I was walking along the beach this afternoon, thinking. Thinking, as I always do. I try to trudge out any noisy, annoying, negative thoughts within the first kilometre or less, so that I can get to some useful cogitation, some thoughts of substance; elevated mindfulness. 

The early part of the walk, the downer thoughts usually have to do with the sadness I carry around. Sadness that comes from childhood. Sadness to do with the lack of love and support I received as a kid, the inner struggle that was ever present, the loneliness, the insecurity, the tears.

I try to see beyond, to make amends, to forgive, forget. But I can't. Sometimes I feel like I am damaged goods. That I am doing the best with what I have got, but that I could have been so much more. Other times, I just, shrug and say fuckit, carry on. Expect less. Accept. Surrender. 

Waa, waa, waa. Isn't everyone just the same, though. Aren't we all fallen angels, broken machines, injured souls. I think so. So it's really about coping. And carrying on.

Anyway, I was walking along today and on my way back, I mentally compared life to the beach stroll. At a certain point, you turn back. On the way back you are covering the same ground, but you see things differently. Just like when you hit your forties or fifties, you have lived a fair chunk of life and you can actually use it to look back on and consider who you are and what you have done. When you are in your teens, twenties, you just go for it. You have no perspective. 

Obviously, things slow down as you get older. Some things you have done hundreds, thousands of times. You are well versed in the everyday requirements and expectations of being a human. (Hopefully.) Your needs and urges wane. Your ego has taken countless beatings and can now shut the fuck up sometimes, take a back seat, maybe even disappear. 

You've most likely been through at least a few wonderful relationships that end, either badly, terribly or not very well. You've seen the ugly side of yourself and others. You have tried and failed. Tried again and failed again. You sometimes get lucky and somethings work out alright. 

Mostly, though, you realise that life is not all fun and games. It's a challenge. And it keeps on being one. The parameters shift but the rules stay the same. As hard as it all is, you wish it didn't have to go by so quickly. There are many, many things you would do differently, given the chance. But you don't get second chances. Not really.

Strangely, there is a certain calm, acceptance that comes with age. You probably believe more in destiny. You know what you can do and can't do. You know how to make do with less. You know how to enjoy more from little. Nature appears more vividly and has a bigger place. Children offer delight, hope, warmth and a reason for still caring, still fighting. The miracle of existence, as a whole package, can be appreciated more often and readily. You know you are going to die. You've seen it happen to people around you. You may or may not think about it much, but you definitely know it's coming, getting closer. This can be a comforting thing or a frightening one. Depends on the individual, on the day, the circumstance.

Sometimes, not today, but every few weeks, I look out onto the horizon, while on my walk, and think, every picture I have ever done, even if it was expanded to 1,000 times it's size, would only fill the tiniest fraction of a single percent of this vista. Every day, every hour, the glorious outlook; the sky, the ocean, the beach changes and delights. A dynamic, breathtaking, living work of art. What I do, making little pictures, well, comparatively, it's just laughable. Of so little consequence. Why do I bother? It will never amount to anything. It is of absolutely no significance. In fact, my life, is of no significance. Not in the long run. Not really. Not when you realise and understand that it's all just a self created illusion. Not one of us is more that a grain of sand. So why bother? 

See what I deal with on my daily walk? These are the kinds of things that go through my head. And looking at me, from the outside, if you chanced to see me walk past - you'd just see a dude taking a stroll. You wouldn't look twice. But in the silence, behind those squinting eyes - a battle rages. The struggle of self. The coming to terms with the quagmire of existence. The never ending questioning. Like the waves crashing on the shore. Relentless. And yet, soothing. Somehow. Kinda soothing. Comfortable. 

One step at a time. Down the beach and back up it. A dip in the ocean. A frolic in the waves. The sun shines on skin. The seagulls jeer. The spirit is uplifted after a commune with nature's essence. The petty concerns washed away with the tide for another day. 

I'll be back tomorrow to do it all again.

It's interesting. I have noticed something. Over the past six weeks, I have been spending my art hours doing portraits. No other imagery - just pictures of faces. I have been doing an average of four a day and have done over 160 of them. I have had a period of faces-only before, a few months ago, when I did 80 of them. This time, I wanted to do outdo myself and I have. 

I have always loved drawing faces, starting from when I was twelve or thirteen. I would copy them out of comic books and magazines. They hold so much life and energy. Each one has a personality. There is lots of mood and so many ways you can take a portrait and portray a person.

The thing is, and this is what I have noticed: since only having faces to chose from as my daily output, I have been posting significantly less often on this artgetsmehigh blog. Often I would drag and drop one of my daily artworks and just start writing in response to it - a meditation on something, a poem, a memory... but with the faces, I am not so inclined. They do not encourage me to respond in the same way. 

