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Getting There

15/7/2018

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It was my first day at a new school. Not only that but I was starting in the middle of the year. And it was a new country for me; I had just arrived. Greeted by snow and civil, gentle people speaking in a tongue I was unaccustomed to. The school, however, was an international one and English was the main language. Not Australian English, though.

I was from the bush, on the edge of Sydney, and a week earlier I was sitting in my old school, The Bush School, Wahroonga Public. Hand built, wooden shack style classrooms. I had only recently been shown a map of the world. I was used to running around barefoot, playing in the creek, climbing cliffs and avoiding venomous snakes. Now I was in one of the biggest, busiest cities in the world, sitting with a bunch of strangers from a variety of nations. Sons of diplomats, businessmen, wealthy families.

Where was Dom, from down the road? Jane Lumby, my very first crush? Mr. Harding, my fourth grade teacher - the kindest, warmest teacher I had met? Do they even have Twisties in this country? (No.) The school is massive! Multiple buildings of multiple stories. And everyone is dressed so formally! A tie? A jacket? Seems excessive. I’m a singlet kid. My hair is long-ish, I like being outside - playing. This all seems a bit serious all of a sudden. And now everyone is staring at me. I have been asked a question.

The new kid. Everyone is curious.

“Do they play basketball in Australia?”

I had seen the gymnasium earlier. It was humongous. This school was big on sports, competitiveness in general. We used to play chasings and the game with the four squares drawn in chalk and a tennis ball, but that was about it.

I must have seemed a little vague. I felt slightly overwhelmed. I knew my two brothers were out there somewhere in classrooms of their own, facing challenges of their own - but I doubt I could have found them in the sprawl. I didn’t like that feeling. As the eldest, I was protective of them. Liked to know where they were. And my parents. They had dropped us off - in a bright orange taxi. One that had an automatically opening back door. That was cool. But the driver did not speak a word of English. Luckily, my father had memorised three key place names - coordinates between where we were and where we were headed.

Tengenji. Furukawabashi. Isarago.

Maybe one day, I would need this knowledge myself. I learnt the sequence, speaking it to myself over and over, like a rhyme. Every morning my parents would accompany us in a taxi, drop us off and then carry on to the office - where my father’s business was. Before we arrived in Tokyo, he had slept there, on the floor on a futon. Getting things set up. He had convinced a select number of Australian companies - a glass manufacturer, a chemical company, an envelope company -  to give him seed money in exchange for representation in this exciting, rapidly growing new economy. He and my Mum had already taken the time to do an intensive course in Japanese language at ANU in Canberra in preparation. As well, he had visited Japan before, as part of a team representing his father’s chemical company. He had seen opportunity there, connected with the culture, appreciated the people. After all, they were in many ways like him. Thoughtful, considerate, forward looking.

So there I was, just a few days in to what was initially planned to be a two or three year adventure but turned into a protracted stay that would last two decades and shape and nourish my family and myself in untold ways. But this was still week one. I didn’t even really attempt to grasp what was happening and how things may unfold. I was just taking it a day at a time. It was exotic, novel, abuzz.

“Do they play basketball in Australia?”

It was the teacher asking me. Attempting to welcome me into the fold. Find out more from the sprightly but shy Aussie kid - probably the first that any of them had ever met. His accent was heavily American, a drawl. The school was populated by 50 different nationalities but the academic system was the American one. Many of the teachers were Canadian. Catholic brothers. And the majority of the other students were American.

I wasn’t sure. Some kids threw out explanations, mimicked ball bouncing, shooting for the hoop. I got it. Must be netball. I had seen girls playing back at school in Wahroonga. But only girls. So I told them.

“Yeah, only girls...”

But because I was a little Aussie and my accent must have been broad it came out sounding indecipherable to them. A mass ‘huh?!”

“Gills.”

What? Huh? Giggles, echoing.

“Only gills.”

