Lewie JPD
facebook / email
  • Home
  • Love Letters To Japan
  • New Works
  • Exhibitions
  • Music
  • Blog
  • Murals
  • Manga! Pop! Paintings
  • Shirty Shirts
  • Press
  • Short Movies
    • Skull Guru
  • Mind's I comics
  • About Lewie JPD
  • Coaching & Mentoring
  • FAQ
  • Contact

An Artistic Machine

6/2/2016

0 Comments

 
Picture
​     I'm now an artistic machine. A very human one, indeed, but a machine in the sense that my artistic involvement with life, absorption and output is constant, synchronised, automatic.

I paint and write every day. I think about projects, current and future, the much of rest of the time. Even when I am not physically producing, I am inputting and assessing things from a creator's standpoint. I notice what I am noticing. I store thoughts, ideas, observations for future integration.

When I use the word machine, I do not intend to de-humanise my process in any way. If anything, I am even more organic, fallible, sentient in my approach than before. It's primarily the output to which I allude and the churning nature of my inner mechanics. Over time they have been constantly updated and fine tuned to my circumstances and environment. They have been put through a steady stream of rigorous tests, physical, moral, emotional and metaphysical. They have been pushed close to the point destruction numerous times and because of it, through adapting, have become stronger, more streamlined, with more clarity.

I have stubbornly surrendered my bold and reckless feelings of immortality and replaced them with new sentiments of acceptance of limitations - temporal and physical, gratitude and 'make the best of what you've got to work with' attitude. As do all, eventually, I have had to face some hard, hard lessons, my knees have been buckled, my belly has been sucker punched, I've had the air knocked out of me. I've been on my knees, begging, flat on my back, bleeding and in the wilderness, stumbling, utterly lost and distraught. 

And yet, here I am, still. My resolve has hardened, my outlook has broadened and in-look has substantially deepened. None of this I asked for. It was thrust upon me. Life! Life! I've got one. It is messy, ragged, precarious and precious. Fewer things now are taken for granted. Essentials: like my teeth, my eyes, my hearing, my digestion, my mobility and my consciousness. All of these things have been put in jeapordy over the last half a dozen years. 

When I look in the mirror now, I cannot fool myself. The open eyed and open minded young man who for so long commanded the helm is no longer present. He has been replaced with a more hardened facade. One that is wrinkled, sand blasted, worn. Youthful zest has been replaced by weathered knowingness, the slightly weary and wary gaze of a survivor.

Of course, none of this is unique to myself. I know that. It's a rite of passage. What I am doing, is expressing the process and outcomes in my own away. I am recording my experience of this stage of life passage. Sharing it. The reason for putting it in words is two fold. One: it's an interesting challenge for me, one that helps bring form and clarity to it all, adds to my insight, fractionally lessens the burden. Two: for eventual readers of these words and thoughts there will be, for those who have been through or currently going through similar, a comforting and perhaps fortifying assurance. We're all the same, we're all one - that vibe. And for those who are younger, yet to reach this point, these messages can serve as a harbinger, a map, a parable that may serve as a guide, a foretelling. 

Cause this whole fucking experience goes way beyond what you can imagine. Each of us is tested not only to our limits but beyond our limits. Who knew? Who signed up for this? We all did, apparently. And then what? Mission completed, we vacate. Game over. We return to the vastness.

But in that gap, in that time between eating dirt and turning to dust, during the few years or decades left, in which I currently reside we are treated to a fierce new flavour. My mouth is full of it right now. My head is, too. It possesses me, in fact. It informs my decisions and choices, artistic and otherwise. It's a whole new stage. There is no manual, per say. You've got to pick and forage for your plans and strategies of your own. But as long as the passion has not died, as long as there  are a few more "fuck you"s to mutter, a few more dreams and aspirations to not give up on, a few close and meaningful individuals to care for and about, as long as there is breath, there is hope, there is reason to carry on, to continue to grow, build, make and materialise. 