I do enjoy doing them and looking at them afterwards, as well as seeing them all lined up together, but they do not spark the same response in me that the random pictures do. I'm going to curtail my face marathon soon, I think. Maybe once I hit the 200 mark. Or maybe it's too late and I am too hooked in. 

Addicted to face. 

Addiction has to be faced. 

Just saw a picture posted on facebook of a distant cousin of mine. It was a post-lunch shot, out with his wife and mother-in-law. He's wearing slacks with black leather shoes, a tucked-in shirt and a sports jacket. Everyone is smiling and happy. And I'm happy for them. 

It did feel a little formal and forced, however. And it reminded me of times, long ago now, when I would do things like that.
- tucked-in shirt
- uncomfortable shoes
- ironed pants
- attending functions I would rather not

It reminded me that my goal in life has always been to be and become as liberated as possible. We are all bound by social structures of some sort. One way is to accept them and carry on. There is plenty of good stuff within the confines of conformity. This has never been my way, however. I have never enjoyed forced conversations, false politeness, pressured attendance of functions or events not of my choosing....

I realised, looking at this photo, that I have come a long way. 
- I'm almost always barefoot or in sandals
- I wear comfortable shorts all year 
- All my shirts have the sleeves cut off
- I no longer attend stiff or formal gatherings
- I am not expected to behave in any certain way by anyone

etc.

And the important thing here is that this is the way I prefer to be. This is how I function most efficiently. The less stress, expectation, pressure: the better. I rarely get mail, my phone almost never rings, I don't get invited to dinners or parties.... and I am so relieved.

It's not that I am shy or do not like people. I love human interaction. It's just I don't like feeling trapped or having things expected of me. When I go to the local cafe in the afternoon, all the staff knows me and we joke around. Same as poker in the evenings; it's very friendly and social. But it's also very accepting. If you don't feel like chatting - you don't. 

I guess I have found a place, sculpted a format of existence, that is well suited to my lone wolf, artistic gypsy temperament. I realised all this, just now, seeing that photo. I could see where my cuz is at. He may, too, liberate himself. He may not need to. He may love his place already. But me, I found that way of living to constricting. I had to get divorced, I had stop wearing shoes, I had to curtail social interactions that were no longer meaningful or rewarding. I had to move out of the big city.

Instead, I spend time alone, thinking, making art, reading, writing, playing games, joking around... all the good stuff. Simple, nourishing, natural activities. The stuff that I have always enjoyed the most. If - or when - I can make a more than just surviving living out of it all - then I will add travel and driving a nice car to the list. Until then I'll count my blessings.

If you are able to claim what you need in life, and you can, then you should. Only you know what best suits you. Find it, work it out, go for it. You'll never have it all - but, hey, you might just find the less you've got the better.

When you take snapshots of yourself and select your favourite - what are you looking for? Are you trying to see/portray yourself for who you are or are you trying to capture/present a version of yourself that most fits your ideal self image?

Makes sense to do the latter, of course. But a selfie is just the cover. What really is important is what's inside the book. And what is equally important is that - this may come as a surprise - that YOU READ THE BOOK.

The book of self. New pages everyday. Some bits you write, others are written for you. All you have to do is record them. Some bits get erased. Some segments are abbreviated. Some are drawn out. 

What is your story, though? 

These days there are lots of book covers being flashed around but there is less and less content being revealed. Why is that? 

There's always so much going on that things like long, intimate conversations with lucid friends, meaningful connections, investments of time and energy in those in need, etc - have become less prevalent. 

Character. Personal morality. Philosophy. Discourse. Ethics.

In this money focused, ambition driven society there is less and less time for these things. Perhaps because the world has become so thick with information (and disinformation), in addition to entertainment and various forms of distraction (facebook, twitter, insta for starters), it is so easy to just drift along on a raft and never have to paddle or pull over to the shore and stake a claim or make a home. We are overwhelmed by complex systems, wheels within wheels; social, political and physical.

The world now takes it's own selfie, every day, every minute, every second. And we are not sure what to think. It is always changing! It's alluring, dangerous, stimulating, confronting, familiar and foreign all at once. Are we part of it? Have things gone beyond the point where one person, any given single entity - with their views, opinions, feelings, thoughts, outlooks - really matters? Is it all too much? Is the river now a tidal wave, a tsunami? Are we all just hanging on and hoping to land somewhere safe?

