I watched a funny little movie called Eddie the Eagle the other night about a kid who dreamt of being in the Olympics and would just not give up. He was rather fearless, bumbling and extremely tenacious - which is, I suppose - a pretty good recipe for making your dreams come true. Not the only one, of course, there are numerous variations such as quite detached, amazingly focused and very lucky. Or somewhat ambitious, overwhelmingly passionate and knows the right people. (Note to self: continue to concoct these combos at a later date instead of eating custard and watching Masterchef.) (Note to self 2: change 'instead of' to 'after'.)

The film quotes Baron de Coubertin’s foundational ethos for his modern Olympics: “The important thing in the Olympic Games is not to win, but to take part; the important thing in life is not triumph, but the struggle.” And, I guess, in many ways I have to agree with the Baron. The struggle is where the fun is. I mean winning is great - and I especially love doing it at poker, for example - but what it is really about is playing the game - and giving it your best shot. There are always elements that you cannot control - ones that will sometimes determine final outcomes. All you can do is turn up and try.

I've had more than a few big projects that I spent many hours and much effort on that lead to nowhere. At the time, when something fails to meet your expectations, it can be rather glum. But after time, in retrospect, it's like; 'fuckit, I learnt a lot and enjoyed the process, nothing I could have done, really, to avoid that.' Shrug and carry on.

A few of my blazing 'failures' spring to mind immediately. They are not hard to forget because each involved at least a year's work - and amounted to essentially nothing - sometimes less than 'no gain'... substantial loss.

In the early nineties I was involved in a TV show pilot for Japan called 'Coo-ee Australia.' It was a zesty, inventive travelogue style show (in Japanese) that presented a number of engaging and interesting events and activities from around Australia. Stuff like - the first big dance parties (RAT parties) held in Sydney, 'Mud Bash' racing in the outback, surfing safaris and interviews with young Aussie creatives. I was the host (which was a lot of fun) but also became equally involved with the producing, directing and editing with the other two partners (who became great mates) Rob Mac and Neil Sloane. We spent close to a year getting the whole thing together - doing deals for free equipment and use of editing facilities along the way on the strength of the show's potential. It was good enough that we had a big launch and press conference before heading off to Tokyo with the finished project in hand to try and land a deal with the Japanese networks. In retrospect, there were two main problems. One: we were creatives and not businessmen. The showings in Tokyo went well and we were buoyed by the response - but locking in a deal was beyond us. I was the only one who spoke Japanese but they had just watched me being goofy and wild on video. We should have had a Japanese business manager/partner. Also, the style of the show was just slightly ahead of it's time - by about two years. It was a little too colourful and loose for it's time. Eventually, the format we used became mainstream - but not at that time. It was too much of a leap of faith for the execs.

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Later, mid-nineties - I had a big solo show at a new gallery in Bondi, just off hall street. The owner was a Canadian guy I had known from around Bondi for many years and when he invited me to show, I was thrilled. I had a year's work ready to go, made up of twenty four or so large and medium canvases. I was working out my studio in Brighton Blvd (next to the old Brown Sugar) and it was my best work to date. Hanging went well, leading up to the opening night. The only problem was that I met his brother - and business partner - and got a bad vibe from the guy. He just felt wrong. My lovely girlfriend at the time, over coffee, also got a precautionary feeling and suggested I not have a show there. But what could go wrong?, I thought. It doesn't matter. I'll have my show, sell some works, get paid my share (70%) and get out. 

The opening night was a success and great fun. Six or seven pieces sold. And over the next few weeks a couple more. The work was taken down while I was away on a shoot somewhere to make room for the next show. I apologised for not being there (it hadn't been a set date), but the owner assured me it was no problem and they would store the works out the back, ready for me to pick up on my return. 

Then I got the call.

There had been a fire. Almost all my paintings had been damaged or destroyed. They were sorry. It was a big accident. But, no fear. They had full insurance.

It was pretty depressing, going to collect the remnants. What was left was charred and soggy. Not a single piece was salvaged. Apparently they had been stored near the kitchen up the back and somehow...

Anyway, the whole affair with the insurance dragged on for months and months. Visits, letters, phone calls. They were saying that the insurance company was stalling. After a while, something seemed very wrong. I went there to confront them. Turned out they had got the money (of which 70% was mine) - and spent it all! There was almost a punch up. The lies and the cover up had been piling up for months. The dirty weasels offered to pay me back some paltry weekly amount until I got back what I was owed - close to 20K. It was outrageous and insulting. They said they were bankrupt. I was gobsmacked. Before long, the gallery disappeared, as did they. I never saw a cent.

