Retirement

My retirement is tiring. Is that why it's called re-tire-ment? Ark Ark.

I was never this busy when I turned up at the office everyday.

I have to say though, it's the best decision I've made in a long time, maybe ever. OK, maybe it won't seem so wonderful when the pay cheque stops. But then again I've already got my first paid gig; my pocket money.

I'm coaching.

Yes, me. Coaching.

And I'm making films about the planet and other small things like that. That's not paid. Not yet.

I'm not painting and not photographing because I'm too busy. But I will. Oh yes I will.

After twenty years of spreadsheet incarceration I'm just exploding with inspiration.

Chasing Waves

I spend much of my free time chasing waves in the South China Sea.

I try to catch the runners.

Some people wait patiently for them to come from behind, but I chase the waves in front, hoping to be swept up and carried away.

Runners
Oil on Canvas
April 2010

Bullshit Artist

When people ask me what I do, I now reply "I'm an artist". The first few times I felt like a fraud, but I soon got over that. Besides, now it's the truth. Well it will be from next week, because Friday is my last day in the office.

I can't say Friday is my last day of work, because I stopped working about six weeks ago. No, make that six months ago. Still it's the turning up and sitting around that's a drag.

So now I'm an artist, an unemployed hippy bum.

I couldn't be happier.

Duped by dopamine

Depression, melancholy without the creative output. Yes, that's it.

Some people like to be miserable. Maybe I'm one of them. So much easier to create when there's a storm cloud to break through.

I like to be happy too. I like it all.

A chemical imbalance that needs to be corrected, what a load of rot.

Blocked Up

I haven't cried for a few weeks now, not even at Steve's memorial. I'm all blocked up, and so is my painting.

I'm working on a giraffe but it's not working back.

Out of town

I went to Steve's memorial
He's left town.
Whenever I pass the Jockey
I know he's gone.

Sinister

That's more like it. Sinister little bastards.

Oil on sketch paper April 2010.

Chirpy

Convincing but not compelling.

Would it be better without the sea and a simpler sky? Perhaps a bit of green in the foreground? I'll leave it awhile.

Oil on Paper

April 2010

My Place

There's nothing like a sudden death to rattle and shake and put things into perspective. I woke up this morning wondering where I was and which day it was and then I remembered with a thump. It's real. It happened. He's gone.


We talked about emus.



 





"My Place"
Oil on Canvas
50.8cm X 60.9cm
April 2010

Shandy

Steve died this morning. Forty years old. Heart attack.

There are so many things I would like to say about Steve, but right now I can't find them. 


Last Sunday we had a beer, talked about living life to the full, doing things that make us happy; like creating. He looked tired in his frayed denim jacket. Chipped teeth I hadn't noticed before. That was Sunday. Today he's gone.

Kate's husband and Ruby's daddy. I'm so very sorry.

Bye Steve.

He bought me a shandy.

"My shout next time"

As I dashed to catch the 5.40 ferry

Leaving the glass half full.

Half empty.

Mystic Musings

I like to think I'm open minded. Maybe I am, maybe I'm not, but on the advice of a friend, and in the spirit of having nothing to lose, I took myself to see a fortune teller.

That was September last year, when I was really down in the dumps. Here's what she said:

General Spread:
Energy is stuck, major blocking factor is lack of trust in self and others.
Learn to reclaim your own power and voice
Emperor card. Now is the time to confront the person of power More inner peace is coming up
Strong enough to stand up and face him (person of power) directly.
Collect the fruit of everything seeded.
Next 12 Months:
1st part - challenge yourself
Next summer - overseas door opens
Moon Card - Restless and unstable in October, ground yourself
Queen of Pentacles - learn to master the mind, do physical activities and routine outside of work.
January brings a new collaborator.
- Someone new at work with a lot of energy
- New ideas. Will rock the boat for a little while
- Has an unusual energy
- Could shut down and withdraw because this guy presents a challenge
March to April
- This guy will work under me. He is smart and has vision
- I will get a fresh outlook
- My knowledge will grow during the year
May to June
- King of Cups  - represents someone who has helped in the past
- A kind of mentor
- Open up to others
- Learn to be more content with the situation
- New ideas
- Challenge and think outside the box
- It's a what-if game. Act on it.
Summary:
Don't do anything this month (September)
Radical change will come over Summer. It's very good for me and there may be a change of location
Have learned everything there is to learn in Hong Kong
Be inspired