We take selfies to benignly assert our presence in the modern day. Look! This is me! Having fun, acting cool, being silly, sexy, wild! I exist. I am living the life. Whatever that is, at the moment. Don't ask. Questions make for discomfort. Questions stir things up. Especially questions we avoid asking ourselves. Those ones. The ones we are not sure we are even equipped to answer. Why bother? It's easier to just float along from day to day. Things will work out. 

Thing is - who are you?

Don't you want to get to know yourself? Look at yourself? See what you are made of? Get to know your true essence? 

If you do, you can, and you won't regret it. To find, you must seek. And the answers will only come once the questions are asked. And no one is going to do that for you. Not once you are an adult, anyway. It's your responsibility. In some ways, it's your primary one. To get to know yourself. Beyond what is on the cover. Beyond the presentation. Open the book up. Look inside. There is a world as grand and magical as you can imagine. There are things there that might make you uncomfortable, even fearful. But the truth is there is nothing to be afraid of. It's all you. 

And you, my friend, you're a flawed and complex, sentient being. Just like us all. Do not judge or condemn. Accept and embrace. Discover. Uncover. Allow. Once you can do it for yourself, you'll be able to do it for others. 

What does this mean in real terms - beyond the new age slogans? I don't know. It's different for us all. What I am saying - to myself, really - is that there is a need for more substance, more fibre, grit, integrity. What good is it to simply exist, without allowing your character to grow, to be revealed, to be celebrated in essence? Why not at least try to sort through your shit and dust off your dreams, pick up the book you have neglected and start to make up some stuff that you will proud of one day. Make a story, live a story, that you want to read. It doesn't matter what the fucking cover looks like, it's what's inside that matters. We want laughter and tears and meaningful, wonderful events to occur. Substance. You hear me? 

Each new day 
brings
it's own sensations, smells, flutterings

It springs
forth from the night

After respite
We are called to action
Could be challenge
Sometimes satisfaction

Each new day
promises
Hope, joy, fulfillment, adventure

We expect
Reward for our efforts

We anticipate
Arrivals and departures
With equal parts
Of soothing and sting

We feel things
Strings of things

We react and adapt
To

Each new day
surly
surrounds us
astounds us
whirly
confounds us
compounds us

Luckily
The sky is blue
And the sun gives warmth
And animals
Do their thing
Each new day

Choices, a lot of them
Perception, assessments
Intuition, responses

It's called being alive
and

Each new day
reminds us
relentlessly

Without judgement 
Or imposition
That each of us 
Is a mixture

Of confidence and surrender
Wonder
Acceptance
Suffering
Trust

and Hope
that

Each new day
Will be a little better
Than the one left behind
Washed away
Like our dreams

Did it ever really happen?
All of this, all of that

Each new day
Reminds us
Relentlessly

That we will never, ever know

As an artist
Uncertainty is certain
Just being is a burden
You wanna break free
Show the world how to see
How much better it could be

As an artist
Vision is pure
You search for your style
The obvious is obscured
By the crap you were taught as a child

As an artist
You yearn and you hunger
You are full of hubris and anger
It doesn't come easy, not ever
To enrapture you endeavour

As an artist
You strive for you own kind
Of perfection
It may look messy, insane
But they are your rules, your game
And nobody can tell you what to do
What's true
What's meaningful
Or necessary
Is that a cricket ball or a cherry?

Some days you hate everything
Nearly as much as yourself
Other days almost heaven
Somehow
It's going to work out
You tell yourself

As an artist
No lies
Except whenever
No limitations
On the number of limitations
Courtesy of society or self imposed 
You lack propriety
You jump on toes
Just to hear the crunch
A shot or a joint before lunch
Some days 

As an artist
You yearn to escape
You need to unwind 
The fucking jumble of gibberish
Awash in your mind
You wouldn't mind
If it wasn't so awful
You wonder what it would be like
To be normal 
Sometimes 
But not for long
You don't need to belong 
You don't want to belong
Now do you

As an artist
Your pain
Is everyone else's gain
Especially after you're gone
You'll be celebrated, idolised
Or forgotten
Who cares
You care
Stay strong

As an artist
You have no choice
But to do what you do
To follow that path to the end
And trust your intuition
That you vision will see you through

Today, at least
Your pain has been released
Onto the canvas
Down for the count
Breathless and speckled
Staring, mouth agape
At the new creation on the easel
A fresh image to appease you

It's easy
As an artist
To tell yourself anything
To sell yourself short
To yell on the inside
To inseminate and abort
In blindingly quick succession

And details too decadent to mention

But at least you have one thing
Of which you can be certain
 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

As an artist

I don't have to tell you what that is
Now do I

Lighten up!

There is an abundance of things to be stressed about, enraged about, feel hard done by.... and I'm not just talking about our current government.

