I realised the other day that as part of my creative endeavours, a lot of time is spent in processes. Sequential activities that in themselves do not require much inventiveness but are necessary to get the job done.

With my current book, for example, a reflection on growing up in Tokyo in the seventies, I was able to complete the first draft relatively steadily and smoothly, writing a an hour or two a day. I finished the first draft in five months. The writing flowed. I let it.

I wasn’t trying to impress anybody, do anything too challenging. I would just write whatever came naturally - thoughts, feelings, memories. It felt good not to pressure myself and I think that the easy, honest approach is reflected in the finished manuscript.

Once the first draft was done, the processes began. In order to print it out at the library at college, I had to save each chapter on my iPad to a PDF and then email it to my school account. Once I had sent off all eighty emails, I went into the library. There, they had to be opened, downloaded, printed, numbered and collated. A process.

Red pen next. Corrections on paper. Then re-inputting, with the amendments and improvements into the computer. Which then needed to be individually copied and pasted from eighty seperate chapters into four documents of twenty - to make it easier to eventually input it into inDesign - the software that will format it for professional printing in book form.

And on it goes. You get the idea.

In some ways the actual ‘creation’ part is easy!

Once the cover is conceived and designed and the book has been proof printed and corrected a few times, I will do a small digital run of a couple of hundred.

Then I will begin the process of attempting to find a publisher in Japan. A huge process itself, I am sure.


Does it sound like I am whinging? I’m not. I am lucky to be doing something I believe in. To be able to make efforts to manifest projects of my own devising. Things sparked from passion and inspiration, things that are personally relevant and meaningful.

I suppose I am more commenting on the awareness of how much time and focus is necessary to realise various projects - books, exhibitions, music releases.

It’s (almost) work!

The fun and games part - the experimentation, the invention, the playful creation is only the beginning of an extended journey towards completion.

It’s the same thing with my music. Getting a track down in it’s raw form - weaving all the sound strands in and out harmonically, throwing in splashes of accents, controlling and releasing the beat - can be euphoria inducing. But once it is all put together, each sound in it’s place the job is only sixty percent done. Editing, refinement, equalising, mixing and mastering. Processes that must be attended to with equal focus and diligence.

All this I-doting and T-crossing has it’s own feeling of accomplishment and reward, too. It requires more discipline, sure, but their is a payoff in satisfaction. Not only have you done justice to your initial creative impulses and creation, but you have pushed through the demands and met the requirements of the task before you. ​

Through my writing, I investigate the inner workings of my thoughts and feelings, using words to steer towards discovery, understanding and a degree of enlightenment. ​

I can site down with nothing particular in mind and let the words flow - in the form of a poem, a short story or a short essay, such as this, to reveal what they will. Leapfrogging from thought to thought at times. Sometimes more like sitting on the bank of a gently running stream and observing leaves float past, recording each ones peculiarity as they pass.

I do much of my writing when I land at the cafe, after an hour at the beach where I stretch, walk and swim. So I am invigorated, at ease. The cafe is right nearby and outdoorsy. I have come to get to know most of the staff, who are a particularly good spirited bunch. This adds to my feeling of comfort and belonging - which in turn invites free flowing writing.

My other form of self expression, the most recent addition, is music. I have been attending a creative college called SAE studying music production for the last few years now. The campus is delightfully low key and has wonderful facilities. Each day I have access to any of six studios, in two hour slots, in which I can hide away and focus on my song creation. I use a Berlin based software called Ableton Live, considered to be the best in the world, to craft my tunes. Ableton has a steep learning curve and although I was making sounds pretty quickly, it wasn’t until after two and a half years of study and practice that I felt confident enough with my creations to begin releasing songs. I spend six hours, six days a week in the studios experimenting with new sound combinations and structures; basically, playing around having the time of my life. I say that, but at times it is challenging and takes dedication and commitment to see a project through - especially because sometimes they go awry - like a pack of wild horses - and have to be corralled into some level of obedience.