It was an all boys school. Netball was for girls. Wasn’t it obvious? Why wouldn’t they even already know that? And why couldn’t they understand me. There are only two sexes in the world. Males and females. We were all male. Surely they knew about girls. (Though I hadn’t seen any there.) I was confused but persistent.

“Gills, gills...”

It became kind of absurd. A guessing game. Lots of kids were laughing, shouting out speculations. Mr Potter was determined to get to the bottom of it.

“Is that a sport in Australia?”

“No! Gills. Only gills play it.”

Blank faces. Giggling.

The whole thing had gone from being a simple question to a minor international incident. The flow of the class had been disrupted. I felt out of place, indeed, I briefly questioned my entire grasp of and understanding of reality. There are women in this world, right? I saw some on the way here in the taxi!

Tengenji. Furukawabashi. Isarago.

Gills! Gills! Gills!

I couldn’t quite work out how to explain them.

Then finally, I figured it out. Since they are too complex, mysterious to define, I can say what they are not.

“Not boys. Boys don’t play it....”

Instantly a bright flash of light, comprehension illuminated the room and all in it. The puzzle had been solved.

“Oh, grrrrrrrrls! Grrrrrrrrrrls!”

“Yeah.” I meekly shrugged. Like, obviously. What a saga!

Everyone clapped and laughed raucously.

Then the energy moved on. I was relieved. First test passed. A thousand more to come. The adventure had just begun.


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Whoever 4 Ever

9/3/2018

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Communicating is one of my things.

Just not so much by talking.

Rather than use dialogue or conversation, I share my points of view in other ways - randomly alternating an arsenal of creative proficiencies - art, music and writing.

It’s an every day, many hour activity these days. Actually, it always has been - but as time has gone by, I have definitely become more focused and dedicated. Part of the reason is that I get a deep satisfaction from losing myself in what I’m doing. It’s a way of really getting into life. Like an athlete does, lovers do, and scientists. Dedication and application get results. And one of the delightful benefits of the creative life is that one continues to improve and advance with age (not ‘forward’ advance - it’s more multi-dimensional). There are no limits. Lovers break up, athletes lose speed and power but an artist just keeps going and going. Often we start slow, seem lazy or unmotivated at times, appear temperamental, are irregular in our output in both quality and quantity - but we keep on keeping on. The rewards are rarely material or financial - which can make enthusiasm hard to muster at times - but they are, especially when one has persevered for decades - soulfully rewarding.

I have been write things here, in this artist’s journal, steadily for the last five years. It used to be more often - and sometimes I feel like I am being neglectful of it. But the thing is; other pursuits - poems, collages and new electronic music tracks are taking up my time and energy every day. So, to set aside some time to delve into my headspace and express it in writing - not through a poem (which I love doing) and is like a tasty snack - but in stream of consciousness straight forward prose (going with the flow form)  is rarer. I never really know exactly where these journal entries are going to lead - exactly what is going to come out - and to be honest I find it easier to work on one of the other creative forms - they are more inventive and engaging.

The other thing is, I don’t have to do as much introspection. I don’t have to self reflect, open up, be raw as I whisper and wispish as I roar as with the other formats. Writing for this journal is more like going for a long run. It takes commitment. Especially right before starting. The payoff is usually there - it can be cathartic, revelatory, amusing or insightful - but not always. I don’t allow myself to edit of judge what I have written - either as I am doing it - or afterwards. I just let it all out. Keeps it real, keeps the flow. When I read back on these, down the track, I want to know what I have expressed is not only honest but un-sculptured. I just want pure transcription of mind space.

So, I am here now; doing one. And what I was thinking was - what is it exactly that I wish to communicate? Is there anything that is going to make a difference? To me or anybody else? Is making a difference even my goal? Life is such a turgid, ever shifting, momentum that no one thing, nothing is really of much lasting relevance in the long run.

So why bother, eh? Especially with something like this that is non-essential - that is just the blurting out of one little human, one artist fellow who lives in a rented room in a small town and essentially does the same thing day in-day out: sleeps in/goes to beach/goes to cafe/writes/makes new artworks/goes to studio to work on new tracks/comes home/makes giant salad/surfs the net/does more writing/watches stuff/goes to sleep late/then starts again.