Sometimes it seems like the whole world is on the brink of collapse. And maybe it is.

I think its great to join together with others and join protests, take action against injustice, offer support, etc. But, as well, on a personal level, you want to avoid getting over burdened by fretting about events that you can not change and that are beyond the scope of your sphere of influence. There is just too much bad stuff going on at the moment that to take it all on mentally is just going to bring you down.

So, what to do? 

Seek the silly.
Favour the fun.
Follow the path to the pun.
Grow your own mirth.
Group giggles.
Funny accents whenever possible.
Jigs, slapstick, loud farts.

There's a lot you can do. The list goes on. I am not advocating ignoring reality, I am suggesting that you augment it with a fair share of lighthearted enjoyment. As often as you possibly can.

For in the end, whether the world eventually balances out and becomes the utopia it could be, the natural, just and egalitarian kingdom we all want it to be, or whether it all explodes in a flaming ball of human greed and foolishness, you may as well have a snicker or two along the way. Like a school day. It's mostly a bunch of useless bullshit being heaped upon you; play truant sometimes, have fun with your friends, cause some disruption. Cause just like when you make it through school and realise that it was all just a construct of control and oppression... well, so is modern day life in our society. So give it the finger, ignore the bla bla bla, zone out, dream your own dreams, slip out the back door and go find some sunshine and freedom to bask in.

Like Ghandi once said, "Fucking hell! What's the point in endless suffering?!" 

And soon after, decided to never wear a business suit instead and wrapped himself in his bed sheet. Good man.

The power hungry are eating us up
The money people have all gone insane
They're never satisfied, never having enough
But we never chose to be part of this game

Corruption rules, lies are the norm
A government we can no longer trust
Now we grow strong, the castle we'll storm
And take it back, for the people we love

I wanna see it all come tumbling down
The system smashed
Oppressors cut to the ground

I wanna see it all come tumbling down
Cause it isn't fair! And they don't care!
Those greedy mogrels, those self serving clowns

The production of destruction
We cannot let them rule
Trying to sell us lies, seduce us
Do they think we're all just fools?!

The food is tasteless now
The air is unclean, polluted
The planet far worse than
It ever has been, the innocent deserted

I wanna see it all come tumbling down
We'll do it better the second time round
I wanna see it all come tumbling down

Time has come for the pigs to run
The change is us and we'll act as one
Eventually, after anarchy, after calamity
It's a certainty, we'll be free, we'll be free

I wanna see it all come tumbling down!

Sitting here watching some old episodes of the tv show The Voice on my computer. I love the emotion of it all. I love how unknowns are given a chance and underdogs are discovered and nurtured by the professionals after they have passed the blind auditions and are selected on vocal merit.

Some of the performances are captivating and deeply soulful. Singers get to express their truth directly, through their voices. It is not something that can be faked. Honesty and soul shine through. 

What caught my attention is in the cutaway interviews, the judges talk about 'being an artist... '. What they mean is performing artist, obviously. But it made me think about visual artists. And the differences between us and performing artists, in particular singers. They make beautiful sounds straight out of their mouths, they enchant, enrapture, transfix and transform people. It is a very powerful talent. It runs so deep and is timeless and profoundly moving. A visual artist on the other hand, mostly labours alone, often in silence; feedback or encouragement is rarely immediate and sporadic at best. We spend years, playing, experimenting, honing our skills and craft, attempting to make images that will express our souls. 

A great singer can sing someone else's song and make it their own. A great artist can only make their own art. What makes a great artist is his or her ability to transcend the norm, transcend the limitations, restrictions, the expectations and create an image, or a series of images, that are so packed full of subtle power, so full of life itself that they cannot be ignored. To do this is extremely difficult and usually takes a long, long time. Devotion, passion, dedication and desire. Desire to journey to the edge of soul and gather up all the good bits, bring them back and throw them out onto the canvas in a act of pure mastery and magic. In it's own way it's just as powerful as an amazing song. Not as immediate, not as flamboyant or as attention getting, but just as moving, nonetheless. 

I've been seeing these images pop up on my facebook page over the last few days by an artist I don't personally know. They are incredible. They immediately move me, I am transfixed and intrigued by them. If I see in a book, or online, someone who's work I really relate to, I will sometimes check if they are on facebook and 'friend' them. Most artists, bless their souls, respond. We don't correspond, really, I just 'like' their posts of new works and vice versa. It's pretty cool and one of the things I dig about facebook. But this guy, the one I am referring to - I don't recall how I came to know his work or when I friended him. I kept seeing his works being posted over the last few days - so many winners! - these were awesome paintings, wow! Thick and fast. I finally went to his page and worked out that his loving wife was posting his stuff. He recently passed away. She wanted everyone to see the beautiful works he had been doing in the last few months, years. It was poignant and sad to realise that he will be creating no more. 