The third way that I express myself is through my artwork. I first attended art school in Sydney a full forty years ago and I have no stopped making images, in some form or other since then. I have had studios, on my own and shared, over the years working on big canvases and have had twenty five solo exhibitions of my work over the decades. These days, almost all my work is digital. I use an incredibly versatile app called Autodesk Sketchbook on my Samsung Note 8, using a tiny stylus on the screen to create, using collage, an array of textures and brushes as well as Photoshop style adjustable layers (average around fifteen per image lately) to create new images. I spend one to two hours every day on these pictures; usually three new ones per day.
It is fun and relaxing; an exploration of colour, shape and image manipulation. I earnestly seek out fresh thrills - exciting juxtapositions and dynamics. It’s an exercise in free experimentation and thoughtful positioning and ordering of levels. I explore mood and atmosphere. I strive to innovate and create visual excitement. Again; it’s play.

Spending time every day involved in all of these forms - usually eight to ten hours - gives me purpose and fulfilment. Although I have at times made money in each of these areas, I would not call any of it lucrative. My motivation is pure. I just love the act of creation. Writing this now, I realise how lucky I am to be able to exist in this manner.

You could say that I am expressing myself, and in a sense I am, but mostly I just feel like a conduit, allowing the creativity to pass through me - onto the page, into the picture or into sonic wave formations. One can detect ‘my style’ in each of the forms but it is not something that I am consciously aware of.

When I review my work, I can learn a little about my internal workings, but it is not really something I do or am that interested in. I am just happy to be able to get busy with the next project. Like now. I will finish this and immediately embark on some fresh image making. Then I will head into SAE and into the studios to work on some new songs (I usually have two or three going concurrently). What a life, eh!

Simple, serene, expressive.

Is coming to terms with one's insignificance a good thing or a bad thing?

Not sure. But it certainly frees up a lot of time. 

Regardless of the ultimate futility of it all, I have been voraciously spending six hours a day in the studio working on new tracks. 

Nourishment, it appears, comes from creative expression - same as always - but now add the tasty sauce of productivity satisfaction and you've got yourself some chewable results.

Not one to neglect my art, I spend a minimum hour a day on making new images. And the same goes for my writing: minimum hour a day.

I can almost feel death coming. Not yet. But I am aware of it's eventuality more profoundly than previous. 

It's what we are all racing towards.

I ask myself - am I doing all this stuff to leave a mark? No.

Why then? Cause it is rewarding, feels good. It's how I relate to life. Like all creators; I am compelled.

Fills in the time. Masks the pain. Distracts from the struggle. 

Creating new stuff, for me, is fun because there are no rules and I can be loose and try new things and not worry about outcomes or opinions. It's a relationship with an open minded giver.

It builds internal layers, adds pieces to the puzzle, lubricates thought; centres you.

Discipline is adopted willingly. That's something special right there. 

You can do whatever you want. Putting effort into effortlessness. It's an art. 

​Used to be a time when, if I was waiting for a plane to depart, I’d grab a coffee, pull out my iPad and immediately start writing a poem. I am at an airport now, Gold Coast, heading to Sydney and I am writing - but I am writing about how when I used to do be in this situation I would immediately, habitually start expressing myself lyrically. I am writing, in a self observational way, about how I have observed in myself a different energy and behaviour to usual.

How? What’s different? (A chorus of other in the Departure Lounge spontaneously chimes.)

To be honest, I think that for the moment at least, it appears my romanticism, my idealism, have waned slightly. I used to feel compelled to express my emotions through creative prose. That was kind of a barometer for me. Right now, I don’t feel that. It’s not that I feel bad or lacking, it’s just that the thoughts and feelings are not making their way to the front of my consciousness, requesting (or demanding) to be released, expressed.

(The chorus is silent now, uninterested in the bard’s introspective monologue. They return to their personal devices - tune back in to interior diatribes of their own.)

What I do feel is more of a calm. Less immediately compelled to visit the muse. It’s not that I don’t feel like being creative - it’s just that, I guess, I am not in the mood to do it with rhyme. Instead, I am writing this confessional (what a weird, loaded word!) - so still writing but in a more perfunctory manner. So, what am I confessing? Do I feel guilty for not sprucing poetry? Not really. But it is unusual. Although, if I consider where I am at in my life, it does make sense.

