One of these things is not like the others ...

... one of these things just doesn't belong
Can you tell which thing is not like the others
By the time I finish my song?

It was chilly at the Olinda Arboretum today. I'm talking spencer and long johns (sexy), long-sleeved top, windcheater, thick jacket, hat and gloves. After taking the little path wending its way off into the trees, I sure warmed up quick though. Heart attack walking. I need more of it.

I want to live in Olinda. I'm going to see if the mountain is there after this next firebomb summer. If it is, I seriously want to think about it.

It smelled so fine amongst all those trees. We saw nobody else on our walk. Heard nothing except the birds. It was rejuvenating.

Goodness me, look at those wrinkles :\

This below is Blob. He is my inner critic. As you can see, he is a surly bastard. It's funny, but externalising this part of myself has allowed me to have more compassion towards it somehow. Blob is scared. I can see it underneath his horrid ugly surliness :) I am hesitating about whether to smash him to pieces with a hammer. If I do, I am going to do it at Spring equinox. My inner perfectionist, which Blob fuels, however, feels much more inclined to smash him now that I have ruined him. This morning, while hollowing out his base, I inadvertently gouged a hole in Blob's throat. Which is ironic, really, considering that he's the bastard that gives me such struggle with speaking my own truth. Ha. See how you like it.

I could yell it at him but it wouldn't make any difference because while I was hollowing him out both his ears also fell off. I tell ya, my inner perfectionist screams seeing this thing with a hole in its neck and no ears. It maketh me to laugh.

I went to the Counihan Gallery yesterday afternoon specifically to see this. There were two of them, stuck up on the wall like deer heads. Amazing. And very confronting (as is much of the work by amazing artist Sam Jinks). Amazing, so unbelievably lifelike. A most disconcerting experience too because the heads are about half the size bigger again than a human head. So you're standing in front of this bloke looking at his nose hairs, literally, and feeling almost like he's going to open his eyes, this larger than life tattooed human with no body. Made me ponder and think lots about different sorts of things which I wont go in here because I don't want to sound like a wanker :)


Pic: Most likely copyright violations going on all over the place here, but you can see them at their rightful place at www.samjinks.com.

Claybusting (Like Cloudbusting, Only ... Clayier)

It's taken me six days to find my way back into the playroom. I can't adequately describe how exposed and howling raw part of me has felt for the past three weeks. I do not think I shall be going back to the rest of my clay classes. I feel sad about quitting yet another thing halfway through, but I am not berating myself. I do not feel it has been a wasted experience. I have learnt some things, a bit of technique. I have learnt how to make cool eyes :) I've also learnt a bit more what I is, and I guess I is what I is. Right now, this part of me is too fragile to be around other people. I need to be alone so I can think and feel, just me and the clay and music. I need to work with what I have, and what I am.

I think I shall be teaching myself from now on. Cast that in a certain sort of candlelight and it looks rather romantic, don't you think? ;) I shall learn what I need to learn as I go. After all, there are an awful amount of tutorials on YouTube ;)

I am making a clay bust of Blob. My watcher at the gates. The spewer of vitriole. The slammer shut of story doors halfway through. Occasionally I find ways of tricking around Blob so I cant get stuff written. But Blob doesn't let me go to sleep and get up in the morning and finish where I left off. Blob tries to convince me I've got ADD. I suspect the rest of the story lies cut off behind the tightly shut door. Blob has got a cousin, the critic. She's alright. She can stay.

I can say this - that Blob sure is one ugly bastard.

When he has dried I am going to smash him with a hammer.

Squishy mouldable things: poo, clay, and me

So 13 of you voted on my Do You Look At Your Poo After You've Done It? poll. Which makes me laugh, really, that 13 of you would have bothered. Thanks for indulging me, heh :)

So anyway, out of those 13, a whopping 6 people, or 46% of respondents, look at their own poo to check out what's going on with their digestion. I wonder what percentage of the average population do? Maybe the census people could look into putting it on the next national form to satisfy my curiosity :)

I think that the results of my poll are skewed because those 6 people were probably more inclined to vote than those who don't look, because those who do think it's important and they don't often get the chance to speak out about such things :) The opportunity doesn't come up much for discussion in general living, does it? I have never seen a stall in a shopping centre devoted to the cause of poo watching. There's no foundation that I know of. Poo is far too unsexy for promotion :) You can't really start crapping on about looking at your crap in the middle of lunch, can you? Unless you're like me. I broached the subject yesterday with my mum and my brother while we were eating lunch for his birthday. What the hell. My Mum enjoyed talking about it. 'Cause she's a health nut that looks at her own poo.

It was timely too because we were eating Ethiopian food, and there were these funny lentil things that looked like rabbit poo.

I'm sure Freud would have a lot to say about me and my shitty propensity. I asked my Mum yesterday if I smeared my poo on the walls as a baby. She couldn't remember exactly but thought that maybe I had. She believes that she did. So there you go. Blame her. It's genetic.

Nine people all up voted yes about their toilet habits, while out of those who voted no, 3 are grossed out at the thought of looking at their excrement while one person refused to participate in such puerility. Good for you :)

So thanks for playing everyone. It quite tickled my childish fancy :)

Speaking of soft squirmy masses that you can mould and shape, tonight I finally cracked open the bag of clay that I bought over a week ago. I've been too scared to open it, worried that I would be unable to think of anything, and having clayblock would just murder me. But once I started moulding and shaping and just generally stuffing around with it, I got this really cool idea. I LOVE playing with clay. I really love the 3Dness of it, the sensuality of it. I'm very happy that I got such a good idea, even though I actually ended up squashing it all down to nothing because I'm going to start again with it tomorrow. But the idea is impaled in my mind. Now I get to muck around with it. But sheesh, it's messy stuff, clay. The playroom has carpet. I really hope this isn't a bond-losing experience :) Perhaps I should go work in the garage.

I am personally back in God's little furnace for a fit of refiring. He is quite the master kilnsman, doesn't fire me for a second longer than I need. Producees work that lasts forever. And doesn't seem to get all that upset when I glare at him and say defiant swear words because the-fire-is-too-bloody-hot-and-fuck-me-if-im-not-sick-of-this-whole-remodelling-thang. Still, walking forward into the darkness is always worth it. Following that still voice so quiet that sometimes I don't know if I'm just imagining things, or listening to myself, or whatever. Still, seems to work out a fair bit of the time in hindsight that it does indeed seem that I followed that lovely shepherd voice after all. Not that this is provable to anyone except for my own heart. But that's all I need.

Urgent prayer request

Please pray for Harold, my sculpture. She's about to be kiln fired. Heh :)

Wilbur has gone also. I kissed him goodbye on Monday, right on his clayish mouth. Probably give me some horrible disease.

I hope they both survive the kiln firing experience. I mean, I've survived it so far so maybe they will too :) I'm enjoying the respite. The air feels so nice when it's not 1700 degrees celcius :)

A pinning up on the Discombobula fridge

Unnamed, unfired. Weird but loved.

Posting my stuff, I feel like a kid just come home from kindergarten *kicks floor shyly*