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.