To explain: six days a week for over a year now, I have been spending four to six hours in the studios at SAE where I am studying electronic music production. So I have been awash in audio magic. Actually, not all magic. Quite a lot of process. Trial and error. Exploration. But what I am saying is that my focus - a new language has been found - and my new language has been sound, noise, melody, beats.

And, quite frankly, it has been surprisingly engrossing and rewarding. It began three years ago, when I discovered a new joy playing with Garageband on my iPad. I soon became addicted and committed to creating all kinds of crazy songs using loops and vocals recorded directly into my iPad in cafes, in my car, wherever. I made something like 140 songs over a year. They were pretty raw. Sometimes I would have beginners luck and smash out something kind of OK - I wasn’t even doing proper mixing, not even volume levels! - I relied more on concepts, lyric content and enthusiastic inventiveness to push things through. Naively, some might say delusionally, I went through the steps and brought out an album - releasing a proper CD with fancy cover, illustrated lyric sheet and even had a launch night at a local cafe (Rock & Roll Coffee Company, Mullumbimby). Sold like five copies! Actually, not like five: five. The thing is here: I did it. Completed the cycle.

Fate took care of the next step by calling to my attention an open day at SAE. Why not?, I thought. I always drive by, curious about the inside. Having traditionally been more of a film, images guy, I never really considered pursuing audio but when I turned up, I was curiously enthralled by the studios and got some good vibes. Tentatively, I signed up for a twice a week course in Ableton - electronic music production. Fortuitously, I was eligible for a scholarship that would cover 90% of the cost. Nothing to lose. Even then, when it came time to fully commit to commencing, I got the jitters. Did I really need to do this? As a big lover of routine and a commitment-phobe, I got very close to not going ahead. But something kept me in there.

A couple of times, after the first two classes, I felt out of my depth. I had no idea how to even make the most basic of drum beats, for heaven’s sake. All the others were experienced performers, most with active and dynamic SoundCloud pages, song releases, band experience.

So what kept me in?

One was the software itself. Ableton, despite seeming somewhat overwhelming at first is like a magic playground. Each new toy is like a puzzle to be worked out but once you have cracked the code and can use the new element it adds an exciting new layer to your production capabilities. And the best part? The possibilities are endless! The kid in me (never far from the surface) is continually delighted by the fun factor. Playing with sounds - making stuff up. It’s like sonic Lego. Phonic papier mache. Audio art class. Love, love, love. After getting over the first mountain of challenging newness and confusing complexity - which for me took about 3 or 4 months of solid application. (So worth it!)

The other thing factor in my sticking with and becoming an Ableton advocate was my teacher/mentor. For me, someone who never took easily to the teacher/student relationship, he was the ideal leader. He led by example. Chilled. No pressure. But always patient with us newbies, attentive to individual rhythms (figuratively and literally) and generous with his time and in sharing his amazing skills. I am certain his easy style and low key, natural encouragement helped me hang in there during the make or break early stages. And beyond. Like a flight instructor he got me to the stage where I could fly solo. And I am up in the sky as often as I can be. I salute the squad leader, ever grateful.

After I finished the Music Cert III, I signed up for the Diploma in Music Production. While there was still some Ableton in that one, it was more expansive - with some excellent music theory and studio technique stuff. Another teacher appeared who would adeptly educate and inspire me. A highly motivated, passionate Scotsman, also with a vast knowledge and lots of talent. I am still there and still learning. It’s awesome to be in an instructive and productive environment. Starting on ground level and making the slow ascent. Back to school at fifty seven. Who would have thought!

So, what am I really saying here?

(As much as I enjoy and advocate just going with the flow with writing - like I am doing here - I like, whenever possible, to consider what I am going on about and to share something that may be of value; a whisper of insight, a summation of substance of potentially applicable relevance to those in the chorus who may still be sticking around. In this case: thee.)

