Aint Nothing Wrong With Me, Must Be Something Wrong With You

I have included a simple mind map of my living/known relatives to pinpoint just where this mania began.

A few months have passed and I still find it truly hilarious that my mothers grand plan to reunite the family failed spectacularly. Not only did it fail but it backfired, it went up in smoke, it drowned, it sunk to the bottom, it burned to ash.

Finally our family would be dysfunctional enough to be called family again. My mother buzzing like a bee in my ear, they would hail her a hero. My mum, the hero, she has done the impossible. They’d throw her a parade and she’d sit atop a float waving to her fans and dysfunctional families alike. They’d look up to her, in the hope that one day maybe they too could do what she has done for family values.

They’ve always said I was the ‘smart’ one, so as smart as I was I looked over the details of my mothers plan carefully and cautiously. Placing down my magnifying glass I said “mother this just will not work”. “How could it not work? It’s my master plan!” she said. I shook my head in discontent, sighing “you never learn, quick fix plans just don’t work!”.

Four days trapped in a confined environment was going to do nothing to unpin the damage years of old age bickering and one too many glasses of wine had done. I however, in all my humbleness, am not one to crush others dreams. I leave that to members of my so called family.

The events that followed in those memorable four days are sure to shoot down any further family holiday plans my mum had in mind. Bruised egos and broken hearts. Sides taken and lines drawn. It was quite the battle. I remained on the outskirts of the battlefield, watching from afar, trying to keep out of sight. I wanted no part in this circus.

Looking back I still laugh. Our once dysfunctional family now just separate strands of dysfunctional strangers. Hopes and dreams were crushed, plans were thwarted, ties ultimately severed. Yes all the clichés in the book folks!

My initial anger at the expense of my precious four day weekend dedicated to the circus has worn off. Now I look back and laugh, because I’m one of those people thinking “I told you so”, but like I said, I’m far too humble to ever say it out loud.

My Duty As An Artist

As an artist I feel certain expectations have been unfairly bestowed upon me. These expectations come off the back of pre-conceived notions society has of what an artist is and what an artist should be able to do.

The skill level of an artist can dictate an ability to complete even the most mundane of tasks with some degree of creativity. I speak for myself in this, although I fear there are numerous other artists all over the world who feel the very same pull.

As an artist it is expected that one be particularly handy with a paint brush. I am making no allegations as to my inability to work the brush but sometimes undue pressure is placed on oneself to be a master at anything that requires a brush.

For example: painting bedroom walls, I would hardly liken this to the art of painting a canvas. This kind of painting requires a different kind of skill that this blogger is sometimes lacking. A steady but fast hand, quick out of the gates, even strokes with an even amount of pressure. No crazy spontaneous bursts of creativity seen here. One may argue that painting uses these very skills, but that is not the kind of painting I would like to associate myself with.

Another example is the ‘art’ of covering a pizza base with tomato paste. If I were an Abstract Expressionist I would drip the paste sporadically over the ‘canvas’ in a spontaneous but planned manner. If I belonged to the Minimalist movement I may decide that a piece of pineapple and a shred of ham were just right. If anyone asked where the rest of the toppings were, “Less is more” I would say with an air of arrogance. How dare they question my eye for a good painting! If I were a Pop artist I’d say screw the circle and cut my base into a square. Using food dye I’d divide the base into four coloured squares of tomato paste. Sadly I am none of these, but I am an artist with an eye for perfection. Picking up a brush of any kind gives me a great sense of freedom. Every inch of the pizza base requires my utmost devotion. For it is the base of a painting that dictates whether or not it will be a success. Or so I heard from some freedom of expression killing horses I happen to come across weekly. “I’m sorry” I would say, I’m simply not in the mood to be told what to do today. And on they would trot.

My last example of brush artistry comes to the toothbrush, such a simple object, that is at times underrated. As an artist one would expect that I admire the fine bristles that gently scrub against my canvas, but I don’t. In fact, the art of teeth brushing is totally lost on me. Not to say I don’t do it, but it is simply a chore. One that must be completed daily in order to continue living. Much like breathing.

To conclude I would like to admit that I may have strayed terribly off course from my original idea. Forgive me, just once more I plead. It has become obvious to me that as an artist the world has certain expectations that I really must live up to. So tonight when I go to brush my teeth I’m going to whip out the paint and go nuts! I hear bleeding gums is quite the look at the moment. “Oh my her gums are bleeding, how very avant-garde of her”, that’s what the horses will say. And I will laugh, red paint, spilling all over the white carpet. And on I’ll swim.

The Art That Captured My Heart

An air of awkwardness fills the blackened room. A room scattered with horses. Horses wondering why they are standing there staring at a black screen. I can almost hear the guy next to me thinking “wow contemporary art has hit a new low”. A donkey passes through and peers into the black hole we find ourselves in, “there’s nothing in here” she remarks and then leaves as quickly as she came. She has no idea I scoff.

