Any amateur psychiatrists in the house?
I did this artwork yesterday, then conveniently dreamt I had a horse just this morning. He was big and wild but we got along well and he was very friendly with me. It was in one of those funky dream landscapes, vividly real at the time but on contemplation afterwards, lacking definition. It was in an urban environment and there were plenty of other people with horses. For some reason, he didn't want to come in contact with the other horses, so we went down a big hill.
Any amateur psychiatrists in the house?
I took this picture down the bottom of Crown St in Woolloomooloo yesterday after a coffee at Toby's Estate. It was a beautiful sunny sunday and a big tree was casting a grand shadow on the building.
To make the collage I added the hand and the other two elements and some shapes and colouring. Taking an existing image of simple beauty sanpped along the way of my daily travels and making it into something dynamic and different is one of my daily pursuits and thrills. All done on my Samsung Galaxy Note with a pared down PS program and a stylus. I sit there in a cafe, at the library or in my car having a wonderful time doing my small bit to transform reality.
Where have you been, my friend?
In a room, in a house other than your own?
On a hill in a dream, standing all alone?
Walking down a hallway to take your punishment sweet?
In a bar with the business doing meet and greets?
Up a tree as a child, hovering above eternity?
In a tunnel, an escape, running, tears a burning thee?
On a cloud with a clown, telling funny stories?
Wrestling with a landlord on the murky floor of incivility?
Bloodied and bruised, disabused of the idea
That we can choose?
Or covered in oil, purring, writhing as hands of a beauty
Knead thee to carnal ecstasy?
Fasting? Forgetting? Concept jamming?
Slicing? Sweating? Social scamming?
Do you still know who you are? What you are doing?
Does it matter?
Above the chatter can you hear me?
Can you hear me?
Tell me, where have you been, my friend?
... spoil the burra.
And success has gone to this one's head.
His name is Joshuar. He added the 'r' on the end after landing his first contract with fashion house Yoshimoto.
Granted he is a fine looking bird, but he knows it. Too much.
He has tantrums, demanding only very particular dimensions with his insects diet. Of course, no common worms allowed and heaven forbid he find a dirty cockroach amongst his feed.
He has a full time groomer, he gets his beak manicured and polished every day and his feathers brushed and fluffed after waking and before bed each night.
He parties in nightclubs in the fun capitals of the world. (What are they? I'm not sure. I've never been rich or a celeb or a model. New York, LA, Monaco... Dublin?... Anyway...)
There's no denying he's a fine bird. And his laugh! His laugh is spectacular. It used to be heard across the globe and bring delight to countless species. But these days it is copyrighted. It can be downloaded from iTunes and Android as a ringtone. But it is rare to hear a real one anymore. His managers insist he go into a silence chamber each morning to sing his song, lest the stalking paparrazzi make illicit recordings and sell it.
He is one the cover of many magazines and seen, of course, on the siliver screen, opposite the likes of Celine Peacock, Meryl Mockingbird and the much loved Touloula Tweetybird.
Still, we lament the new age. We wish Joshuar had no r. We wish he was back on the tree in our backyard, laughing away with glee and joy to greet the light of the glorious new day.
We wish the world was as it was before it became a product.
They said it would happen but, to be honest, I didn't believe it. I mean I was like a princess! Cavorting around, drunk on my own beauty, getting praised and envied and lusted after! It was more that just a night to be remembered - it was a night I will never forget. And I knew I was gonna get laid. It was in the bag. I had choices! Rich guys, good looking guys, rich good looking guys, sexy scientists (only one, but still), exotic billionaires from countries I hadn't ever heard of...! The list goes on. I would write it all down. Except I don't HAVE ANY FUCKING HANDS!
I was supposed to be in ecstasy right now! Maybe even married to a prince or a sultan or something. Yeah they told me about this - warned me that after the clock strikes 12 - if I wasn't home - but come on! - scare mongering, stupid superstitions, jealous lies... by 10pm and six champagnes I had completely forgotten about it all together. By 11pm I had danced with my dream partners, pashed a barman, had lines in the toilet with an Armanian rapper while being fondled by his girlfriend.... the list goes on. Who had brain space to remember some dumb fairy tale caution...?? I was living the life, baby!
But midnight did come. And suddenly. And now here I am. Can you believe it? And I'm not the only one. Some of the others have been here forever. One old lady told me that I should pray to be taken and eaten by a peasant or a passing family. At least that way I won't be left to rot! How could this happen??? OMG.
And then they told about a time, once a year, when some of us get picked out and taken and carved up. I didn't believe things could get any worse. But I was wrong! They're going to completely gut me and carve my face?! I was a world class beauty! Famous! A princess! What the hell happened to my dress by the way? I can't move. Why do I get the feeling it's lying in the dirt behind me or somewhere? And my boobs? They were pert and perky. Primetime nipples. Oh, oh, oh. What a waste of perfection. I hate fucking fairy tales. Curse the motherfuckers who thought this one up. Couldn't they just leave me alone. I was having the night of my life. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
I don't even like orange! It sucks! Couldn't I be pink at least?! Shit. And I'm fat! Go, go. Leave me... boo hoo...! - sob -
Mary Patrerro went and bought a pig
Her face was bandaged and she was wearing a wig
A basket adourned her head with oranges aplenty
She had planned to loose her virginity before she turned 40
Things don't always work out like you think
So when that happens just go buy a pig
At least that's what old Mary did
Trawling through the net came across this picture comic I made eight or nine years ago. Had completely forgotten about it. Not sure how much of it is true and how much I made up.
What we gotta do to keep our sanity? ART !!
When we gonna do it? NOW !!
What we gonna paint? PICTCHAS !!
Why we gonna paint them? CAUSE WE CAN !!
Who's in charge? NOBODY !!
What are the rules? FOLLOW YOUR HEART !!
Why are we chanting like this? I DON'T KNOW !!
Can we get back to our painting then? YES !!
If I were a moguldog
After a hard day of fucking and howling
I'd sit back with a cigar
Wind in my dog hair
Suit on my back
And contemplate the important things
Like food and more fucking
My favourite group of artists when I was a kid growing up was the surrealists.
I distinctly remember seeing Dali's painting (below) in a book when I was nine years old in the library at the Bush School in Wahroonga and being blown away. It was the first time an image had actually drawn me in and played with my mind. Until then I had never seen an image like it. It was a powerful experience.
Dali could be over-intense sometimes. In later years, I read and loved his Autobiography of a Genius. What a dude! As a kid one morning he poured his entire bowl of breakfast cereal down the front of his shirt. When his mum asked him why, he explained, "I eat it every morning, I just wanted one time to feel it running down my body..."
Painting wise, I became more fond of Magritte, who's style was more clean and stylised - with a explorational playfulness that I enjoyed.
Both these guys really seemed to enjoy making their art and that is important to me.
Your art is a reflection of your perception of yourself and the world.
ART GETS ME HIGH
Author & Artist