What I am saying is: taking on a whole new strain of creativity and starting right from the beginning has had it’s challenging moments but, at the same time, there is a wonderful freedom in coming in cold, being totally green, a beginner again. If I review my own path from the start, three years ago, to now - I have gone from being a curious novice with an interest and passion to now being someone with a pocketful of skills and some sauce sachets of knowledge who can - on his own - a build a decent tune from the ground up - from beats, to bass, to chords and melody to effects, levels, mix and mastering. I’ve gotten pretty good at something new. On a leap of faith, a bit of luck, providence, professional guidance and self belief. I recommend it. When life presents you with the opportunity to expand - take it. Or not. Sometimes it’s a waste of time. Luckily for me, this one was a good one.

Where it may lead, I cannot predict but for now, I am enjoying the ride. Less poem writing at airports but, hey, not a big price to pay.

You can listen to my recent audio creations here: www.soundcloud.com/lewiejpd

So I am sitting in the cafe working on a new poem.

And two ladies walk in and shuffle around with the waiter in tow, trying to decide on their destination table. They chose one close to mine, just a metre away.

It’s always interesting how the proximity to others will effect or not effect my writing flow.

Sometimes, I purposely don’t look at people, not more than a passing glance as they approach perhaps, so that I don’t have a detailed visual of them and thus can find it easier not to be distracted by them.

But sometimes, a certain voice, certain conversation - either it’s dynamic or content - will be hard for me to completely ignore.

A part of my brain analyses what I hear, the nuances, the emotions in the voices, the dynamic of the interplay between the players.

In this case, right now, these two are not overly distracting. They are reasonably somber and self contained. Some people do a bit of showing off in public - which I find irksome - others are more relaxed, discrete.

What I did notice though - without so much listening to the content of their words - was the ebb and flow of the conversation - the way that they each influenced each other’s mood and response.

It made me realise how any pairing of two people is going to be so completely different, depending on the individual energies. And how, if you were making a film, for example, the chemistry of the two players is so crucial. I suddenly realised just how much difference it makes. In the direction of the interchange, the dramatic levels, the mood.

They are talking a little softer now and with a more flowing to and fro.

Wait. No. One has gone silent for a while.

I like that. Means they are reasonably comfortable with each other. I can detect forced conversations and they are not rhythmically as pleasant. The slight unease is palpable.

I am not listening to. the actual sentences being said, their voices are of a reasonably low register, so it is almost a hum I am hearing.

I think it may be mother and daughter. I am not going to look. Sixty/forty it is, though. That kind of dynamic. One voice is definitely younger, the other offering advice like suggestions, it seems.

Other sounds I can hear are the traffic outside the window behind me, a low volume pop song from the far corner of the room, the shuffling of the sous chefs at the bench to my left, an occasional ‘bing’ from the bell when a dish is ready.

Some random snippets of conversation coming from people passing by outside. Cutlery crunches. The low hum of a bus engine. The clamouring lid of a large pot. The scrape of a wooden chair leg on the concrete. The tap of the espresso handle from the barristers corner. Plates ringing as they are stacked. Another chair is pushed along the floor, this time more vehemently. A small motorbike passes by, then another.

I have been studying music production for the last year and a half now, so I realise that I have been training my self to listen with more acuity. To accurately pick out select sounds and frequencies and to pay attention to them. This is part of what I do when making a song.

I just finished a new one today. It’s not mixed yet, but the main body is there. I like it. I like most of my new songs immediately after they are done. Generally speaking your latest is your favourite. Not always, though. Sometimes you will luck out and make a really beauty that stays at the top of the list for three, four, five songs forward.

I haven’t written much in these journal entries about my musical production. In some ways this is because it is so special to me. It’s a whole new area, a completely new domain for me to learn about and explore, create in. So I have kept it kind of sacred, been silent about it, not wanting to quantify or examine it because it is still precious and fresh. I haven’t wanted to dissect or discuss the process - just to get on with it and into it.

But now, after having finished probably fifty or sixty original tunes, I finally feel ready to release three or four into the world - make my debut as a musical artist.

I can listen to them and feel happy with them, that they represent who I am. I have by no means mastered the art of song production but I have found my own way through it to the point where the sounds that I am selecting, refining and juxtaposing into a coherent piece are an authentic representation of my feelings, my head space.