If I think about the feeling I get listening and watching a great singer doing their song and the feeling I get when I look at his works, I realise they both inspire me in different ways. A song, sung in a certain way can bring me to tears. These artworks, on the other hand, fill me with something equally as moving - not as immediate - but more esoterically, more subtly and in some ways, more profoundly. This man is not painting for an audience, he is not performing. He is following his calling, attentively, joyfully perhaps, recording in images his interpretation of the sensation and experience of being alive. He has left behind a beautiful and abundant legacy. I never knew him, but I feel like I do. And as a fellow artist, I respect and admire him for his talent and devotion. I thank him for his inspiration. Conrad Mecheski; you live on through your art, sir, and those of us who are priviliged enough to hear your unique, enchanting song exude from your gentle, complex, captivating images will continue to be uplifted and exhilarated by them for a long time. Thank you.

As a sentient being there is no escape from feeling and experiencing life. We like to believe that there is a reason behind it all, a justification, a validation for our demanding and formidable journeys. But what if there is not? What if this realm is truly just a harsh and difficult existence? One that, for reasons beyond comprehension, has to be experienced? Nothing gained can be taken with you. Any relief from the never ending demands are just temporary and fleeting. In fact, they may only add to the magnitude of suffering that is to come. 

Buddhist teaching says that life is suffering and I have to agree. It just seems almost too hard sometimes. I don't see what the purpose of this enforced series of procedures is. Endure, endure, endure, then die. OK. What was that for exactly? Some lives have extended times of loving and beauty and freedom and joy, but from what I have witnessed; most do not. There are times of comparative relief and short periods within a day or a month or a year or a life that are not stressful and demanding but mostly, it's just hard going.

I have engineered my life to have as few demands and stresses as possible. I try to have plenty of free time to pursue art and writing and thinking and just being. I have time for exercise and connecting with nature and relating with good people and play. And yet still, there is a heaviness, a constant, sublime feeling of uneasiness. Sometimes it's simply because life itself is so much to comprehend. We are mere mortals. Puny. We are specks. Star dust. Flippity-floppety little human entities. What are we doing? What are we really here for? It seems as though there has been a mistake made along the way in evolution, we've taken a wrong turn. If this is of our own spiritual creation, our own devising.... why would it be like THIS??? 

I find it hard to abide. Really. Sometimes more than others. And, of course, I acknowledge the incredible beauty that surrounds us, the dignity of fellow beings, the miracle of life, the gorgeous glory of newborns and children, etc. But I still feel that there is a quantifiable imbalance. Life is not what I imagined it would be. I thought that the struggle during teen years, through the twenties.... and on... would lead to some kind of resolution, a settling. Some kind of peace, mental and spiritual. But I have found no evidence of this. Am I missing something? I live in a great country, in a wonderful, peaceful, friendly small town, I have a supportive family and great friends across the globe. I have my health, physical and mental. And yet...

I'm raving, I know. But that is what this forum is for. An occasional ablution is necessary. Even this writing, though, what is it? Little symbols that form words and concepts. You can read them and get something. You can hear my soul. Is it singing or is it screaming? Am I a madman shouting or an ordinary man who is questioning that nature of reality, one who is not content to turn away, one who is compelled, often despite his own wishes, to face the immense, throbbing, pulsating, infinite series of vibrations and molecular clashes that form a never ending cacaphony of thoughts, images, sounds, sensations and experiences? 

I am screaming. Silently. Am I calling for help? No. Not really. Am I looking for acknowledgement? No, not really, that either. Then... ? 

I am trying to express the complex nature of my relationship with life. It is compelling. It is complex. It is relentless. I have travelled through it for 53 years so far. No bad. It's been quite a journey and there have been plenty of times and experiences that I cherish and am thrilled to have had. Plenty. I am not complaining. I am not bitter or angry or resentful by any means. In fact, I am grateful. But the fact remains, that between when I get up each morning to when I go to sleep each night, there is a series of thousands, tens of thousands maybe, of feelings, FEELINGS that pass through me, some lingering, some flashing, many of little consequence, a few profound.... FEELINGS.... that make up my day. By the end I am tired. As I go through it, I am challenged. I cannot name these phantoms, I cannot categorise everything - although I often try to in an attempt to come to terms with it all. 

