Monday, March 30, 2009

hearts of g – happy birthday best friend!

Found an old drawing from my archives. Golden car time circa 2001!

I dedicate this pic to a sculptor friend of mine, may there be another year full of hair rising adventures for you! (And maybe you'll get a dog with stiff ears too. And better still, a hat for yourself.)

This all in an environmentally friendly spirit of course, but boots and roof racks and dusty back seats where wood, concrete and powertools must be transported are still in... for art.

Happy birthday all artists, practising or just thinking about it!
(DO IT.)
: )

PS. Soon its time to return to city streets after this viral exile. This reminds me why I (carless one) love trams so much. I shall go and make a good list of the reasons and return to the topic later.

Sunday, March 29, 2009

in a search for gold IV: american yellows

Santa Monica, mall-flavoured sunlight & fries 13/02/09

Our magician and the invisible Californian hummingbird,

Winter trees, burning with cold, JFK 25/02/09

"Yes. Frank's gone missing."
5th Avenue, 24/02/09

Before a sandstorm, Teotihuacan, 21/02/09


As Frank Zappa (Baltimore, Maryland) puts it:

Don't Eat The Yellow Snow

Dreamed I was an eskimo
Frozen wind began to blow
Under my boots and around my toes
The frost that bit the ground below
It was a hundred degrees below zero...

And my mama cried
And my mama cried
Nanook, a-no-no
Nanook, a-no-no
Don’t be a naughty eskimo
Save your money, don’t go to the show

Well I turned around and I said oh, oh oh
Well I turned around and I said oh, oh oh
Well I turned around and I said ho, ho
And the northern lights commenced to glow
And she said, with a tear in her eye
Watch out where the huskies go, and don’t you eat that yellow snow
Watch out where the huskies go, and don’t you eat that yellow snow

Friday, March 27, 2009

gold an fork

On Elizabeth Street, Melbourne, there is a restaurant called 'Gold an Fork'. Not 'Gold and Fork', or even 'Golden Fork' – no letters are missing from the sign. It just is an Indian restaurant, proudly named 'Gold an Fork'.
And incidentally, they serve a boiled egg with their Thali.

I had a friend who once missed her bus and was late for work.
Never helpless, she promptly flagged down a car – and was driven to the city in a Golden Egg truck.

cloud mining

You know that building sites are just a decoy:
What they are really doing is cloud mining.

Rain or shine, they mine for light, for lost gulls or sparrows,
maybe for some city gold.

I've always thought of cranes as wading birds ; )

love to love the gloves (and cloves)

This is my first post – quite obviously.
I spent the better half of the day figuring out the image upload.

Well. The cold has its bright side:

Recently returned from a long and happy journey, our luna di miele across date lines and seasons (the gloves, the mittens), unions and farewells: a wife! I stopped, and the winter flu got me before it was rightfully due.

So now, away from work (from studios, benches, desks, studies, everyday sounds of people), spending time in the suburban silence. Lying down in a semilit space, listening through muffled senses and aching everything, and then making soup for mending.

Garlic, pumpkin, a slash of knife: there is a world inside the common veg. The fresh cuts reveal ovals and arches, such pleasure in observing random repetition. And the day old shrinkage and drying pumpkin seeds, beauty in decay (or, did I hear hello middle age? By the stove, I was, but not pregnant; barefoot perhaps yes).

I had been thinking about gold. Could these shapes turn into metal, object, ornament?
I'd like to try.

White, gold, gray, the pumpkin yellow. The warped white winter suns.
The mangled flowers. The dying, drying, curling and rounding.
My kitchen blooms.