Through a mixture of dedication and focus, daily application and experimentation, I have found my groove, eased into a style that is uniquely mine, a sound that pleases me in it’s inventiveness and it’s sonic signature. And there is a coherence in the most recent pieces, the ones that I will release, that unites them harmoniously, even though they are individual tunes. This is a good thing, what I have been patiently aiming to achieve.

So, I am now almost at the first level of being a music producer. My first representational works are nearing release. It is exciting.

They won’t change the world. My expectations are realistic and humble. For me, the greatest pleasure is in the production itself. What happens with them, where they go and how they interact with the outside world is not up to me and quite honestly, is not my concern. I have been an artist and a writer of prolific output for four decades now and have yet to have even drawn the average of a standard wage from my creations if you add up my time spent and materials outlay. Whatever early fantasies I had of making money, or even a basic living from my art output, have dissipated completely. I am not being defeatist, just realistic. Self promotion has never been my strong suit. I like to just get on with making new things. It is likely, I could have been more financially successful if I had put the time in to translating my stuff into money, but it is not in my nature. So be it. So, I hardly expect any dollars flowing in from songs - not at any stage. And I am totally cool with it.

I am dedicated to creating new stuff. That’s what I do. Everyday. It’s what I am good at.

The ladies are still here, chatting away. They are slightly more animated now, aloft with their second caffeine shots.

I completely zoned out of them for a while there, when writing this. That’s what happens. That’s what I like about writing, making art, making music. That detachment, that immersion.

The blissful escape, the transcendence. Worth far, far, far more than money. ​

I wrote a card the other day to my teacher, Tyler, at SAE where I am studying electronic music production. It was a brief note, thanking him for sharing his expansive knowledge with a selfless patience, empathy and his own easy style. I bought it from the Op shop for 50 cents. It had penguins on the covers, about 20 of them, 6 of them saying 'Cheers!' ​

What I noticed as I jerkily dragged the pen up and down and sideways across the glossy white rectangular paper to form the words is how out of practice my pensmanship is and realized that, apart from filling in a rare form here and there, it has probably been a couple of years since I've actually written anything on paper.

It's all iPad and computers these days, texting on the phone (Samsung Note), emails and poetry, essays and short stories in Pages. My typing speed is probably up there in the 40's by now. With delete, copy, paste, highlight and move, easy access to online dictionary, thesaurus and rhyming apps; using technology is smooth and productive.

It used to be that I kept hand written, hefty journals. Carried them around with me everywhere and wrote in them daily. Somewhere storage, stashed in boxes, they still exist - comics scrawled, ideas jotted, poems composed. From about 1980 to the mid 2000's. I'm not sure how many - fifty, a hundred?

Now my stuff goes straight to the cloud. I churn stuff out much faster, more consistently. I love it. The process has been streamlined. After decades of scratching and scribbling, I am happy to be speed tapping and screen reading.

Then there is this blog, Art Gets Me High. My forum for art/life/creativity related thought and feelings, like this. It's an outlet that I started on a whim and has now been ticking over for going on four to five years. I would not have written the contents herein in my journals. The immediacy of the connection - from my thoughts to immediately published online incites a directness, an enthusiasm and encourages off the cuff expression.

Truth is I don't know who exactly reads my stuff but it doesn't really matter. It's just nice to connect. To have a voice. To fill the void (my void, our void, the void.)

The info page also tells me the origins of the visitors and pages landed. The other interesting thing that I noticed the other day is Search Terms. This month's one was pretty funny: theo single bed frame cream. What the?!

As best as I can work it out - the tag from Theo came from the name of the headmaster of the National Art School I attended in the early eighties. Single: my relationship status. Bed: where I love to spend much time. Frame: they hold my artworks. And cream: hmmm... with my ice coffees - but did I tag that?
Anyway, quite a search term. I wonder what that person was actually looking for. And when they landed on my site - did they read any of it. Get into it? I like to imagine they did. And that it liberated their minds - changed their lives forever. That's what it's for. ​

It's changed mine.