Me and D:
My cards
Moon
- planet is effecting too much
- loosing myself in my emotions
- creative ideas directly leading and creating instability
- get back on track
Sun
- can create out of nothing
- so much potential
Garden
- can create without anyone
- Look at all my potential and find within the power and belief
- Look for someone who compliments my potential
D's cards
He's married, not available
Stuck
A lot he is not telling
Emperor King energy
Already got he best from him but he is stuck in his box and not willing to do anything to change his path. Doesn't have the guts to change.
Put a closure on this
Will never give you what you want
Move onto something else.


There are a lot of guys around
Go out with other people
Be at home and feel safe
Reconnect with yourself

D cannot give you what you want

It is a wake up call, that's all.

Careful what you wish for

Well, it's happened. I've been offered a severance and I'm thrilled and have that pinching myself feeling. I'm going to make a list of all the things I've always wanted to do but not been able to do because I had to go to work.

And more good news. Tomorrow I'm going on holiday to Fiji with a great group of people and not a wanker amongst them.

Unique

Last month I went to South Africa for work and I've been thinking about zebras ever since.

I always thought of them as black and white stripy horses, but not any more. Every zebra is unique and beautiful and a little bit melancholy.

Deco Zeb
Oil on Canvas March 2010

Here she is with her eye lashes and blonde high-lights.

No thanks

Back to Hong Kong tomorrow and this may be my last visit to Dubai. It's not somewhere I would choose for a holiday and the new guy is pretty much up and running in my old job. He's quite OK, pleasant, not stupid, and best of all, he's new. I suspect he has a skeleton or two lurking around, a touch of bipolar or the like, and I don't give a damn. He's in, I'm out and praise be to Allah for that.

All in all it's been a good visit. I've bought some new clothes, eaten very well, met some new people and paddled around the Burj Al Arab.

I've only cried once in the past few weeks and that was yesterday when I received my performance report for last year. The customs officer gave me a low rating, below average; the lowest I've ever had. I didn't go the extra mile or something. I did the job, but I didn't do anything special with it, apparently.

It's not enough these days to meet every deadline, make no errors, answer every stupid question from people who are too lazy to figure it out themselves, travel all over the globe to some less than desirable places (and some very nice ones), help others understand how to do their jobs and do it all quietly and efficiently so that he and his department look good. No, that's not enough.

Now I'm supposed to take a job I can't stand that I've been doing for way too long and make it more dynamic.

I don't believe it for a minute.

It's my punishment for daring to say 'no thanks' when they told me I was moving to Dubai. There's that inability to buckle under thing. Men who should be in uniform really don't like it.

Tell me what you want

My boss's boss, is a man of whom I'm not particularly fond. He makes good use of his Irish charm and is most definitely a company man. If he was an actor, not an accountant, he would be cast as a policeman or moustached customs officer. He needs a uniform. He is very well liked and respected by all but me.

He is the Corporate Controller. Control is something he does very well, as is face slapping. I dread being called into his office, or him popping into mine..."for a chat". There's always a less than subtle thwack to go with the chat. Metaphoric of course, although I'm sure he's the type. I wonder what it says about him that he feels the need to cut me down time after time.


Last week he called me in, sat me down and insisted I tell him what I want. He's looking after my future and doesn't know how to help me because he doesn't know what I want. What I want? What does anyone want? I want to be happy, healthy, love and be loved. And if I can't have that, then I want enough money to pay the mortgage, go on holidays, paint and be left in peace.

He wants me to show "passion and enthusiasm" for my job.

In my standard passive aggressive calm irritating manner reserved for dealing with people from the office, I mouthed:

"I'm enthusiastic. I'm looking forward to doing this project work. I know I'm fortunate (couldn't bring myself to say blessed) to be given time to work out the next stage of my career."

"But where's the passion Polly?"

Did he wanted me to jump up and down and wave my arms?

"Passion? We are talking about accounting."

Oh dear. Back up. Too late. I realised, as the words left my mouth.

I know that what I am supposed to want is what he wants...me to do for him.