You learn that as long as it's not one of those times when you've got no choice - then you've got choices. And you know now, you've learnt; choose wisely. Or recklessly. As you see fit. It's your life trickling through your fingers... make the best of what you've got left. 
0 Comments

The Story of Sid

23/1/2016

0 Comments

 
Picture
Isn't it great when life surprises us, teaches us something about ourselves, about life itself, about others, humanity in general in a way that impacts us so strongly that we never forget it...

It is humbling and also uplifting. It smashes, or maybe melts away, disintegrates an existing, limiting world view and gives birth to a new one that is much more appropriate, informed, useful.

 For some reason, I just remembered one that I got while I was at art school in Sydney in the early eighties. 

One of the reasons that art school was great was that there were a lot of freaks and weirdos in attendance. Not in an extreme way (mostly) but everyone certainly had a quirkiness to them. The other really cool thing is that, at least in those days, at that school, it was all about doing stuff, making stuff, creating. So you got to know people through their work. We showed each other who we are through our expressions. Thinking about it now, it's a pretty damn awesome way of doing things. And the goal, the goal is not to be the best, the coolest or the most whatever... the goal is to be true to yourself. To cut through shit and put soul into it. Nobody was trying to outdo anyone else. There was heaps of support and encouragement but not too cheery or overt, certainly not put-on or motivated by anything artificial. Everyone was pretty chilled, just being themselves and through a natural order of things, things fell into place. 

Society these days is not like this enough. Too many are motivated by money, fame, attention, status. But really, all that is phooey!

Yes, you heard me. Phooey!

I have never used that word before and I like it. I like to believe that I have always wanted to and was just waiting for the right moment to present itself. And it has. Just now.

What really rocks, what actually is of substance, of lasting meaning, or enduring value is more real stuff, baby. Stuff like .... relationships, showing care, connecting, having adventures big and small, love, kindness.... you hear me, I know you do. All that stuff. It used to predominate, but it is being sounded out by the roar of media bullshit.

Of course, we don't really believe it, not fully, all that crap, but it's a pity to have so much INTERFERENCE happening, so much glitzy, shimmering, desire and craving creating CRAP bombarding us from all angles. It is distracting. And rather time wasting. Paper thin, though. Without substance.

Anyway... back in the day... (let the old codger speak)... I was lucky enough to spend three years in an institution that was fully into the dynamic and glorious pursuit of ART in all it's wonderful forms.... from printmaking to sculpture, to line drawing to B&W film photography, to painting and a little bit of art history. The people, mostly kids just like me in their late teens and early twenties, were the best part of it all. The teachers, too, back in those days, were all practicing, exhibiting artists. They didn't just talk the talk - in fact, some hardly spoke much at all - they lead by example. 

And, of course, we all learnt, grew, from watching and sharing classes and creations with each other.

So, there was this one guy called Sid. He was a little older. Maybe early thirties. He was a blue collar worker. Used to be a bricky. He was real Aussie; down to earth, kept it simple, straight forward. He was a gentle man and even seemed a bit simple at times. Although, he wasn't. He was lucid and passionate and devoted to art. He left behind his job and took a big chance by coming to art school. Even amongst a collection of not-fitter-inners, he didn't quite fit in. He was a nice guy, though, and was treated with respect but some of his early art attempts were.... I don't know... you know... I guess kind of immature and under-formed. So once in a while there were a few snickers. He didn't seem to be cut out for it. And yet, there he was plugging away. Enjoying himself.

He and I got on pretty well. We are both the type to get along with most anyway. But it was more of a mutual respect thing than a friendship. 

I have got to admit that I never expected that Sid's pursuit, as devoted and dedicated and invested as it was, would lead anywhere. He seemed to be missing a few of the essentials, some connectors. He was a bricklayer, after all. I did admire his guts to chuck that in and give the art a go, though. 

