japanese friend, Naoki. It's a recent shot of a street scene from Shinjuku.

This afternoon I went for a swim at Crowdy Head beach, a stop-off on my drive home to Mullumbimby from Sydney. There were five people on the beach. The rest was all sea and sky. There were no straight lines, no graphics, no complex dynamics, no visual assault on the senses. It was serenity. Nature.

Tokyo on the other hand - the place I grew up - is the opposite. It is a never ending series of visual explosions. I loved being there - riding my motorbike through the labyrinth of controlled madness, shuffling through the side streets on my way from one game centre to another... it was a wild ride. One that lasted 14 years. 

One of the legacies of my childhood is what comes out in my paintings. I don't try to complicate them. In fact, they are in a way a simplification, a toning down of what is going on in my mind's eye. When I saw Naoki's photo, especially after having spent time at a deserted beach a few hours earlier, it really hit home as to the origins of my painting style. Zany characters, boisterous colours, rich black calligraphic lines; I'm a true blue Aussie in spirit, but my landscape inspiration is clearly all urban Japan.

NB. If you want to see more of Naoki's incredible shots go to Categories in the side bar and click on Shibuya. There's a link there. 
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Steve Smith

25/11/2015

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Steve Smith is a Bondi legend. We've known each other from around North Bondi since the early 90's. You'll always see him painting a wall or a sign outside whatever new joint has popped up in the area. We worked out yesterday during a chat that he's probably responsible for about 25% of the painted signage in the much loved beach suburb over the last three decades.

I bought one of his paintings from the Mori Gallery in Sydney back in the 90's and it's one of a very few I have ever purchased. Usually I'll do a swap but in Steve's case I didn't feel that suggestion to be appropriate (although he possibly would have said yes), plus I happened to have the spare cash at that time (a rare thing for an artist). It was a good investment anyway, having tripled in value. 

In a word, Steve's art is trippy. It is populated with eccentric characters in eerie, post apocalyptic, dreamy, carnival scenarios. There's a mixture of dark humour, social commentary, playful provocation and wild fantasy. His style is detailed and accomplished, a kind of realism in a stylised comic book form. 

His output is prodigious and his work ethic is strong, matched by his natural talent, great colour sense and steady hand. His large pencil drawings are also extremely impressive.

As an artist, a decade or so my elder, I have always admired his dedication and devotion to his talent. He'll come home from a long day sign writing or painting on a film set and get straight into a session of painting or drawing of one of his own new works.

His personality is vivacious and gritty. He's been around the block more times than most and he'll be the first to admit that the fact that he's still around is a near miracle. For myself and many other of his friends and followers from around Bondi and beyond, it is always an enriching pleasure to bump into him (on his pushy, usually, or up a ladder) and share a few moments with a man of great character and experience, rough around the edges and not afraid to speak his mind, but with a heart of gold.

(Click on the image to see some more of his works.)
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sometimes it gets you

22/11/2015

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It's all too hard to explain
I am a person and suffering is the name
Of the game, boy, the game
 
Whether it's with the crowd
In silence
Or noisy head solo
Again and again
 
It's all the same
 
There is no escaping
The anguish, the anger
The fear and
The pain
 
You wouldn't want to hear it
Cause it would scar you
Scare you
Leave you
In chains
 
Just as I am
​
Take me
Or leave me
Don't leave me
Again
Please
Don't ask me to tell you
It's all too hard to explain
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slave and master, both

18/11/2015

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I was just doing ordinary things yesterday when around 5:30 in the afternoon, as I was walking up a regular street, I got a burst of a feeling of how extraordinary ordinary life is. 

These feelings are most poignant when they come out of nowhere, hit you by surprise. It's a bit like you are coming awake in a dream and realising it's not a dream but real.