He's decided not to give me a sabbatical because, although the VP of Human Resources had told me it was an option, it's "only offered 'with respect' to people who are considered to have potential to make an impact". Slap. Take that.

What do I want? I want him to give me a termination payout and let me go. I don't want to resign because that would make it too easy.

I want him to stop feigning he has my best interests at heart and give me one huge and final slap of cash as I walk out the door.

There, that's what I want.

Things to Come

Who would have thought I would get such a kick out of writing? I was really lousy at English at school, just scraping through HSC with 52%.

I was pretty hopeless at maths too. My grade 6 teacher told my mother I would never make it to high school mathematics.

Well I did make it through tertiary, on to university and topped it all off with an MBA. Hello Mr Budgen. Are you still out there?

That's not to say it was easy for me. I always knew I wasn't stupid, but I found the knuckling down and buckling under the toughest part of learning and, now that I think about it, the toughest part of working.

Thankyou. Bye Bye.

It's not that I'm in any hurry to get back to Hong Kong as such, but I'm really missing painting. I've got a zebra inside of me just chomping to get out.

I've been thinking about which colours will read as black and white; probably dark purple and light blue over an undercoat of burnt sienna. Oh I can't wait to meet that zebra and to finish the kang.

As for Hong Kong, I think we're through.

Thankyou. Bye Bye.

Rumination II

Six months on, and although Channel D is still on loop, the volume is much lower. It's background noise now.

His exile has been to my advantage. But now he's starting to show his face, too arrogant, or is it ashamed, to acknowledge me as more than a passing acquaintance.

If he was the man I thought he was it could have been wonderful. But I was wrong, he isn't and it can't.

Dubai

As I lie here in the sun, with a bowl of exotic nuts and a gin and tonic by my side, I'm staring up at the tallest building in the world and I fancy myself as a rather fortunate woman. I kicked up quite a fuss at being sent to Dubai, just a week after my last business trip to South Africa, but it has turned out to be rather wonderful. Just the get away I needed.

This morning I went paddling with a friend of a friend in the salty torquise sea around the Burj Al Arab. We paddled past a couple of luxury yachts, got shoo'd away from the hotel beach by Pakistani "life savers" and continued on our way towards The Pearl Of Dubai - The Palm.

The weather is glorious at this time of year, still and fragrant.

I'm treating this as a kind of holiday, staying at a first class hotel, lapping it up and all thanks to my employer. I'm here to hand-over the reins of the job that's been sucking me dry for the past five years.

More about the job and the new guy later. For now I'm just going to soak it all up and (don't you hate this expression)....Enjoy!

A manly place, and quite all right, if you like
sipping cocktails on the 62nd floor.
And Russian whores with skinny legs
and bed sores
rubbed raw against the cataflaque
that clads the Burj Khalifa.

Fancy a cuppa?

Never judge a book by its cover. That's all very well, but I judge everyone by their reaction to my Dibbern. I've just bought some, as a birthday present to self.

From Beclau Homewares website.

Giant Red

I'm a woman possessed and can't stop painting. I just have to.

I'll let him dry and work in some eyebrows and a furrowed brow...and maybe some barbed comments for a bit of drama.

Macropus Rufus March 2010
Oil on Sketch Paper

Here is is with his eyebrows.

Strange animals

Today on the phone:

Mum: You're worse than J (her friend and animal activist). You seem to have a thing for animals. Why don't you paint people?
Me: What people, like who..whom? Why should I paint people? I paint animals.

I bet she wants me to paint her portrait but won't ask.

Stoke of Luck

Rather than being suckered into being chauffeured around Cape Town by a friend of the crooked concierge "that's the only way for seeing the city madam", I decided to let chance be my guide and set out on foot . I had no sooner turned the corner when a big top-less bus  pulled up beside me. For a tenth of the price of the shifty chauffer I was carried through the streets of Cape Town, and surrounds, with the sun on my face, wind in my hair and stereophonic commentary in my ears. The day's entertainment taken care of and no requirement to make small talk. Christ, what luck!

I hopped off at the Kirstenbosch Gardens for lunch and ambled into an exhibition by local artists. Quite a lot of crap, of course. There always is. Yet down low, on a stand on the ground, I spotted an unframed silk "rock painting" of cows or buffalo or some such bush bovine. I liked it, I bought it. It wasn't expensive and I was still ahead.