Creature of habit.

Essentially, I am just existing in a most basic way. I have tried to work things out so that I don’t receive many (or any) phone calls, very few emails and get no visitors where I live. I have streamlined my simple existence so that I perform the basic functions necessary for survival - to make it through the day - and then the rest of the time I fill with either nature time (meditation and exercise), coffee time (stories or poems on my iPad), art time (on canvas or digital) or music time (Ableton explorations at SAE , where I am studying - in one of the studios).

Stuff like socialising, going to an office/job, participating in group activities - are no long part of my routine. I have gone from minimising these things to eliminating them altogether. Not sure if this is ideal - now that I am saying it - but it must be what I need for the moment - otherwise I wouldn’t be doing it. (Flawed logic - I know. Self delusion has got me into all sorts of strife in the past.)

Part of the reason I am conducting my time in this way is because I find some common things quite taxing. Although I can function perfectly well in any and all social situations, as time has progressed, I find them less and less rewarding. Of course, there are exceptions - like family. I always have time for my loved ones. (But I do live away from them - so the expectations are naturally limited.)

I have heard the monikers ‘hermit’ and ‘recluse’ used in reference to me recently.  When I get home to the share house, I usually just go in my room and stay there - concentrate of working on my stuff. I’m not a fan of lounge rooms in general - most definitely not if there is a TV on. I hate feeling like I am wasting time - unless it is intentional - and sitting around shooting the shit is not something I chose to participate in. (Luckily my two housemates have their own blend of quirky habits and seem OK with it. Slightly puzzled, at times maybe, but accepting.

Should I be saying all this? Ha, ha. Fuck it - it’s true! The truth will set you free, it’s been said. (A relief - let’s hope it’s right.) But no, I don’t have any fear around saying it like it is in this forum. It’s all just temporary. Interpretation. Could even be fiction.

Labels are only labels, concepts and opinions ephemeral. Obviously, my life is much more intricate and abstruse than this brief account may reveal. I CAN act ‘normal’ (conforming, placating other’s expectations) - but I CHOOSE not to have to. It does not serve me or my mission - which is feeding my spirit and mind, fully creating new stuff all the time.

Did some one say ‘obsessive’? LOL. Again - just a word. And nothing wrong with healthy obsessions. You have to do something, right? No one is getting hurt. Confounded, maybe.

Although, it is totally beyond my control as to how this is interpreted - I do hope that for some readers, it opens up and sanctions new behavioural possibilities. Shows that it’s OK (I say!) to follow your own intuition, forge your own path - even if it puts you in the ‘outsider’ or dare I say - ‘weirdo’ - category. Truth is nobody else is keeping score. Everybody is fully consumed by obstacles and developments of their own - whatever that may be. Every one is doing what they must to navigate through this crazy (and occasionally partly sane) realm we inhabit.

Saying that, what is the crossover on a perception level? Say between me and you? There is much we have in common - interpretation of things - of everything - must be so different. We are all the sum of our inputs/experiences/upbringings and much of what we are is essentially just a reaction to what has been forced upon us up to this point - mixed in with a whole lot of other things, of course. It’s all so random!

Just thinking about it now is kind of blowing my mind. Not an atomic bomb level - but, you know, a hand grenade, at least. How can I even be writing this - and you reading it - and what the hell am I talking about? What am I trying to say? And why? Makes me believe that, despite what we may believe that we are all much more connected and entangled than we may think.

We all know life is freaky. Every day brings new examples. We want to keep on living - even though if you really assess it - it’s kind of hard work, mostly. Thankless even. It seems more that way, as continue to get older, anyway.