Year one ends and we each choose a major for second year. Sid chose painting. I chose photography. For some reason, in those days, though, photography was only two years, whereas painting was three. I hadn't properly realised this, so just before the end of year two, I put foward my case to the head of school and the painting group leader, that I switch over to painting and go into year three, effectively doing a double major. No one had ever tried it before, and I was very keen and the dudes were pretty mellow and not that interested in sticking to rules, so they said OK. I was elated, of course. Year three you get your own studio space, a few square meters each, in this big old building. There was hardly any instruction. We all just did our own practice. We painted. All day, every day, for a year. And it was awesome. The rest of the gang accepted me immediately, knew me from year one, and were happy to have some fresh flavour. I loved that year. We were young artists! It felt beautiful!

Anyway, here's the thing... Sid couldn't do year three, for some reason. A medical thing with his new wife or something. But he did complete year two in painting. 

At the end of year two there was a showing. Everyone got to chuck their works up for exhibition. All the buildings were bursting with fresh, zestful works. I recall walking through it all and being surprised, delighted and inspired. More specifically, I recall walking round a corner and seeing three large paintings on canvas. They were abstract. Big block shapes, rectangular. Textured, multicoloured pieces. I was impressed. They were truly magnificent paintings. Surely, these weren't done by a student! There was a confidence to them, a sure handedness, that extra special something that makes some artworks transformational, elevated. I was transfixed by them. As were many others. After a prolonged staring session, I moved in closer to little tag to the side. The name was familiar. It was him: Sid. 

He had broken through! He had found his way. He made it work. He expressed his true self with paint. They were giant bricks!! OMG. I will never forget it. It was close to a miracle. Who would have thought he had it in him. A true artist. Sid. Good on ya, Sid. Wherever you are. You inspired me, mate. Awesome. You broke through. Bravo!


0 Comments

Howl All U Like

29/11/2015

0 Comments

 
Picture
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.
0 Comments

    RSS Feed

    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

    Instagram

    Archives

    September 2019
    July 2019
    June 2019
    May 2019
    April 2019
    January 2019
    December 2018
    November 2018
    October 2018
    September 2018
    August 2018
    July 2018
    June 2018
    May 2018
    April 2018
    March 2018
    February 2018
    January 2018
    December 2017
    November 2017
    October 2017
    September 2017
    August 2017
    July 2017
    June 2017
    May 2017
    April 2017
    March 2017
    February 2017
    January 2017
    December 2016
    November 2016
    October 2016
    September 2016
    August 2016
    July 2016
    June 2016
    May 2016
    April 2016
    March 2016
    February 2016
    January 2016
    December 2015
    November 2015
    October 2015
    September 2015
    August 2015
    July 2015
    June 2015
    May 2015
    April 2015
    March 2015
    February 2015
    January 2015
    December 2014
    November 2014
    October 2014
    September 2014
    August 2014
    July 2014
    June 2014
    May 2014
    April 2014
    March 2014
    February 2014
    January 2014
    December 2013
    November 2013
    October 2013
    September 2013
    August 2013
    July 2013
    June 2013
    May 2013
    April 2013
    March 2013
    February 2013