The artist, a single mother, supports herself by providing healing through art. Healing through art. You know, for people who have had strokes, or some such, and need to regain confidence and motor skills.

The bean planted and now bubbling and brewing. It's so close I can smell it. A gallery coffee shop artists' drop-in joint. Hip and bohem.

I can do that.

Blog it Out

C says blog it out
Better out than in
She's right, damn you
Out. Get out.

Things to Come

My earliest memory is of standing by the front window of our flat in Middle Park forlornly watching my father walking away. He wasn't going far, but I loved walking hand in hand with him along the Esplanade.  I suppose I had been naughty and had to stay at home as punishment. I don't remember what I had done, I just remember that I felt distraught and, if a three year old is capable of such a sentiment, I felt aggrieved.

That same year we moved to Williamstown on the other side of the bay. We put the old red Mercedes onto the cable ferry to cross the Yarra Yarra river. I remember the clunking of the cable as it rolled off the wheel into the muddy water below. Overhead the chasm of the collapsed Westgate bridge yawned and gaped and we passed underneath it. I terrified myself with gruesome images of the ghostly workers who had fallen to their death and lay beneath the mud and chains below.

Our new house on the strand offered a good view of the bridge and its missing chunk. On clear days I would look all the way across Hobsen's Bay, beyond the city buildings, to the violet Dandenong ranges. In winter I convinced myself they were dusted in snow. I was desperate to see snow and begged my mum and dad to take me to see it. They didn't. I took myself many years later.

I was asthmatic. My mum refused to put me on puffers and steroids and had me do deep breathing and relaxation instead. I don't know how she resisted the scorn of lofty doctors and omniscient parents, but I'm so glad she did. She took me swimming at the YWCA on Saturday mornings. Ahead of her time, quite headstrong and really brave.

I was a shy and withdrawn child. Some things haven't really changed all that much.

Jet Lag

I'm not sure what is going on with this little fellow. He's not getting enough sleep and looks a bit psychotic.

Still, I like him.

Postscript:

K said that the barbed wire speaks "volumes of the Aussie outback... its wildlife and the implications of displaced species and ... land destruction by white settlement......."
I'll take it.

Leggy Bird II

Oil Sketch on Paper
Feb 2010

Family Jewels

The job I hate is coming to an end soon. I'm nearly at the last hurdle; a ten day stint in the desert training the new guy. I hate going to Dubai and can not for the life of me imagine how people can actually pretend to enjoy living there.

I've been offered project work for three months, during which time I'm supposed to figure out what I want to do. No mean task given the truth of the matter is I really don't want to work for anyone. I can't stand the routine. I can't stand being bossed.

I want to create.

My dad creates. He's a jeweler. He started in his forties, taught himself. He's said he'll teach me if it's what I really want.

Sadness

There's a widespread belief that crying is good for us.

Well it had better be, because I've been doing it more or less non stop for the past six months. I cry when I go to bed and I cry when I wake up and I don't really know what I'm crying about anymore. I cry at my desk and I cry in yoga when my head is down. Yoga! It's either cry or punch a bendy piece of fluff in the pouty gob.

I don't cry in front of people, but I did today. It was embarrassing; for me and for my new boss.

Too much of a good thing.

Easier to forget than forgive

I haven't done my forgiveness letter. I've forgotten to do it and am taking that as a very good sign. I'd rather forget than forgive any day.

Cast Off

He forced himself to say hello
Limp fish
Brittle husk, wan.


Ashen; the meds I suppose
Death wish
Carcass left, spirit gone.

Gruesome Sheep

I had another dinner party last weekend. Roast lamb as it happens.

It turned into quite a wild night and I received a "don't disturb the peace" letter with a threat of a $HK 10,000 fine. Benchmark of a good party I would say.



I'm not sure how this sinister sketch became so innocent looking. My friend K says it's still a scary looking sheep. He's a vet and would know.


Scary Sheep

Oil Sketch Jan 2010

Salve to Love

One of the reasons the thing with D is so hard to get over is because it never really got started, and yet it seemed so full of potential. I'm left with regret. I had admired him from afar for years, he seemed like the perfect guy; sporty, studious, serious, gentle, kind, funny, sexy and..... oh yes, that's it....married.