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In 2001, I published my first book, a collection of humourous writings, poems, haiku and short stories called 'All I've Ever Wanted Is What I Know I Can Never Have'. I was very happy with it and it sold quite well. So, pretty much straight away, I commenced work on the next one, tentatively called Karma-Rama. I moved up from Bondi to live in Byron and worked on it every day for a year and a half. Eventually, I was happy with the finished project; 250 pages - ready to go - input into Quark - print ready. The only problem was I didn't have the funds at the time to do a print run. So, I waited. Six months later my Mac (one of those colourful bulging ones) died. I lost everything. No back up. Oops.

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Cut to six years later. I was doing my radio show at Bay FM, 99.9 in Byron Bay. We were broadcasting out of what was basically a shed, by the side of the railway tracks on Butler Street. There was a wonderful camaraderie there, amongst the broadcasters, DJs and volunteers. I loved it. Hearing that the station would soon be moving to a much more modern and luxurious location in the new Community Centre, I decided to capture the new and the old, the transition and the amazing spirit of the place. Somewhere along the line, I met a cool dude from Austria, who had just graduated from SAE, as a director/producer. He and a partner had a small, local production company with all the equipment. I proposed my idea to him and we agreed that for 40% share of the project he would give me full access to the filming equip, plus the editing facility and a cameraman and editor (same guy) for the duration of the project. We shook hands.

We filmed a few days a week for about 6 months. Then we began editing - with more shoot days in between. Eight months into the project, the Austrian guy had to return home to Europe. While he was gone, the other partner turned up at the editing space and checked out what we were doing. He was very impressed and positive, liked what we were doing. Three months later (of shooting and editing four days a week) we had a rough cut. It was to be called Bliss Jockeys. Through a contact in Sydney, I arranged a copy to be sent to SBS. They said it showed promise and expressed initial interest. Around this time, the other partner, a South American guy, showed up and said he wanted to have a meeting. No probs.

He said that he wasn't happy with the 40% and felt that his company should be getting 50%. I wasn't thrilled with this ( a deal is a deal) but after contemplation, agreed that as long as the cameraman/editor (who was working for just a tiny retainer and had been wonderful to work with) got 25%, that I would be OK with it. All good. A few weeks later, the South American guy came back and said that he wanted 60% total. Oh, and also, that he wanted his name - not just in the credits but as top billing - as in 'A film by ....' (him!)

WTF. Right? He had had no involvement in the project whatsoever. He was working on things of his own - but nothing of any merit. Once he sniffed the possibility of being broadcast and some money (probably only a modest amount) - he became bossy, demanding and controlling. He said with the Austrian overseas, it was all up to him. 

We could not come to an agreement. I suggested we call in an outside mediator. There was a big serious meeting. I just wanted to keep moving, so I finally agreed to accepting 40%. But I would not accept this guy getting top billing. It did not feel right. Tension. Finally, OK, OK, he said. End of meeting. 

The next Monday, I got a call from the editor. The guy had come into the editing suite, removed all the equipment and taken all the tapes back to his place in Coffs Harbour. Weeks were wasted trying to get it all back. No go. It was one of the rare times I have actually considered going to find someone and causing them physical discomfort with direct connection between my fists and their face. The man was a lowly, dishonourable pig.

End of project. One year: wasted.

Eventually, I discovered by chance, all the Byron Bay based, non specific footage (aerial shots, underwater shots, shots of a mermaid, surfer shots, scenery shots, etc - that we had compiled and creatively composited) on this guy's You Tube page - claiming it all as his own. He got lots of hits and nice comments. Luckily for him, I never saw him again.

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So, back to Eddie and the original Baron quote. In these cases, at least - plenty of struggle, very little triumph. 

What do I take from it all? Am I still angry? Nah. I just kept going. What can you do? I wasn't going to waste time with the judicial system. It would have only made things worse. I felt a simmering rage at the injustice for a few weeks/months after the gallery/video projects but then just dropped it and moved on. I am lucky; I always have a new creative project to focus on. And it's what I love to do. Make stuff. Make shit up. I love the process. Sure, a rewarding outcome is desirable (and has been gifted many time), but in the end, I wouldn't swap the joy of making, being creative for all the money in the world. 

r​I was lying on my bed just now, awake and mellow, mind drifting from thing to thing after a half hour early evening, post-dinner, pre-slumber nap (a rare but occasional indulgence) when my mind traversed back to a time around the year 2K when I briefly dated a twin. I cannot remember her name but she was petite, fit, blonde, somewhat chirpy, somewhat ordinary and just as complex and undefinable as all of us. (Covered my bases with that description!) I met her at the Middle Bar in Sydney during a time when it was customary for me to go out to bars and clubs regularly and seek out exciting and engaging encounters with women. I was around forty, single, I had my own (rented) pad in Bondi, a steady, disposable (evidently) income and a new found passion for the nightlife. It was a good time in Sydney to be doing this with some great clubs and bars around Kings Cross and Oxford Street.
 