I have to believe that surrender, surrender is what should be done. Let it go. Let it be. And I do that. I really do. Still, still, still...! Can you hear me? I am a sentient being hurled into a life form that has become comfortable and familiar, not only second nature, but first nature. I acknowledge that I am a person. Humble, vulnerable, fragile. But with powers to take it on, whatever. With a will to live and endure till the end. A will to survive, to thrive. I am weary, I am wounded. I admit that this brand of reality is not what I would have chosen. I'd like something more like heaven, all the cliched juice with a bit of sauciness and some thrills. I'd like more of the good stuff and less of the pain. I'd like better endings, more satisfying middles and unlimited new beginnings. I would like, you know, utopia. Bring it on. Seriously. Like now, already!

So, if it lays up ahead for us all, waiting to surprise us, reward us for our hard work, our labour, if it is our destination. Well, then, OK, I will continue to endure this weird blend of exquisite suffering until then. But seriously, it better be there up ahead.... or I'm going to be one disappointed corpse!

The future is coming at us, thicker and faster than ever. Every month now, amazing new discoveries and inventions; scientific, technological and biological... The advancements are arriving at a breathtaking pace. I don't have to convince anyone. Just browse through the net. No, not that old fisherman's net. That's just crab shell and a dead half fish carcass. I mean the internet. You must know it. It's one of the inventions that has changed the world. Forever. And for better. So long as we all shall live. Anyone who disagrees, go to the comment box now or forever hold your mouse. Or donate it to science. They are used in a lot of experiments.

A couple of things I remembered yesterday:

One: pinball. Played it every weekend for hours on end in my early teens, with my brothers in the game centres of Tokyo - Shibuya, Hibiya, Yurakucho, Azabu Juban.... somehow, if there was a decent game centre (geimu sentaa) tucked away in a basement, obscure building or mini mall, we'd find it. We had our skateboards and knew the public transport system inside out. We loved playing pinball. (Wizard, Fireball, TimeZone, etc... mid 70's were when pinball design peaked, I reckon). Each place would usually have ten, twenty of them lined up. Lots of choice. Lots of fun. We were all pretty good a getting free games, too. Nothing like that >crack< when you notch up a game.

Two: other play. I was driving to the beach and saw an import Tarago. Notice it as called Lucida. Thought about how Japanese come up with their names for things. Must've looked up the dictionary found lucid and added an a. Fair enough. If they put an 'n' in their, it'd be a nice girl's name... Lucinda. Then, flash!, I remembered that back in the late nineties, I had a relationship with a girl with that very name. I had completely forgotten about her. I met her in a bar in Kings Cross, the Bayswater Brasserie. It was a one night stand that kept going. She owned a house in Surrey Hills, Sydney. She worked in an ad agency as accounts manager. She liked vodka lime and sodas. She loved flowers and knew a lot about them. She was a great cook. One of her specialties was gnocchi. She was very pretty. Like a little doll. She had a great body, perfect proportions, silky skin, long straight hair. She was also very intelligent and successful. She never came to my place in Bondi. She liked her routines. She would often phone me after work, early evening and invite me over. Drinks, dinner, sex. All things I enjoy. Then I would go home in the morning, when she left for work. We didn't do many day time things together for some reason. After a few months of this routine, I was beckoned to Tokyo for a 3 month job. We did the phone and fax (yes, fax) 'I miss you' communication thing for a while and then just let it go. I never saw her again. And until yesterday, completely forgot about it. Interesting how it was sparked by an import Tarago parked at the beach. It was like finding a little treasure on the shores of my memory.

When I was in my early teens, we were living in Tokyo and my Mum was a member of CWAJ. Christian Women's Association of Japan - it wasn't a religious group, from memory, it was more about women empowering women through cultural exchange and events. The members were about half expats and half Japanese nationals. One of their main things was that each year at The American Club, near Ropppongi, they would hold a wonderful exhibition of the new works of contemporary Japanese print makers. This would include silkscreens, etchings, lithographs and woodblocks.

There would always be a couple of hundred awesome artworks to purview. The first year, my brothers and I were dragged along kicking and screaming, but we quickly came to enjoy the range and invention of the works. Well, I did, for sure. 

There was also, always, a full colour catalogue that had every print included. I would often pour over it at leisure, studying my favourite works. At that stage, I had no idea that I would go on to do three years of art school and become an artist but did know that I liked art. 

Woodblock is the most traditionally Japanese of the printmaking forms. My Mum actually studied it for quite a number of years with some top notch Japanese tutors. Over the years she became very proficient and created some wonderful and popular woodblock series of her own. (Good on you, Mum!) 

