Need To Update SYTs.

Show.

I was supposed to have a show this year.
I was supposed to be quieting piling pieces together for an exhibition.
I have none.
I have maybe one.
I have none.

I'm so mad.
At no one in particular.
Not even at me.
Not even at the passing of time.
Just...frustrated at nothing.

Tonight I am going to ponder themes for a show.
At one point I was thinking of fairytales.
It's still an okay idea.
But I need to think and see if there is anything that captures my heart more.

I need to get working.
Even if I don't get to show this year I would LIKE to have completed a collection, for goodness sakes!

Manae.

m a n a e .

Japanese Pull Saw.

I wrote somewhere that my Japanese Pull Saw never failed me.
Today I fear that statement to be false.
I think the blade is very dull because sawing lately has been just awful and getting worse.
Luckily I have a newer pull saw in my camping box.
I *have* used it to saw up trees out in the wilderness before though, so I hope it is still sharp and good!
Tomorrow I shall pull it out and see.

Latest Commission.

A Wedding Portrait

Magic In The Mail.

WOW.

Today I got some MAGIC in the MAIL.

Alongside many amazing, amazing things (like fraggle rock socks, rainbow suspenders, buttons and bells, books and shirts, CDs and many, many assorted knick-knacks) a friend sent me THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS WORTH of W&N paints.

What?

I bow down.
I stand in awe.
I stand in a puddle of excited, warm pee.

$300 worth of the paints I use and some pretty beautiful brushes to boot.

Needless to say the first thing I use the paints on will be something for her.

I just can't get past the genorousity of it all.
Foshizzle.
I owe that lovely lady some beauty.

Photo Day!

It's not that I'm arrogant enough to think anyone wants me to document my days, it's just that I was in a fun and giggly mood yesterday and felt like taking photos of all the stuff I was doing.

It's not very entertaining but it's pretty much what I do normally.
Well...except for painting doors.
Normally I paint pictures instead.

*grin*

Click for photo linkage.

The Ballad....

Nearly finished.
41"x24", huge in size.

The Ballad of the Lonely Masturbator
by Anne Sexton

The end of the affair is always death.
She’s my workshop. Slippery eye,
out of the tribe of myself my breath
finds you gone. I horrify
those who stand by. I am fed.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.

Finger to finger, now she’s mine.
She’s not too far. She’s my encounter.
I beat her like a bell. I recline
in the bower where you used to mount her.
You borrowed me on the flowered spread.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.

Take for instance this night, my love,
that every single couple puts together
with a joint overturning, beneath, above,
the abundant two on sponge and feather,
kneeling and pushing, head to head.
At night alone, I marry the bed.

I break out of my body this way,
an annoying miracle. Could I
put the dream market on display?
I am spread out. I crucify.
My little plum is what you said.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.

Then my black-eyed rival came.
The lady of water, rising on the beach,
a piano at her fingertips, shame
on her lips and a flute’s speech.
And I was the knock-kneed broom instead.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.

She took you the way a woman takes
a bargain dress off the rack
and I broke the way a stone breaks.
I give back your books and fishing tack.
Today’s paper says that you are wed.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.

The boys and girls are one tonight.
They unbutton blouses. They unzip flies.
They take off shoes. They turn off the light.
The glimmering creatures are full of lies.
They are eating each other. They are overfed.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.


The Ballad Of The Lonely Masturbator.

Remember When Your Mother Used To...?

Remember when your mother used to do the most miraculous things?
You were four years old and you couldn't figure out left from right, let alone the latest dilemma.
And she would show up with the most stupidly practical advice and it would always, marvellously, work.
Like the late night project due the next day, one grizzle and WHAM...a solution. And a *good* solution.
It always seemed, when I was young, that my mother could always make something from nothing.
And in fact when I find myself using handy solutions or old tricks I think...this is the only time I need a child...so I can teach them and wow them in the exact same way. So they can learn the tricks and be equally awed and inspired. By something so stupidly easy. I need someone to appreciate these stupidly easy events with me.

That's why, you see, I need a teenage daughter right now. I need a teenage daughter who is having friends over tomorrow and who - now that all the shops have shut and it's the middle of the night - is trying to organise her room. She'll bring out these ridiculous objects with no attachments and positively whine for me to help her put them on the wall.