Every age has it’s own stages, it’s own challenges and rewards. When you get past fifty, there’s an undeniable shift in your relationship to life itself. It’s not only me - others have confirmed - youth and all it’s trappings are over. Many of the things you relied on to keep you interested and engaged are no longer in your spectrum. If they are they are fading. New attitudes, new behaviours become  essential. I say all this like it’s some sort of revelation, surprise. And that’s because it kind of was - for me at least. It’s like the fun part of the game is over and while the game itself continues on and you remain as a player - there are parts that are no-go zones. And some of those parts may likely have been your favourite bits. The bits that you were not only good at but enjoyed.

It takes adjusting, let me tell you. (If you are around my age, you’ll relate.) At a certain point you have to do a total reassessment and work out a new approach - physically, mentally and spiritually. Mortality is a bigger consideration. Bigger picture things need to be considered. Health becomes vital - requires more vigilant attention, maintenance. Ignore it at your peril. (Some do.)

Fantasies - of great success, of perfect love, of enduring romance, of fool proof security, certainty, of changing the world - lose their muster. They are harder to sustain. As you grow and become more substantial, realistic, perhaps even of more social value - you realise more clearly how puny you and your aspirations really are in the scheme of things.

This revelation is two pronged. It can be rather depressing, distressing. But in another way, it is strangely comforting. The pressure is off. Self expectation can be corralled. After all, what is the point? Of anything?

It’s insane. But it’s also sobering.

What a journey it has been, I find myself thinking. So much! But where has it all gone? You can’t hold on to anything. Memories - they are fine and enjoyable (with a degree of payoff) but they can also be quite maddening because some of them include lifetime peaks - things that can never be recreated or relived. They can be reminders that you’ve had your go at being young and wild and reckless - and it’s over! There are still things you can do, of course, with effort, that will be rewarding -  but the pay-off is reduced to 71% (estimate). They are not as prevalent or as flowing freely anymore and - I don’t know - it’s just not quite the same.


It may sound like I am complaining - but I am not. I have more or less come to terms with it all. Life has beaten into submission! (LOL. Cry. Wipe tears and shrug.) A long and slow, relentless assault. White flag!

The other prong that I mentioned - the positive one - comes once you have found acceptance. Some hoity-toity, altruistic qualities start floating around. Stuff like dignity, wisdom, endurance. You don’t immediately get any of these but, in tiny increments, they find their places in your existence. Some consolation! (It is.)

Just being a survivor is something. Connecting on deeper planes with others of your age (and all ages, in fact) brings some comfort. You are able to make conversations and connections more substantial, meaningful. Empathy is up.

A resolution not to give in too early or without profound resistance wells up in you. Sure, there’s plenty that you can’t change - but with focus and effort you can sustain what remains. You can work with what you’ve got - and by now you know well what that is - to hone it, perfect it, squeeze out whatever juice is in it.

Maybe you will become a teacher, an advisor, a mentor. You can give to your protégés the information, knowledge and encouragement that you wish you had received along the way on your own journey. You can make your life less about you and more about others. (This is a good one - natural for parents, of course - but available and rewarding to all.)

So - there you go. There I am. Here I was. A verbal ablution. An unfiltered declaration, a semi-spiritual sound off.

See what I mean? I just start writing and let it all pour out. There’s nothing particularly profound or even insightful here but it is where my head is at currently. I share because I can, because I choose to. I do it because I know myself that reading another’s truth can be illuminating, comforting. I have committed to sharing mine, as best I can - not as often as I wish, lately, as I mentioned - because above and beyond anything else we all need and want to feel connected.

The fact that I am able to share my vulnerabilities, ambivalent perceptions and my unresolved feelings without censorship is subtly uplifting. By necessity, out in society, we feel compelled to present our strongest selves but underneath, inside, we are all susceptible to a ceaseless flood of challenges and demands. If nothing else, we are versatile creatures, for sure. Each uniquely individual - but probably more alike than we realise.

So, it’s unlikely you will find yourself seated beside me at a dinner or engaged in a D&M phone convo like we may have done in the old days, so this is what you get instead - a slice of headspace to mull over and interpret in a way that best serves you. Whoever you are.