- You see, what happens is I get the rhythm in my head, the rhythm of their words. The rhythm of their words and the atmosphere and direction of their retelling of their journey. And it stays with me for a while after I have bent over the little paper corner and folded the page chunks together - to trap in all the good stuff until I next venture in.

Just like with people that you meet, you connect with varying intensities. With this guy I am connecting strongly. It's not so much about similar experiences - it's more about his expression of his perception of his recollections and the easy going, dot-connecting retelling - that is comfortable and familiar. He has a poet's flow, a writer's eye for detail and an outsider's clarity of the bigger picture, told from a vantage point of complex feelings mixed with a slightly amused detachment.

White Out is the book and the dude's name is Michael W. Clune. I read his previous book - A Gamer's Life - and truly enjoyed it's honesty, perceptiveness and originality. Nothing showy, just his soul talking. I asked the library to get this one in and they did. On the same day that it arrived, so did Dave Eggers new one about an intrepid woman in a bomby campervan with her two young kids in Alaska and I started reading that first, having relished all his previous publications, especially Zeitoun. Alas, Alaska left me cold. Fifty pages in I started skipping. By ninety I was out of there. Open White Out and mmm.... yeah... inviting and familiar. I am a quarter way through. Savouring. (Which doesn't mean reading it slower.) 

The embodiment/mimicking/temporary inhabiting of a character also happens sometimes with movies. I suppose it's not an uncommon thing. The voice gets in your head. It's not unpleasant. Like a visitor. With reverb. It lingers, sometimes for minutes, sometimes for hours. 

It has prompted me to transcribe my thoughts right here, now. I have not been as regular as usual with my logs. (I don't mean poos.) Truth is, I have been busy. I have been seduced in a way. Drawn away from my painting and writing for a time. And what has captured me? Kidnapped my imagination and siphoned off much of my creative output time?

Music.

Over the last six or seven months I have been building tunes on Garageband. Every day. In my usual focused, tunnel vision way, I have devoted myself to the audio invention process and completed over 120 new songs. It's been my little secret. I haven't wanted to speak of it, less it's power be dissipated. But now it's cool. My first CD has been pressed and will be released next month. It's called Lolipopman. Twenty tunes. A mixture of folk, pop, punk, spoken word, old white fella hip hop and ambient. It's a new work of art - just in musical form. The writing is still there - it's relatively abundant in lyrics - but the colours are now sounds. The concepts are compositions. For me, as a comparative novice in the music field it has been a delightful departure. 

It has interfered with my comic, painting and writing output - but you can't do everything all at once. And these songs are like my newest fling. I am captivated. 

There. Confession done. No more sneaking around, making excuses for my infrequent blog appearances. To apologise is unnecessary, but I have felt a little guilty some days. I like being here, translating my up-to-date thoughts and feelings and observations about art and the creative life. Free flowing the little white words on black background from my mind, through my fingers and onto the screen. I like communicating with my friends in the clouds, across the skies, who are, like me, swimming in alternating turgid and serene oceans of their own. I like our conversations. Even though they are more like monologues. But they're not. I can hear you listening. I feel connection. Just like when I read the words of Eggers or Clunes or Carver or Salter or whoever gets through to me and finds a welcome place in my evolving consciousness. I know I am at home with you sometimes. And it feels comfortable, even comforting. Echoes inside us. They lead us closer to our destination. Our every changing destination.

Sometimes I start to write an entry and I just can't.

Maybe I will know my topic and find it too challenging to get into it, or maybe I will not know exactly what I am intending to say and things will not gel.

Sometimes I even begin an entry and then stop halfway, either due to lack of direction, lack of conviction or lack of motivation. 

These things do not happen often. But they happen. 

As one who questions things, I have to ask myself, 'why am I writing this?' And, if the answer is not satisfactory, I will cease. I don't like wasting time. Not mine, nor yours.

And when I say yours, when I refer to you, I, of course, do not even know who you are. I will know some of my readers personally, for sure, but others not. I also do not know who reads any given essay, even amongst those who I know sometimes pop in for a gander.

But it doesn't matter. Because I am actually, really, talking to myself. I am talking to an element of myself that wants to understand how I think, how my mind works, how I put the world together, take it apart. 