I will glance around and with one visual sweep I'll eye up some wood, the saw, a screw driver and some screws.

And I'll say "Honey, THIS is how you attach three orbs to your bedroom wall without using glue or leaving a trace of knobs, nails or handles."

And then...voila...it will be done.

Groan.

Oh, and THIS is part of organising my studio today.



Luck, please!
Wish me luck!

Who Would Do This?

Seriously!
Who would do this to the back of a door?



To the back of *my* door.
That is, when I shut my studio door (which I don't really do, I float around upstairs like I'm living on the clouds) THIS is what I see.

So today I paint it.

It's not red so I shall not paint it black.
I thought green.
And then I thought...just paint whatever on it.

So that is today's project!
Alongside organising my studio upstairs (I just turned a door into an extra desk, so I officially have 7 work desks in there now).

So...I suppose I best go do it.
But first...
Look at my bedroom.
I love it so.

Crikey, I love *all* of this house...each room is so amazing. I need to take photos of them all, when I can.

Jupiter Girl.

After an amazing woman.

Needs polishing, almost done.

Untitled.

My beautiful friend, Lisa.

Needs polishing but practically done.

You Have to Fight.

Also, in aforementioned art supply store, I found some orbs in a clearnace bin.
It caused quite the argument because boy thought they were the ugliest things he ever did see.
At least that's what he said.
So he was really opposed to buying them.
But...they were $3!
THREE DOLLARS.
And I dug them.
I mean, I *dug* them.
I don't know why I fell in love, but I did.
So.
I fought.
For my right.
For ugly.

(break into song, you know you want to....'you gotta fight....for your right....for uggggggggly'

And now I have three orbs.
Which I shall hang above our bed.
To give boy nightmares with.
*grin*

Art Supplies.

Oh cursed, cursed, empty wallet. You are even emptier still.
But...

I needed frisket.
I needed orange.
I needed spray.
DID THEY HAVE THE SPRAY I NEED?
No.
I use UV protectant.
I like to think of my paintings with sunscreen or zinc on their noses.
And they were out.

And then...

BRUSH SALE.
50% off.

There are some brushes I wanted to muck around with/try.
They are these:



So I got some with the discount.
And now I am poor.

But armed to paint.
First course of action?
Paint a few hundred in the inside of my purse.
Think I can trick all the cashiers?
Ohhh, I hope so.
Because there are fake chicken nuggets to be bought.
*rubs grumbling belly*
Oh, yes.
There are.

Fumes.

Oh Dear.

There seems to be fumes from my spray painting all over the house.

In fact it's difficult to breathe.

*vomit*
*headache*
*yech*

Where I Am.

Cripple and the Starfish.

I will dedicate a work to your beauty.
If I could get close.

.

Karianne.

Who Are You?

For tonight I am Salvador, you see.

'Fur'

Tonight I watched 'Fur'

It was confusing that it was about Diane Arbus but not about Diane Arbus at all.
Why do people do fictional tales of real people?
Strange.

But it was beautiful.
The whole thing.
It was beautiful.

Just like her photography.

Perfect.

I Climbed Out the Window.

I went to a party on Friday. It was a good time but most delicious was the back yard. Near the end I left the scene to go out there.
The grass was long and lush and cool to the touch.
At the back of the garden, under a big tree, sat large rocks. I took residence on one.
The glow from neighbouring lights were hazy, the air was crisp and clean.

And later, later, I rolled upon that lush grass, under the stars.

It reminded me of times long ago.
It reminded me of every party I had gone to.
Every party I had left.

I remember climbing out of windows at friend's places while everyone danced or watched movies in the lounge.
Streets I didn't know, will never know.
They all ended up at a field.
Never the same field.
But there was always a field to be had.

When you are young it is much more frightening to lay in the grass in the dark.
But the freedom and the night and the....escape...will always be just as beautiful.

What makes the difference from when you have to climb out a window to when you can walk out a door, I wonder?
Is it just age?
That would suggest a bigger freedom as you grow older.
Which, perhaps, may be true.
But the freedom is still not big enough to keep me inside.
Each person is still the same prison window I must slip through.

It's interesting, no?
To remember who you are?

I think I forget in the haze of it all.
Until there is a party.
And I see those windows.
And I go climbing again.