And then, all of a sudden, he wasn't. I knew he was keen and I knew it was too soon; but guys like that don't hang around for very long, especially not in Hong Kong. I was smitten, but held back because I wanted to be sure he was really interested. He come back, said he was drawn to me "like a magnet". We got closer and it was really lovely. When we kissed he said he felt he had "come home".

Then he started to back off. Of course I sensed it immediately but had no idea why. One day I was wonderful, beautiful and special and then I wasn't.

After a few weeks of limbo he mustered up the courage to tell me what had changed.

He called it "the other relationship". He didn't use the word "affair", but that's what it is when it has been going on in secret with your wife's best friend. I'm pretty sure "affair" is one of the words her husband and daughter will use when they find out.

And what was my role in this?

Please don't speak English

My friend C makes short films. Yes, she's a film maker amongst other intellectual and creative pursuits. And thereby, something of a local celebrity.

C writes, directs, and stars in her quirky vignettes of life as a vivacious blonde in Hong Kong who upsets the lychee cart by doing something that few Caucasians have bothered to do - learn the local language.

C will soon be featuring in a local current affairs show - The Pearl Report. It's not the first time she's been on telly and she is quite the seasoned interviewee. This I came to truly appreciate when hard hitting journo Harold turned up to film a story ostensibly about C's well documented penchant for Chinese geezers; at least that's the way she sold it to me.

Despite his best efforts, world weary Harold couldn't suppress his giggles when C donned her man boobs and moustache to play the part of ah Mok, the sleazy geezer with a heart of gold. I play his naive and somewhat put-upon best friend ah Wai - complete with baldy wig and coke bottle specs. Together they get up to all sorts of adventures; visiting whorehouses, hunting down long lost relatives in deepest Guangdong, slurping tea on the pavement and generally attracting a lot more attention than I'm entirely comfortable with. C laps it up, and posts it on You Tube.

"Ah. You're so cool. Can I take your photo"

"Mh sai gong yingman" (Please don't/no need to speak English)

"Oh, you speak the Cantonese! Cannot be! Wo...so smart."

"Mh sai gong yingman"

This exchange, and limited variations of it, have been repeated over and over, day after day, for the twenty years or so that C has been speaking Cantonese. It's so patronising I want to scream. C takes it in her stride.

Harold looked on in awe as his camera man (not bad looking) filmed us filming the latest episode. A startled guy at the next table blinking his rabbit eyes in our direction.

"Do you meet many guys dressed like that?" Harold finally asked. This was an interview after all.

"Sure. Watch this"

"Wei!"

C and I called out to some unsuspecting patrons. They did a splendid job of ignoring us. So the answer to that one is "No. None actually".

Blinky kept up the blinking. As he stood up to leave he handed C his name card. 'Boudoir Films'. She showed it to me before tucking it into her bra.

"Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much." ~ Oscar Wilde

Every week my life coach gives me homework. Last week I was set the task of writing a "forgiveness letter" to someone who may have hurt me. I didn't do it.
This week's homework was a "signature strengths" survey.

Survey Results:

Top strengths: creativity, appreciation of beauty, humour and playfulness.
Bottom strengths (we don't call them weaknesses): faith, forgiveness and mercy.

So, there we have it, no big surprises there. I'm not big on forgiveness, but I'll take a leaf out of Oscar's bush and give it a try.

When I'm ready.

Less is more or is it?

Tonight I felt a strong desire to paint rather than go running or to the gym. I'm glad I listened to that urge.

Painting lets me access my creative brain, or is it my creative brain that allows me to paint?

Either way it's an expedition into the part of my mind that is free of mundane rumination and constant monkey chit chat. It's just very pure and peaceful in there.

I start with a blank canvas and an idea of the painting, but I never know what will become of those dabs that I lay down, thick over thin.

She needed to grow up

I came back to Daube a few days later and added some more fur and eyelashes.
Daube de Boeuf Oil Sketch Jan 2010
She looks a bit older now. And could it be, wiser?

Wilberforce

I have just put down Paul Torday's "The Irresistible Inheritance of Wilberforce". In contrast to the reviews I've read, I liked this more than his first novel "Salmon Fishing in the Yemen".