It's quite a labour intensive process. Each colour within a print is carved from a separate block of wood with special tools. Some prints will have eight, ten or more blocks. Then the printing involves the application of the ink, the lining up of the pre-prepared special paper and the rubbing of the paper so that the ink penetrates. It's a delicate and technical process - enjoyable to watch. (Once.)

Over the years, my parents collected many dynamic prints from the CWAJ shows and also from small galleries. I also witnessed things like the choosing of frames, decisions on where to hang them, etc. I did not know it at the time but these things surely influenced and enriched my art head space. Tokyo is tight on space and homes are smaller scale, so prints were generally much more prevalent than paintings. In fact, I recall coming back to Australia to live at seventeen and noticing paintings in homes and being intrigued and enraptured by them.

My uncle Dick, I now recall, a wealthy man, had one of the country's pre-eminent private collections of Australian art. He even had a granny flat full of them and would take us on a tour with animated and learned commentary included. He had originals by Dobell, Whitely, Nolan, Boyd, Crooke, Drysdale and Klippel as well as many others. Visiting him was an art lesson in itself. Funnily, even them, after doing the tours more than a few times in my teens, I never considered that I may one day myself become a painter.

It really wasn't until I had dropped out of Sydney Uni, first year, and returned to Japan to see my family that it even became a possibility. I was eighteen. Uni was not for me. I was doing a BA, studying Literature, Computer Science (!!!)(it was 1979), Japanese and Psychology. These were all areas of interest but I simply found the format of education too dry and personality lacking. A large lecture hall with one guy telling everyone what to think. Boring! More than I could bear, in fact. I quickly began cutting classes and going to the movies. Then later, visiting a sweet girlfriend. Two areas I was much more naturally passionate about. And that taught me much better.

So, I was back in Tokyo to see my family. It was the day before I was due to head back to Australia. My parents convened a meeting at the Okura Hotel. We sat in the lobby. The point of discussion was 'what was I going to do?' I was drawing a blank. The only thing I knew for sure was that I didn't want to return to University. Time ticked. There was some tension. Off the cuff, my Mum said, 'What about art school..? You've always liked art...." 

Ping! What? Art school? They have those? That is an option? I seriously did not even know. But now that I heard it, it was like... er, yeah! Next day I was on a plane back to Sydney.

I looked up Art School in the Yellow Pages. The closest one was East Sydney Tech in Randwick. I turned up holding a portfolio of portraits I had done with a biro, mostly copied from comics. The year had started a few days earlier. The selection process was completed months before. And yet, somehow..... I got to show my portfolio to the head of school. Theo. He liked it. Someone had dropped out that morning. Theo shrugged. "You're in group B. Next door. Start now." I was in. It was truly something that was meant to be. So random. So spontaneous. So glorious! I loved it. Three years. A double major in painting and photography. Many, many wonderful classes and experiences. I was on my way....

Hear you, LB, I hear you. As I get older and accumulate wisdom and knowledge and a wider perspective world view, I can see with increased clarity just how much suffering is involved in living.

When you are younger, it is easy (and natural) for youthful vitality to carry you through the years of exploration and adventures. It's like riding a wave. The velocity doesn't often allow for you to take time and really inspect life as it rushes by.

But hit fifty and, wow, things change. No more free rides, no more yelling and screaming sans souci. Contemplation descends upon your existence. You cannot ignore things as easily. You cannot ignore the throbbing truth of reality. This too is a natural occurrence. You are more or less ready for it. 

Usually a bit less than more. 

So you have to dig deep. Truth is harsh. Things don't turn out as you imagined. Romance fades. Notions of beauty and magic wither. And yet, you can not let yourself become jaded. You have to find what goodness you can amidst the wreckage. You have to not only continue to survive but you have to use whatever skills and energy you have to somehow rebuild a version of yourself that is less idealistic, less consumed and consuming, less charged. You have to accept your mortality. You are reminded of it more often now. 

You need to see the bigger picture. Divest from ego. Jettison a large trunk of self serving activities and realise that the time for taking is gone and the time for giving back is nigh. This will be a large part of your salvation. This will make the sting of the realisation of lost youth hurt less. 

There is still time to grow. Still plenty to enjoy. Sink not into the morose. Be not a victim. But do not ignore stark truths either. You are heading towards the exit now. But on your way out you can still slap a high five, scratch a pithy caption on the wall of the corridor. You can even blow a fucking hole in the wall and make a window for those to come!

So lament not. Feel the sorrow. Express it. Release it. And accept the kiss of each morning's sun with a steady, kind and open heart. It's a new day. A new day for everyone.