    Categories

    All
    000 Images
    12
    1961
    60's
    70's
    Abbey Road
    Abstract
    Acceptance
    Adaptation
    Addiction
    Adventure
    Advice
    Age
    Air Con
    Airport
    Album Cover
    Aliens
    Alone
    Amazing
    Ambition
    Amy Schumer
    Animation
    Anorexia Nervosa
    Anxiety
    Anyone
    Applause
    Arai Ken
    Archery
    Art
    Artist
    Artists
    Art School
    Assistant
    Attitude
    Audience
    Auditions
    Aussie
    Autobiographies
    Automatic Writing
    Awareness
    Babysitters
    Balance
    Bars
    Bay City Rollers
    Beach
    Beauty
    Bed
    Being Human
    Believe
    Belongil
    Betrayal
    Beyond
    Bigger Picture
    Billy Joel
    Bingo Pinball
    Birdman Of Alcatraz
    Birthday
    Black & White
    Blah
    Bliss
    Blog
    Bluebird
    Bluster
    Bondi
    Boogie Wonderland
    Books
    Book Shops
    Bosozoku
    Bruce Springsteen
    Buddhism
    Bullshit
    Bullying
    Bush School
    Byron Bay
    Cafe
    Cafes
    Canvas
    Caravan
    Castaneda
    Cat Stevens
    Caveman
    CD
    Celebrity
    Chainsaw
    Challenge
    Challenges
    Chance
    Change
    Chanting
    Chaos
    Cheese
    Chemistry
    Childhood
    Chill Out
    Chirp
    Chocolate
    Choices
    Coffee
    Coincidence
    Collage
    Collecting
    Comedy
    Comfort
    Comics
    Commercial
    Communication
    Compassion
    Computer Games
    Concepts
    Conflict
    Connection
    Conrad Mecheski
    Consciousness
    Contemplation
    Cosmic
    Counselling
    Country Life
    Cows
    Crazy Guy
    Creation
    Creativity
    Cronuts
    Cupboard
    Curiousity
    Daily
    Dali
    Dance
    Dancing
    Danger
    Dark
    Darkroom
    Dating Site
    Dave Eggers
    Day
    Death
    Denise Linn
    Depression
    Depth
    Despair
    Destiny
    Devotion
    Diet
    Disco
    Discovery
    Divine
    Divorce
    Dogs
    Drama
    Drawings
    Dreaming
    Dreams
    Drinking
    Driving
    Ducks
    Echoes
    Effort
    Ego
    Elvis
    Emotion
    Encouragement
    Enlightenment
    Epiphany
    Escape
    Esoteric
    Evolution
    Exhibition
    Existence
    Experiences
    Expression
    Facebook
    Faces
    Failure
    Faith
    Family
    Fantasy
    Fat
    Fate
    Father
    Fear
    Feelings
    Film
    Fish
    Flow
    Focus
    Foraging
    Freedom
    Freelance
    Free Spirit
    Free Time
    Friends
    Fulfilment
    Fun
    Funny
    Future
    Gaia
    Galleries
    Gallery
    Game Centres
    Garage
    Garageband
    Garfunkel
    Geisha
    Ghandi
    Gilligan's Island
    Girlfriends
    Girls
    Giving
    Globesity Festival
    Glorious
    Gnocchi
    Goals
    Gods Of Play
    Google
    Grandfather
    Gratitude
    Greatness
    Groupies
    Growth
    Guru
    Gypsy
    Haiku
    Hallucinations
    Hand Colouring
    Happiness
    Hashish
    Headspace
    Highschool
    Hip Hop
    Hippies
    Hipster
    Hiroo
    Hokusai
    Homage
    Honesty
    Hope
    Hotel
    Hoyts
    Humanity
    Humility
    Humour
    Hysteria
    I Am
    Ideas
    Identity
    Idle
    Illusion
    Illustration
    Illustrators
    Images
    Imagination
    Improvisation
    Inner Voice
    Input
    Insight
    Insignificance
    Inspiration
    Internet
    Interview
    Introspection
    Intuition
    IPad
    Irony
    Isaac Asimov
    Island
    James Joyce
    James Salter
    Japan
    Japanese Girls
    Jarrah
    Jazz
    Joan Didion
    John Lyndon
    Joking
    Journal
    Journey
    Judgement
    Jump
    Junk Food
    Kids
    Kings Cross
    Koalas
    Kombi
    Kookaburra
    LA
    Larry David
    Laugh
    Laughter
    Launch
    Lazy
    Learning
    Leisure
    Lessons
    Letter
    Lfie
    Liberation
    Library
    Life
    Limitations
    List
    Listening
    Looking
    Love
    Lovers
    Lsd
    Lucky