It's told in a similar vein, but is a much darker tale about delusion and self-interest. We meet Wilberforce near the end of his demise and witness, in four vintages, and in reverse, the journey that took him from self made computer nerd to penniless alcoholic.

Over the course of a few years Wilberforce manages to find and lose wealth, friendship, happiness and love. He destoys himself and everyone around him, all the while kidding himself that it is neither his fault, nor his responsibility.

The characters are not particularly likeable, but they are very human.

Boeuf Bourguignon II

A funny thing happened to me on the way to work. Actually before work and then I was late, but that doesn't matter really  because it's Friday, and I don't much like my job.

I sat down this morning with my cup of coffee and, out of curiousity, googled "Julie Julia Blog". I found this "juliepowell.blogspot.com". Nothing remarkable so far. 

Scrolling down three entries to December 21st 2009 I noticed the words "cow painting". Now my interest was piqued. The entry directed me to here Teresa Elliott.

WOW! I mean WOW!

Now I'm inspired. That's a painting and an artist.

And a funny coincidence. Or is it?

Postscript:
It turns out that the cow painting was in a People article promoting Julie's new book about her extramarital affair with a man named D. She got a movie deal from a crap book about her perfect marriage and had an affair to put back together that which she had torn asunder (she said it, not me). She probably suffers from depression too. 
So many coincidences there that I.....am reaching at straws.


That cow painting really is great.

Boeuf Bourguignon

My words for 2010: Optimism; Entertainment; Art


I've been meaning to cook Boeuf Bourguignon a la Julia Child since seeing that film about the women who blogged her way through through "Mastering the Art of French Cooking".

Notwithstanding Meryl, who was excellent, the film left me cold; but it did inspire me to invite some friends for dinner tomorrow night and give the boeuf a try.
I followed the receipt to the letter, well most of the letters. I skipped the last part about straining the contents, washing the casserole and adding the sauce back to the meat; couldn't see the point.
It wants 2 1/12 hours in the oven on a low temperature which gave me time to work on another daube.


Step 1: Sketch the cow and block in light and shade.

Step 2: Add sunshine.

Daube de Boeuf
Oil sketch paper Jan 2010

Leggy Bird

This is a rough sketch for a larger work on canvas.

"Leggy Bird"
Oil on Paper Jan 2010

Rumination

It's now nearly five months that I've known about the affair.

I don't know why D confided in me. He said he wasn't being fair so he had to finish things between us. I think he just needed someone to tell, and I was the person closest at the time. He also told me he suffers from very bad depression and that was the reason his marriage fell apart, not the affair.

In the meantime he's had a nervous breakdown, a serious one by accounts. So he was telling the truth about the depression. He's shut out everyone and doesn't appear to be socialising at all. Word on the street is he's doped up to the eyeballs.

I don't know what tipped him over the edge, perhaps Tiger Woods. No one likes a cheater do they? Well, at least not in America. More likely something that she did.

She's super palsy with PB at the moment and getting stronger as he fades.

Hong Kong Kids

"Mommy rhymes with money"
It made me laugh out loud on the bus today.
Little shits.

Muse

Inspiration
drawn from melancholy
laid down in caerulean hues.


D says he loves her because she's his muse. I prefer to find my muse within.

Life is what happens until it doesn't

I've started seeing a life coach; that is, we speak on the phone because she's in Australia and I'm in Hong Kong. It makes me feel very grown up, a little self indulgent and a bit of a wanker. Nevertheless, I feel it's a step in the right direction and I'm noticing some improvement in my state of mind already. We have our forth session today. I'm looking forward to it.

Last week we touched on the the symmetry between what is happening right now and what happened exactly ten years ago. Thoughts of suicide. Not mine, I'm too much of a pragmatist for that.

My life coach has a system and an arsenal of tools at her disposal for getting to the deeper stuff. We don't know each other socially, so I don't need to edit. I feel safe and unjudged. 

Think about significant memories or events or people who have had an impact. What feelings can you identify that don't feel quite appropriate? Can you do that?

Er..No. Not not readily at least.