Yesterday morning when I got up, I went to the bathroom to evacuate my distensible membranous sac and as I stood there looking out the window at the late morning light hitting the trees and leaves, I was profoundly aware of the omniscience of life and the exquisite grandeur of this planet. Simultaneously I felt suddenly aware of my own relative tiny-ness and insignificance. 

Certainly, within my own mind, and body, within my personal reality-construct, I am key, larger than life, the central player. As we all are in our own consciousness. But in that moment I realised with quite a powerful peeling back of the layers, that one humble human life is such a minute part of the gargantuan and infinite mechanisms of the world and the universe. And not just as a concept - I actually felt it vibrationally.

I greeted my revelation with a mix of fear, surrender, wonder and awe. It was truly the first time so far that I have completely without any pondering or meditation, focus of thought, experienced such a wave of pure obvious truth. 

I have had out of body experiences since I was nine years old. The first one came about while sitting in the back seat of an old Beetle VW on the way to hospital after I had been bitten by a deadly funnel web spider. I remember looking out and up at the tops of the trees and the sky and thinking, well, this could be the end of the line, I may be skyward bound myself in a few hours. 

A few years later, in a Tokyo hospital, I was given a near overdose of pain killers and tripped out so heavily that I remember hanging on by the thinest of threads, slipping in and out of consciousness. I realised then, that life itself is tenuous at best, unpredictable and well beyond our mortal control. 

At 17 with a good mate and some fresh hashish, during a deep and meaningful, relaxed dialogue I felt a wave of deepening connections to the omnipotent forces and a depth of understanding beyond my tender years. I cried and cried, at the beauty of it all. Sobs of joy - and then the munchies.

In my twenties, I experienced some magnificent, delightful and astounding revelations on my first ever LSD trip. Subsequent ones never equalled the first, so I curtailed my intake.

In my twenties and early thirties, I sometimes felt my awareness/consciousness was like a wild, wild horse. I did my best to remain on it's back, but a few times, I felt fearful. Never one to shy away from looking over the edge, occasional violent gusts of wind, would make my mouth dry and my head spin. Close calls were rare, but disconcerting. 

Around 33, things spiralled beyond my control and I began to experience fully fledged anxiety attacks. I endeavoured to ride them out, work my way through this stormy period, but my doctor at the time said she would refuse to see me if I didn't get immediate professional treatment. She was convinced it was necessary, so I acquiesced and enrolled in a weekly group therapy to curb the escalation of panic attacks. It was most entertaining and eye opening, and more importantly, it equipped me with the techniques to stop the escalation. I have not had one since. (If anyone reading this has them, I strongly recommend these anxiety management classes.)

In my forties, I moved to Byron Bay and lived in a Buddhist temple. I was a temporary guest of the head monk, initially, but was invited to stay on, even though I elected not to astutely follow the path to ordainment, due to an aversion - from an early age -  to imposed structure, expectation and assesment. Instead, through a impromptu, self-evolved hybrid technique of meditation, solitude, quietness and self investigation, I lived in harmonious tandem with the monks with a strong mutual respect for three years.

The through line here reveals a predilection for exploration of the mind and consciousness; the spiritual journey. It is something that comes in waves, spirals, peaks and troughs.

So, when I felt that stuff, yesterday morning, it was with a mixture of surprise, near overwhelmingness, amazement and, eventually acceptance. You are exposed to what you need when you are ready for it. Also, I realise, now that I am in my early fifties, I am well past the half way point of my journey. I am heading towards a period where one can ruminate over life experiences lived - celebrated and endured - and use the colourful maker pegs of the highs and lows to assist in the speculation of what is to come - or more aptly - what 'is'.

I feel lucky to be an artist, somewhat of an outsider in society, because it avails me time and freedom to pursue nefarious things and ponder questions regarding the true nature of existence. We are an evolving species, now faster than ever, so to be able to step away, step back, view from a distance, the immense madness and divine chaos in it's infinite variations is a blessing and an honour. 

That sounds a bit like the ending of a speech. But to who? And what for? Everyone is much too busy with their own whirling, constantly demanding realities. And, each is so important in it's own way. Otherwise, it would not be. So, acceptance.

I realise my own need not to get to spaced out or esoteric. I do things to keep it simple and true. Eating, walks on the beach, swims, laughing with friends. It's such an incredible ride - sometimes you just have to hold on and hope for the best. Other times, you can sit back and watch in wonder. Wherever you are, whoever you may be, I, as a fellow human am communicating with you my own truth, as best I can, in an effort to connect and commune. I am telling the tales of my adventures. Whilst many of them are in my head, they are no less real, and no less worthy of sharing. 

I am encouraging you to have no fear. And to get to know yourself, to find and forge your unique place in the world, then to share your truth in whatever way suits you best.