    Lust
    Lyrics
    Magazine House
    Magda Szubanski
    Magic
    Maine
    Marriage
    Marshmallow
    Martini
    Master
    Me
    Meaning
    Meat
    Meditation
    Melancholy
    Mellow
    Memoirs
    Memories
    Mental Health
    Mentors
    Metaphysical
    Michael Miner
    Michael W. Clunes
    Middle Bar
    Mind
    Money
    Monkey
    Monks
    Monsters
    Mortality
    Motorbikes
    Movies
    Mud
    Mullumbimby
    Music
    Music Video
    My Room
    Mystery
    Naive
    National Art School
    National Lampoon
    Nature
    New York
    New Zealand
    Nobody
    Nothing
    Now
    NYC
    Obsession
    Ocean
    Olympics
    Once Upon A Deadline
    One Day
    Opportunity
    Osho
    Out-of-body
    Outsider
    Painting
    Paperbacks
    Parents
    Paris
    Parking Lot
    Passion
    Past
    Patches
    Paul Simon
    Pavlova
    Peace
    Pee
    People
    Perception
    Philosophy
    Phooey!
    Photography
    Physics
    Pieces
    Pigs
    Pizza
    Place
    Play
    Playboy
    Poem
    Poems
    Poetry
    Poker
    Pop Art
    Popeye Magazine
    Portfolio
    Portraits
    Positive
    Possibility
    Potential
    Poverty
    Povo
    Practice
    Preacher
    Precious
    Pretty
    Pretty Good
    Process
    Processing
    Procrastination
    Production
    Profound
    Psyche
    Psychology
    PTSD
    Publish
    Pud
    Pure
    Purpose
    Pussy
    Puzzle
    Questions
    Quotes
    Radio Show
    Raffle-tickets
    Ramble
    Raymond Carver
    Reading
    Realisation
    Reality
    Rebirth
    Reflection
    Relationships
    Resolution
    Respect
    Retreat
    Revelation
    Reward
    Rhythm
    Richard Walters
    Rite Of Passage
    Roller Skating
    Romance
    Ronda Rousey
    Roppongi
    Running
    Sadness
    SAE
    Sake
    Salad
    Salvation
    Samsung Note
    Sanctuary
    Saturday Night Fever
    Scar
    School
    Screenplay
    Screenwriting
    Scripts
    Search
    Searching
    Security
    Seduction
    Self
    Selfie
    Self Respect
    Seminar
    Senses
    Sentience
    Serendipity
    Serenity
    Sex
    Shaman
    Sharing
    Shibuya
    Shift
    Shinjuku
    Short Stories
    Sick
    Sid
    Simplicity
    Simulation
    Singing
    Sit
    Sitting
    Skulls
    Sky
    Slap
    Sleep
    Slobbering
    Snacks
    Snowman
    Society
    Sociey
    Socks
    Solo
    Something
    Somewhere
    Song
    Soul
    Soundcloud
    Space Invaders
    Speeches
    Speed
    SPen
    Spidey Sense
    Spirit
    Spiritual Bricks
    Spirituality
    Spooky
    Sports Jacket
    Stages
    Stalin
    Steiner
    Steve Smith
    St Mary's
    Story
    Stress
    Struggle
    Studio
    Success
    Suffering
    Surrealsim
    Surrender
    Survival
    Swallow
    Swamp
    Swim
    Tears
    Technique
    Technology
    Teen Years
    The Factory
    The International
    The Joy Of Sex
    The Magician's Way
    Theo
    Therapy
    The Voice
    The Void
    Thinking
    Thoughts
    Time
    Tingly Feeling
    Together
    Toilet
    Tokyo
    Tom Robbins
    Too-much-ness
    Toys
    Transcendence
    Travel
    Tricks
    Tripping
    Trouble
    Truman Capote
    Trust
    Truth
    Trutth
    Turtle
    TV
    TV CM
    Twins
    Typing
    UCLA
    UFC
    Uncomfortable
    Uni
    Unique
    Universe
    University
    Upswing
    Usher
    Valour
    Value
    Vegetarian
    Vego
    Vessels
    Viewer
    Vikings
    Virginity
    Vogue
    Vulnerability
    Waitresses
    Walk
    Walrus
    Warrior
    Wealth
    Weird
    Whim
    Whisper
    Will.i.am
    Wings
    Winning
    Wisdom
    Woman
    Women
    Wonder
    Wonderful
    Wonder-world
    Woodblock Prints
    Woody Allen
    Words
    World
    Writer
    Writers
    Writing
    Yakuza
    Yeats
    Yeti
    Yoga
    You
    Youth
    Zany
    Zen
    Zines

    RSS Feed