On this particular night, I had already spent a few hours at my favourite, super-classy, lush, delightful bar called The International. It was always my starting point. I would get there at about 9pm, dressed in all black - slacks, shirt, jacket and (cowboy or motorcycle) boots. I would wear interesting necklaces (purchased from market jewellers in Sydney and overseas), a thick leather wrist band, chunky rings (including a gold one that used to belong to my grandfather). I had long hair and a goatee. I wore a single rose gold encrusted diamond (were they real?) in each ear. Before going out I would have a shower, spray or  dab on one or two eau de colognes (Burberry, CK, Acqua di Gio, Hugo Boss... I had twenty or more mini bottles lined up to choose from), blow dry my hair, slick it back a little with coconut oil, and sometimes dab some glitter gel on my temples. For a while there I even took to applying temporary tattoos on either side of my face - simple line motifs a la Mike Tyson. I was not a wall flower, let's put it that way. For me it was theatre. I was playing a role. Romeo, the pirate, the seducer, the poet, the lothario, the lover. Dressing up like this was part of my confidence and my bravado - an identity I could assume; one that made things clear to the women I met: I was available. Fantasies fulfilled - apply here. A sense of danger - but safe. Street - but articulate. Mysterious - but accessible. A dark loner - but not if you join me. Etc.
 
The International closed at midnight. I knew the managers, the doorman and all the bar staff. I was a regular and a good tipper. Years later, one of the managers told me that I was their best and most regular patron. I had a spot at the bar, right on the corner, just outside the enclosure that became my spot. There was joking talk of putting a plaque there. Drinks were not cheap but they were worth it. Cocktails. My drink of choice was the Cadillac. A margherita base in a heavy tumbler glass, over ice, salt rimmed, with a splash of Grand Marnier. Mmmm...  I loved them. Every second or third drink was free - courtesy of the barmen. Although the first one often went down pretty quickly, I paced myself over the three hours. I enjoyed getting to the perfect point, thoroughly relaxed but completely alert. After all, I was on a mission. Sometimes, I would go home with a lady straight from the International after closing, but often, I would, friend in hand or solo, at the Middle Bar - walking distance, at the top of Oxford Street.
 
There, too, I knew all the staff, and had the pleasure of being able to forego the queue and be waved through by the doorman and duty manager. It's a great feeling, I won't lie. I was sixteen when Saturday Night Fever was released, after all, and Tony Manero taught me how to float on air. So, it was at the Middle Bar, at maybe two or three (closing time) when I sat down on a couch next to the pretty girl in a dress. She had been out with some friends celebrating something. She was a little tipsy and she wasn't ready to call it a night. We connected pretty quickly, effortlessly, seeing in each other a similar need and desire, a way out of the regretful and defeating return home alone when spirits are still high and willing. We held hands as we sat there. It was kind of innocent and almost cute. It certainly felt natural and meant-to-be and yet, at the same time, exciting and promising. We went back to my place, straight to the bedroom, straight into bed. We went from the first kiss to having made love in about an hour. Sex with (relative) strangers is always different. This time was unique in the sense that it felt like we were in high school for some reason. She worked in a bank and lived a pretty straight forward life. She liked going for runs and going to the gym. She liked cooking, too, and invited me to her place for dinner the next night. I accepted. In the morning, she caught a taxi home - she had something to do - and left me sleeping in my bed.
 
The next week she invited me for dinner at her apartment. We ate and then had sex. Later, her flatmate, came home. It was her twin sister. We were introduced. It was pleasant but there were many unspoken undercurrents. I didn't really think to much about it at the time, but tonight, lying there on my bed, for some reason I thought about it. About twins and their sex lives and how people react to them.
 
Here's what I was thinking. What I would say to the duplicate diva: For starters, if I am attracted to your identical sister, I am attracted to you. You know this. It's not the first time for you, I'm sure. I'm a decent person, so I surpress any flirting. You love your sister, so you don't flirt either. But, that just makes things more heightened. Our thoughts are naughty. What happens if I tire of your sister and you and I find ourselves alone together? What if you and your sister are well ahead of me and I have already slept with you without knowing? (Unlikely - but what if?!) You are in the next room, while your sister and I are making love. Is that uncomfortable? Are you tempted to ask for a turn? The original sister must know that each of their boyfriends will, at some stage, at least fantasise about being with the other sister while doing it. Is this bothersome? Do you discuss it? I know these thoughts are a bit schoolboy and perhaps unfitting, but I thought them. It is a strange scenario/dynamic. In my case, I didn't stay in the picture long enough for complications to evolve... but part of me wishes I had. Just to experience it. I wouldn't want anyone to get hurt, but I wouldn't have minded seeing what it was like sleeping with a replica.
 