I am curious about every element of existence. Strike that. I am curious about the things that I am curious about. There is plenty of stuff that doesn't interest me.

I have strived for more than forty years to gather as much information and life experience as I can, at every opportunity, through interacting with people of all sorts, through travel, through absorbing books and music and art and films. I dive in deep when I am into things. 

In the late seventies and early eighties, movies were my passion. I made an effort to see as many as possible. I would go to revival theatres and watch double bills - movies like Performance, El Topo, Dog Day Afternoon, Midnight Cowboy.... Films by European masters like Truffaut, Bergman, Fellini... Japanese greats; Kurosawa, Ozu, Imamura... plus Kubrick, Altman, Lindsay Anderson...etc, etc - I just wanted to soak it all up. 

I was studying. I also did the same with books. Less the classics - more the contemporaries. And music - I recorded onto cassette thousands and thousands of hours of stuff. Art, too, of course; I could not get enough.

And my point? I realised today that I have been loading up big time for a long time. I have been a perpetual student of the arts for decades and decades. It's all self study, a vary loosely structure curriculum. ie. find what ignites my interest and get right into it. Go deeper and deeper. When it gets boring - move onto the next thing.

So what is to become of all this knowledge? Am I full yet?

No, of course not. I continue to stock up. But, what is becoming apparent now is a growing urge, need, to use what I have learnt to make some good things, some lasting things, some inspirational things. Stuff that will fire up the young meez of the future.

Naturally, as well as absorbing over all this time, I have been consistent with my output as well. But I believe I am yet to really reach my pinnacle. I am yet to bring it all together into something wonderful. But now, the time has come. I am getting nearer and nearer. I can feel it. My output - of paintings, of comics, of ideas and of writing has increased considerably. Things are taking form more easily. Purpose is becoming more apparent. 

Cause, seriously, let's face it - at 54 - I can't wait around too much longer. I've got to go for it. And I think I am ready. I am ready. 

I cannot say yet, right here, exactly what form it will take - because I am not precisely sure - but I do know the roads are converging. I am tuning in more accurately. I have created - through data input over my creative lifespan to date - a massive repository of all kinds of artistic and expressive notions and techniques and sensibilities. I have stockpiled, in fact. The warehouse is full. The factory is oiled and ready. Production has begun. Even I know not what will appear out the other end - but I do know something - it's going to be absolutely wonderful.

I woke up this morning and suddenly remembered, completely out of the blue, performing in a Japanese TV commercial back in the early eighties. Don't know why it popped into my mind but it did. Of course there was no internet back then, no USB sticks, not even DVDs. I may have received a betamax copy or a VHS of the ad, but maybe not even that. Thirty one years after the event, I realise I may be able to find it. A bit of digging on YouTube and - voila - there it was.

It was a big deal at the time. I was living with my then girlfriend from art school (who would eventually become my wife, then my ex-wife) in Tokyo. We were both on the books at a modelling agency and she got a call to come in and audition for an ad that required dancing. She had written down dancing as a skill. (I hadn't. Mine were 'heavy thinking' 'abstract expressionism' and 'space invaders'.) I tagged along with her. It was in a dance studio. There were hundreds of people of all nationalities trying out. I may as wel join in, I figured and asked our manager to put my name down - said that of course I could dance! Any style! They shrugged and figured, why not. If he gets in too, it's an extra commission for us. Everyone loves an easy 20%.

Bianca did a great job, she looked great busting her moves in her leotards and long socks. (Guess what dance movie was a massive hit that year. Starts with 'Flash...') She got in on the first round. Easy. They told us it would be a three day, away shoot. All expenses paid. Plus a significant daily rate. My keenness was amplified. They only needed a few more from the callbacks. What I lacked in formal training, I made up in wild abandon and goofy charm. I made it in. I was the last choice. Yahoooo!

Break dancing was only just starting then in the US. They brought out four of the best from LA and NY. And they were amazing! I remember watching their moves, popping and locking, and being in complete awe. It was super cool and inspiring. 