I am a picture of darkness. Curled up on the floor I sit dormant. My eyes wide, still adjusting to the pitch black surroundings. I am entranced.

A cinema sized screen beholds a single white dot in its black centre. A floating dot that is getting bigger as it moves closer. This is not a dot at all, it’s a man. A man in white. It becomes apparent that there are two dots. The other dot is a woman. The two dots look as though they are dancing. They are in love. They have no idea what’s coming. They embrace and I stare in wonderment as their limbs hypnotically flail into the black night. The two dots become bigger and bigger until they are life size. Like me, like them. But they are bigger than me. Now I’m the dot.

Lost in thought I miss their approach to the surface. The world explodes and my body is thrusted back. Holy Fuck! All of my internal organs are shaken, racing to escape through my mouth I gape for air, desperate to rise back to the surface.

These beautiful fish move with such elegance and grace. They don’t choke. Like poetic words floating through the water, the two dots dance. They are fish. I am a fish too. But they are in the big sea. I’m still flipping about in the pool of water under the horse’s shoes.

The horses! I forgot about them. It’s like they were never here. It was just me and the dots dancing in the dark.

The dots slowly fade away like ghosts of the sea and I am left alone again. Back where I started. In a room filled with horses.

As the screen blackens once more I watch the horses trot away. The show has only just begun for me though. I remain in my position, ready to do it all over again. This darkness that surrounds me is like an addiction. I can’t escape it, I don’t want to. I want to stay here forever in the dark, with the dots. And for awhile that’s how it is.

Today I was reminded why I love art. For the times like this when I am moved and inspired. This 10 minute experience was worth far more than you’d ever find in any cinema. Free Art.

I Wish That I Could Be Your Pillar Of Strength

Before you read this I must state that I tried my best to refrain from late night/early morning high/low on iced coffee blog posts about my rapidly declining mood. At this point I am wise enough to know that sleep blurs out my misgivings...alas here we are. Are you disappointed yet?


You know I'm feeling pathetic when I:

• Listen to Human Nature and cry
• Play solitaire for hours
• Check and recheck Myspace for no apparent reason ( who still uses that thing anyway I hear you ask. What with that book of faces and all!)
• Consider taking that pink umbrella one rainy day

We're Only Human

Humans are curious creatures, by nature we tend to dabble in serious bouts of casual observation. Speaking from a regulars point of view, I have to say, observing human activity is not pretty, it’s shocking and frightening at the best of times. Could we really be such creatures of habit I often ask myself.

My casual observations on the bus home in recent months have led to a startling conclusion. I share my breathing space with dirty rotten criminals! Some may not be shocked at this finding, but I like to believe the grass is greener where I live.

Our suspects: one male and female, some would say they are coupled, I would agree. Let’s say they are in their mid thirties, at the peak of life some might say, I prefer to think they are edging closer to the ever burgeoning mid-life crisis. This ‘couple’ look normal enough, with their plain sweats and simple haircuts, just another Joe and Jill on these weathered streets. Upon observing their seemingly simple life I have noticed something that isn’t quite right. I like to refer to this couple as the ‘box carriers’. On several occasions they have been spotted on the bus, box in arms. Huggies nappies boxes, vacuum cleaner boxes, DVD player boxes. Time and time again, the same boxes, surely they are not shopping addicts, do they have no air of extravagance? I mean really Huggies nappies? This may not seem out rightly abnormal but one must wonder what’s inside those boxes. Unless this pair possess super human strength I can rest assured those boxes do not contain what their exterior claims. The boxes are not filled with DVD players or vacuum cleaners or nappies but something much more sinister, lollipops! The boxes are full of lollipops, and like saviours of the valley the couple go out and feed kids in need. I ruled this out quickly however, their constant bickering led me to believe kids would be afraid of these people, and that their good deed would go unnoticed.

As a regular casual observer of this quirky duo I was willing to forego such discrepancies in their behaviour and give them one more shot at proving to me they weren’t what I first thought, dirty rotten crooks. That was until today. Criminals my suspicious mind screamed! On they strut, no boxes today, maybe the rain washed them away. This was not what caught my eye though. The woman was wearing a black beanie. This was my neon sign moment, my light bulb above the head moment. CRIMINALS! Their shifty eyes, constantly averting contact with us ‘regulars’. I watched them from my perch, secretly noting and ticking boxes in my head. Black beanie: tick. Shifty eyes: tick. Just as I thought I quietly muttered. Practicing indiscreetness I had to contain my excitement at my finding, I certainly don’t want to end up on their hit list a few years down the track. I can’t die, I’ve never been to the moon!

Today their plan came unstuck, lazy and foolish in their approach this casual observer zoomed in on this criminal pair.

Let this be a warning for all you suspect people out there, this blogger is watching you.

True Things

"Rebecca you still remain a mystery to everyone here"
"Okay..."

This may be one of the truest things ever said.

I don't promise to induce laughter or tears through blog but secretly hope that everyone of you reading are either drowning in your own sad creation or clutching at your laughter-sick stomach.