Of course this all just base level fantasy. It does not take into account emotions and personalities, proper relationship stuff. It was only an extended one-night stand - lasted a few weeks, I guess. She seemed equally un-attached to the notion of longer term and equally as free spirited and promiscuous (that word! Hmmm...) as I was, so letting it fade wasn't an issue. I remember a few details of our union vividly, mostly I have forgotten. Like I said, it was mutual, almost high-school romance like. Better than not doing nothing, that's for sure.
 
I remember the special moments with each of the women I was with during that period. There was everything: the flirting, the sometimes salacious glory of seduction, the surprising tenderness, desire, lust, fulfillment, connection, thrill, thoughtfullness, playfulness... All the stuff that our sentient species gets up to when they choose to give of and explore each other physically. Most of the unions began after midnight and peaked around 4 or 5am. Some lasted but a night - others for a few weeks. I got a lot from that time, more than memories. For me, it was about the intimacy. Going from zero to, not a hundred, but say eighty or even ninety in a short time. Jumping off a cliff together, into the wild sea. It was thrilling and rewarding. Some say it leaves them empty - but I never found that. I appreciated each person for who they were and felt lucky to go deep with them, even for just a short time. There were no motives beyond feeling an attraction and acting on it. Being bold. Cheeky. Free. It was a mini - sixties recreation! In Bondi. And Kings Cross. At my place and theirs. In the car, in stairwells, in parks, on couches. But mostly in beds. Beds. How great are they, just generally? A place to escape to.  And if you can do it with another - with a bit of friction, some fiction, heat and coolness, skin on skin, secretions and sweat.... well, bring it on! Loving is good. Anytime, anyplace. Makes you feel alive.

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.)

He's come alive through facebook. It's his form of creative expression. He posts pictures of wonderful sunsets and beaches, advice on health and well being, funny slogans and ironic comics. All stuff sourced from other facebook pages. 

Most of it is pretty good. I don't know him that well but have come to know him better by his posts. They don't directly connect with me but generally they are of reasonably good quality. I can feel his joy in posting them. So I keep him on my feed. Why not. I care about the environment, eating healthy, and enjoy the positive slogan, too.

He used to have an ordinary job, then he got an inheritance and now he travels the world, in a modest fashion. (ie not fancy or wasteful, less Vegas more Nepal.) His girlfriend used to be a lesbian before they started going out and before that, when I first knew her, she was going out with a talented and somewhat mystical/deranged saxophonist dude. I saw him down at Bondi a few years ago, after a decade of not seeing him and he was even weirder than before. Still wearing lots of medallions and big rings and still with unusually configured facial hair. I went to see him gig once in a boutique hotel in Double Bay.

Come to think of it, lots of people I used to know are now just characters in a narrative in the recesses of my mind.

As well, many of my life's most formative and memorable experiences are now also just stories. Many, many of them, never told. Not yet, anyway.

My favourite post from the original guy I was talking about is a quote from OSHO. It's this:

'You are nobody. You are born as a nobodiness with no name, no form. You will die as a nobody. Name and form are just on the surface; deep down you are just vast space. And it is beautiful.'

After doing a couple of hours of new art creation (including this picture above) at Atlas Kiosk, I walked up to South Bondi and sat on the hill opposite the Tratt to watch the insanely beautiful and mesmerising sunrise. 

I can get right into the world of my image creation and then if I go out and sit and observe nature's beauty and creation I am totally blown away. The sun was giving a last lick of yellow to the hodge podge abodes on Ben Buckler. The waves were placid, rhythmically caressing the silky shore. 

People - actual humans! not the 2D images I've been playing with - were taking their dogs for walks, carrying surfboards. Tailored bodies were jogging in fluoro shoes and fitting apparel, a couple of dudes lit up a spliff over there, kids were amped - the whole place was alive with existence. 

I observed from my comfortable vantage point on the grass and was reminded how satisfying it can be to do nothing but watch and absorb. It's all going on around us. We shouldn't have to worry as much as we do about whatever we do - status, money, relationships, time constraints -  it can be engulfing and so completely distracting from what is truly important. Just being. Without want or ambition - accepting and delighting in the simple, wonderful beauty within us and around us.