Nothing happened, per say, I just suddenly realised how miraculous it is to be present on this planet and participating amongst my fellow humans, many of whom were walking by me, each with their own dispositions and outlooks (often readable from their faces, their walks), in this amazingly complex and impossible to truly comprehend matrix we call reality.

Everyone was going somewhere. We're a busy species. Everyone, from what I could read on their faces (assume), was thinking about things in their life. I could suddenly see and feel all the mix of emotions and thoughts streaming around me. Life - the whole thing - is so immense that we tiny little humans with our personal stories and agendas are essentially insignificant. Our stress and worries certainly are. And yet, at times, they consume us. We get caught up. Everything we think is important we truly believe to be important. But it's not. It's all transient. Life is actually just a cosmic ride. 

It would help us all to shift our perspectives. Easier suggested than adopted, of course. But, really, really, we are shackled. We are victims of our own minds.

How to self liberate? Step one: know it is possible - and desirable. Two: try. Take yourself out of yourself and just observe. Remove attachment. Surrender. Be in the moment.

It all becomes a string of cliches - and this is a pity because the substance and power behind those words is key. It really is the way to begin to unleash your own truth and find a wider, more soulful understanding of what it is we are doing here.

I'm no guru. I'm down in the trenches with the rest of us. In it's own way it's comforting, familiar. But in another way, it is sad and wasteful - of our true potential. We are magnificent beings, much more than we realise. It is a dream we are living. And we can wake up into it. 

When you get a moment, as in 'get' a moment - hold onto the feeling of what can be. Find the hunger for it, for expansion of consciousness, for a taste of enlightenment. It's what we are here for, as a collective, all in it together. We're each distracted by our solitary stories and only rarely break free to see the grand beauty of the big picture. But it is there, it is there. Right now. Right here. Reach, reach!
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Two Stars

10/11/2015

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Picture

He's on a creative kick
Look out!
There's no stopping him
In the flow
On the bus
Down the town
Round and round
This is it
The real shit
The rebel's holler
The perfect fit

He's been inspired
It's plain to see
Clear as day
Green as pea
He's riding high
Not selling drugs
But better stuff
Thought for thugs!

Cause he's a common man
After all
He's been through plenty
As dreamers do
He's everyman
And no one knows
Just what comes next
So why suppose

It's ecstasy to walk the line
To remain unspoilt
And undefined
To walk the edge
So fine, so sharp
To explore the mind
And follow the heart

One chance in a million
Is just enough
And all he needs
To forget that stuff
That came before 
And blew away
His hope, his home
His favourite scarf

To be wrapped again
As life presents
A pretty parcel 
In the present tense
Natural delight and cosmic wonder
Reignite the passion
Rip despair asunder

He read today
Of a scientific discovery
About two stars kissing
Wait, don't wait
Could it really be?
Is the universe
Even greater
Than imagination that can make our
Worlds quake?
Are
We more than the sum
Of our hearts, lovemakers?

All the best poems
Like the start of the greatest love affairs
End in a question
Asked twice
Don't they?
​Don't they?
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Like Being Seen 4the 1st Time

9/11/2015

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It's like a canvas blank
Gotta start somewhere
Always starting over
Know the routine by now
Now is all you've got
Be in the moment
Of your own surprise
Dress it up
But don't disguise
The truth 

It's a blank page
Staring at you
Baby eyes
Unborn even
The yet to be 
The unknown quantity
But soon enough
Identity
Personality
Individuality 
All adapting to reality

It's like an empty room
Till you step in 
I was here by myself
For a long, long time
I didn't know you
Until I met you
Quite by chance
We were playing the same game
Speaking the same language
Feeling, you know
Heard, understood, wanted

It's not like anything else
When you find it
Finally
It's what you've dreamt of
But better
Not it a box
Beyond words or pictures
Even just the hint of it
Like we got now
Makes you giddy
Just to know you like me like I like you
And I like you like you like me

​Like being seen 4the 1st time again
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    ART GETS ME HIGH

    Picture

    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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