My mind drew a blank, but we got talking about the last time I felt lost at sea. It was ten years ago. I had just been promoted to a very senior and responsible job heading up a large team across the country. I was thirty and considered way too young for the role; but I knew I had the credentials and that I could do it well. And I did.

I set about defining roles and responsibilities
Filling vacant positions with well qualified staff.
I developed vision mission statements, work plans and time tables
I took it very seriously; it and myself.

One ordinary Friday, David the smartest and funniest of my new recruits told me he was looking forward to the weekend and watching his son's football game. The following Monday he didn't come to work. His son had walked into the garage to find his daddy hanging from a beam. He liked cross country skiing and talking about his family.

When I heard the news I fainted and crumbled. I remember the electric blue flecked nylon pile below the printer. I cried and cried for weeks after. I hardly knew him but I grieved; for him, for his family and for myself. I felt he had let me down. I felt ashamed for feeling that he had let me down.

My colleague Richard was going through a separation at the time. His wife had hair on her teeth and didn't like me much, most likely because she was suspicious that he did. He made a pass at a tax convention in Wellington New Zealand. It caught me off guard because I had only ever thought of him as Richard from Budgeting with the transparent skin and small hands.

We didn't become intimate, but we did gradually become closer friends. Once he had confessed his love he seemed to think he could tell me anything. I don't believe he really loved me, he hardly knew me, it was more that he had hooked onto me as some unattainable idol. I was flattered and burdened by it. I hope I didn't exploit his feelings for my own gratification, I don't think I did, but perhaps I did...maybe just a bit.

After David's funeral Richard told me that he often thought about killing himself. We talked about what a selfish act it would be, how his children would suffer, how there is always another solution, a much better solution. He started smoking pot, popping pills and hanging out at folk festivals near Byron Bay. A mid-life crisis I thought. He seemed to think this was cool but it didn't really fit over his accountant's woolen vest. He met someone and seemed happy, or happier. His wife met someone new a well.

One day Richard posted a bunch of letters to people he felt had wronged him and flung himself off a bridge. I'm told it was neither quick nor painless, but he succeeded.

His ghost followed me to Europe. For a long time afterwards I would see him looking back at me in shop windows in Florence or boarding the metro in Rome.

I never cried about Richard because I was too angry and I realise now that I'm still too angry. He wasted my time. There, how's that for an inappropriate thought?

Gregarious Wading Birds

Gregarious Wading Birds
Oil on Canvas 2009


Flamingos have very long legs, but it is their colours that I find most appealing. Someday I'll use the same pallet of prussian blue, cadmium red, naples yellow and zinc white to paint pomegranates.

Not long ago, before he went off the rails, D asked me what I want to say as an artist. What do I want to say? I don't want to say anything; I just want to paint and photograph things that appeal to me in some way, whether it is colour or form or some quirk about the shape and arrangement of the image. Do I have to say anything? 


Original illustration (1865) by John Tenniel (28 February 1820 - 25 February 1914), of the novel by Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

New Year New Decade

A new year, a new decade. It's the start of 2010 and I find myself on a cusp. It feels like a precipice.

I've been reading a few blogs lately, more about why later. Some are elegant and poetic, some are weird and some are little more than the ramblings of self centered neurotic egotists. I don't know what mine will be, or whether I'll even be able to keep it going, but as I find myself standing here looking into a big hole and wondering what to do with it all, and where to put it, I might as well start by putting it all here onto the screen that I spend so much of my day staring at.

I won't pretend to be clever or poetic, or particularly interesting. I will try to spell correctly, punctuate well and not be too neurotic...or self centered.

It seems blogging protocol is to use initials rather than names when writing about other people. Is this for privacy? Why when it's so easy to figure out who A and B and C and whoever are, even when J is called D and described as a nine year old boy in a playground, when infact he's a forty year old man.

I'll do it though.

Some of PB's blog is very elegant. She describes herself as shallow. She's clever, and she's a bitch; at least she has been to me. She has her reasons, I'm sure, but that doesn't mean I have to like her does it? She can write.

PB's very good friend, possibly best friend, blogs about how marvelous she is; mother, wife, athlete, career woman, role model, sex goddess. She may be all of those things, but she fails to mention that she's been having it off with PB's husband for the past three years.

And then there's PB errant (estranged) husband D. shall I call him D? D will do for now. His blog is weird.