Saturday, 20 June 2009

Closer than you think

The exhibition opened last night, which went suprisingly well, real good turn out too, it was so difficult to move around and the temperature must have been around 10,000,000 degrees. Also the wine was bad, vinegar sort of bad. However, it did take me 4 glasses to work this out ;)

I felt kinda bummed out that noone dare spin my plinth, after all the messing around to build and blag a pottery wheel from dear old diane, but this is no major issue, I along with a few others kept giving it a good whack! 

Everyone has done so well, the standard of work is solid, some really impressive artwork. It feels really really good to be part of something thats creative, something where we're all on the same level, yet so diverse. It's brilliant. I cant wait until september! Interdisciplinary BA (Hons) Yes please!

Naturally, we went for celebratory drinks, this ended up being rather messy but real good times, with real good people. 

Hurrah! 21 on tuesday, good times. 

Sunday, 7 June 2009

No calm, just storm.

There are so many things that need to be accomplished this week, no sitting around drinking tea and smoking fags, oh no! full steam ahead im afraid.

- tube lighting/light bulb
- pat-testing (wednesday 10th)
- rotating motor to be fitted
- small plynth (same dimensions as frame)
- paint job.

I feel hugely let down by ASDA right now, the information on the website is awfully misleading, thus leading to massive worries about the final exhibition piece, they only print 20x16 via the internet & home delivery, which takes 3 working days, giving me only 2 days before opening to get it all together, i feel a small disaster heading this way.


However, I have every confidence in my determination & friday 19th will be wonderful, everything will run according to plan, smooth as piiee.

Saturday, 6 June 2009

Charles Bukowski - Girl on the esculator.

as I go to the escalator
a young fellow and a lovely young girl
are ahead of me.
her pants, her blouse are skin-tight.
as we ascend, she rests one foot
on the step above and her behind
assumes a fascinatin shape.
the young man looks all around he appears worried,
he looks at me.
I look away.

no, young man, I am not looking,
I am not looking at your girl's behind.
dont worry, I respect her and I respect you.
in fact, I respect everything; the flowers that grow, young women,
children, all the animals, our precious complicated universe, everyone and everything.

I sense that the young man now feels better and I am glad for him.
I know his problem: the girl has a mother, a father, maybe a sister or a brother,
and undoubtedly a bunch of unfriendly relatives
and she like to dance and flirt and she likes to go to the movies and sometimes
she talks and chews at the same time and
she enjoys really dumb TV shows and she thinks she's a budding actress and she
doesn't always look so good and has a

terrible temper and sometimes she almost goes crazy
and she can talk for hours on the telephone and she wants to go to Europe some summer soon
and she wants you to buy her a near-new Mercedes and she's in love with
Mel Gibson and her mother is a
drunk and her father is a racist
and sometimes when she drinks too much she
snores and she's often cold in bed and
she has a guru, a guy who met Christ
in the desert in 1978, and she wants to be a dancer and she's unemployed and she
gets migraine headaches everytime she
eats sugar or cheese.

I watch him take her up
the escalator, his arm
protectively about her waist, thinking he's
thinking he's a real special guy,
thinking that nobody in the world has
what he has.

and he's right, terribly
terribly right, his arm around
that warm bucket of
carbon dioxide