The shoot, for the new Nissan Bluebird, starred a Japanese singing superstar. I forget his name now. Maybe Saijo Hideki or Julie. He was a nice guy. Wore a cool gold suit. Don't remember much about the other dancers. It was a fun few days, though. Being on set in this kind of ad usually is. Got to stay in a nice hotel with Bianca too. And everything was paid for. 

As well as the TV commercial they did some massive billboards in Ginza. I remember seeing it, towering about us, at the main intersection, as we exited the subway one afternoon. You could just make out the top of my head, jumping up like a popping Sex Pistol, and Bianca's right breast. We were famous! Well, at least rich. (Compared to before the shoot anyway.)

When I found the ad on my computer this morning, I was delighted. How funny. I had to rewatch it multiple times to even find myself. You can catch just a glimmer of me, twice. The one in the yellow singlet slightly left of the left side headlights around the 2' mark and again at the 22' mark. Bianca is behind me around the 4' mark, in her glorious purple sequined  one piece. I laughed when I saw it. Good times. Funny. And how cool to be able to wake up, remember it and be watching it minutes later, thirty years on.

"Miles from nowhere
Guess I'll take my time
To reach there..."

Cat Stevens was a guiding force in my formative teen years. I learnt every word on the album Tea for the Tillerman and would listen to it (on vinyl; end of side A, flip it over and put the needle back down on side B, rpt - a process unknown to more recent arrivals on Planet E) over and over. So many incredibly soulful, meaningful, spiritual songs. All of them as relevant and poignant today as they were when first released in the early 70's. 

Father and Son
Wild World
Where Do The Children Play
Miles From Nowhere
But I Might Die Tonight
On The Road To Find Out

That's just some of them. I'd have a favourite for a few months and then move onto the next. As a rebellious teen, I didn't get any guidance from my parents or school. I was pretty much left to my own devices to work things out. Real world experiences, friends, a steady flow of books, and a few select albums. Cat was number one. He had it all - the inventive, pure, melodic music with the meaningful lyrics. Other faves were Elton John (Yellow Brick Road) and Jackson Browne.

"Be wise, look ahead
Use your eyes he said
Be straight, think right
But I might die tonight!"

Cat was an anti-establishment, anti-authoritarian guy. He seemed, in his mellifluous, calmly charismatic voice, to be talking to my young teenage self, saying, "you are right not to buy into all the bullshit, find your own way." Some of this I had worked out myself, it was innate, but having Cat back me up, with his wisdom, quiet charm and self assurance sure helped.

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.'

Such a beautiful song. It suddenly came to mind last night, forty years after I first heard it. It reminded me of a girl I shared significant, wonderful feelings with. She really liked this song, too. We heard it together when we were kids, in a department store. Maybe we held hands. I was only twelve at the time but I was beginning to realise emotions like longing and desire were more powerful and ran deeper than I had thought. 

This song was so full of feeling and such a strong comment on and mirror of feelings of intimacy that like a magic tune that opens the cave doors that lead to a tunnel that ends up in the candle lit cavern of love itself, it seduced me, made me short of breath, made me aware of a unexplored and expanding part of my own psyche that would blossom over the years to come.

The girl remained a friend over the next half a dozen years. We didn't see each other much but stayed in contact. I had a handful of girlfriends and shared some fun times, but none of them captured my heart.

Six or seven years later, fate brought us back together and we renewed our friendship and eventually become lovers. It was romantic and enthralling. Time had strengthened the bond and the eventual physical union was inevitable and glorious. It lasted most of a year until I went away for a while and she betrayed me. She begged forgiveness on my return but the damage was done. I had to walk away.

Like the reality of being in love and it's eventual demise, there's a haunting sadness to this song. Would I do it all again? Of course. And I did. A few times over the next three decades. But none were ever as sweet or as pure as the first.

Nowadays when I lie in bed in the morning or pre-slumber, alone, I will sometimes spontaneously recall profound moments from my past and get up and write them down just like I have this entry. Funny how it goes. From un-initiated, wide-eyed, innocent romantic to world weary, hardened, veteran romantic.

Will love be coming back around to disrupt my blissful solitude once again? Perhaps just one final time? Ahhh, we'll see.