Sincerely,

Whoever I am


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Overboard

4/12/2016

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Overload
We've gone overboard
An excess of everything everywhere
We're distracted
Conflicted
Opposite of attracted
Attention grabbed
Man handled
Water's muddied
Logic dismantled

Little wonder we see
So many lost souls
Trapped in the filigree
Of mad society's web
Shifting uncomfortably
With an ominous sense
Of imminent indignity

Is this the way it's meant be?

We lower our eyes
We look away
It's too much to take in
We're over saturated
Left thread bare
Misled
Disturbed by what we've left behind
Perturbed by what lies up ahead

Two choices:

One -
Immerse yourself 
In finding a solution
Join a cause
Stand up, stand strong
Don't tolerate what you know is wrong
Unify
And energise 
With integrity
And action
Fix the bits that are broken

Two -
Extract yourself 
From the entanglement
Return to nature
Kill the switch of electric pleasures
Trust the trees
Heed the birds
Reconnect fundamentally
Get grounded by the earth around you
Be astounded by the air, the sky, the sea
Rediscover the pleasure of simply being
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We'll See

24/5/2016

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Last week, a twelve year old boy in Taree set fire to an important infrastructural cable box and cause a massive internet outage stretching all the way up the north coast. This included Mullumbimby. So we were without connection for about 24 hours +.

At the time, I didn't know it was the whole area down and tried various measures to investigate and fix what could have been just our household. Nothing worked. Offing and onning, plugging and unplugging; the usual stuff. Resigned, I just did other things with my time.

I am happy, of course, that it is now back on. Being online is fun. There are limitless pathways in all kinds of directions. Facebook, movies, news, editorials, humour, messaging friends, social updates, things for sale... Like I said; limitless. 

Anyway, before we were reconnected, I thought back to the early days, back when I was in my teens and twenties. There was no internet then. Not even computers. And no mobile phones. It's weird to consider that now.

What was different? Well, for starters there was considerably more inter-personal relating. I refused to have a television for almost a decade. (I hated commercials. And the sameness and constriction, lack of choice of TV - especially back in the 80's.) So, there a lot more reading going on. And other simple pleasures like listening to music (records), staring at the covers, perusing and considering lyrics, making sculptures, making zines, painting, doing outdoorsy things.

Because it was harder to contact each other, we tended to stay in hubs, connect and co-ordinate activities together. It was surprising 'primitive' comparatively, for lack of better word. One could also say more grounded, basic, simple. And these are not bad things. In fact, they are overly diminished these days. A re-balancing is in order. (But unlikely.)

I'm a big fan of technology and use it often and thoroughly. I use my iPad to make music, I draw comics and create complex collages on my large screen phone. At home, I'm on my iMac in the evening, on Photoshop or Indesign, or scouring the net for juicy new things for a good four of five hours. I love the fact that I can have facetime with my brother and his boys in San Fran, that I can email my Mum a few times a week, send images via text, bounce emojis back and forth with friends, enjoy the variety of posts of my fb crew. I missed all that shit when the net was down. I noticed it's absence.

I even love the way I can write this journal, this blog, sitting in my room in my tiny town on the coast of Australia and post it upon completion and know that within minutes my friends in Japan, the US, Sweden, Germany, Brazil.... wherever... can read it, absorb it, comment if they want. 

This kind of thing was unthinkable back in the late 70's and 80's. Now it is common. But still a thrill. 

I am glad, though, that I was able to spend my first three decades in a simpler time. It was a good grounding. It was a different place. I appreciate both sides of the coin, equally. What is coming up is anyone's guess. Well, not really... we know some of the big stuff... augmented reality, 3D printing, electric transport, drones, flying cars, etc. Advancements are getting faster and faster. Hopefully human consciousness and awareness will stay aligned, at least catch up, so that everyone can have a fair go. At the moment, the imbalance is obvious, unjust and unsustainable. The ones with power are lacking in ethics. Oh, yeah, and our environment, the planet, seems to be heading towards possible self destruction. That.

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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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