Happiness is a cigar called dynamite.

I omitted this on purpose yesterday, purely a result of impatience. Tell not a soul. This scene shows writing on a Whitstable wall. Do not be alarmed, the author is probably knees-to-chin in a nut box as you read. Pity the drool scourers.



The weird thing is, the handwriting looks like my own. Maybe this is a hidden talent, throwing my writing through time and space. I would have to have been very out of it to use the word 'wrong' in this way. I'd like to say that it could only happen at gunpoint, which makes me wonder about 'France'...

The clever girl that made the figures.

A relative of mine made these figures. Look at them and think of anything you like:





Today I walked with Hiver to Reculver then Minnis Bay then Birchington. There was what I like to think of as a rare butterfly [or moth] which featured red and purple and black on its wings. We saw a lot of these rare butterflies [or moths]. Does this devalue each one or make the mass more exciting? YOU decide.

Nowt new on the trail besides a few sign installments and adjustments. Kent coastline for life, honestly.

The sun and our jaunts under it.

A full day of movement and conversation through Herne Bay, Swalecliffe, Tankerton, Whitstable and Seasalter with Louise and Leo. Here is some documentary evidence:



A house with a face. Unbeatable.



Two of my friends. Louise is shown crouching under the sign.

PS:
Loading
Your images are being uploaded to Blogger

Dissertalcum.

A list of dissertation things...I don't care about it at all. With a freedom from care leading to a freedom from fear, I will continue to assemble a bag of loose topics from which something passable is bound to erupt.

Is all information trivia?
Graphical line in fine art
Computer technology in art
Colour/Miró/Surrealism/Symbolism/Myth/Meaning
Overcomplicating the obvious
The power of suggestion
The art world is minute
Art for the working world
Dull everything/Developing taste
Worshipping geniuses
Digital aesthetic
Rants ahoy
Play and fun
Boring exhibits
Library Vs. Tutors
Endless futile arguments
Beauty4girls ‘n’ war4boys
[stereotypical views of stereotypes by/for/about stereotypes]
Young, spoilt and stupid

I recommend losing interest in something that you used to love over the summer. It makes you grow up a bit and realise that there is more to life than anything. I blame the children.

PS: I won't be graphing tomorrow, but I will be tanning so look out for burnt skin beneath the usual torrid torrent on a screen near your face in a time near to now. And may I add that I have still not accepted my global positioning, which should make things exciting when I have to talk my way out of a fight one day. Would you die inside an oxygen tank?

Diet Coast.

Just for a taste of **it.

Leaping asterisks Censorman!

Here are a quartet of fairly bland images which somehow tell the story of a journey that I, the author Joshua H, did take on this Wednesday the 28th of June 2006. I am starting to annoy myself a little now. I still cannot accept that people choose to write like trainee robots in the sink of postmodern gallery explainations. Perhaps the conceptual method of learning [where you do no work, instead talking and arguing and slagging off more successful people, etc] is a way to destroy all hopes of decent art falling out of art schools, to render expression a useless stone on a runway for the megabastards and at best a bit of merchandise. I am joking. This is only my 2 years of guilt. And I doubt my crappy web doodles will reach the Louvre. Or my photos.



The towers.



The curves.



Loyal Sprue Duet fans are everywhere around here. 5 died in the making.



A cropped view of buoys, a boat and the Neptune Sea Arm.

4pak.

Surprised?

I have started to weed out the really crap ones prior to uploadal. In their place, there follows [or precedes depending upon the reading order] pixels showing my coastal walk of the day. Yes did I visit those Reculver Towers, and the elements were generous. I also drank a can of Pepsi Light just to see if it would float out of the can before I could try it. One-nil to curiousity and therefore PepsiCo. I want control over a company with a daft name. Artists are fascists deep down, just look at ______________________________________________________ and ___.

You guessed it. I guess.

The other two lots of two:









Bonus text: KIAD's deg sho wasn't as good as what you will see tomorrow. And I refer not to my own work. Italic-bold is shit.(C). Just in case. These slogan writers seem somewhat starved of late. (C).

Tablet fever.

At great cost to my bedroom floor [and my knees], eight experiments came from another set of collaborations with my new friends Grap 'n' AdPho. I reckon these pictures say everything about what I want to do with them in the close future, but these are obviously the feral cousins who don't have any idea about the world of trade. You get two loads of four, starting with these:

PS: I choose not to write anything about the pictures, or to give them names. You can do that. I think of a title as a nickname anyway, "Sarah Cubed" acts in the same way that a stranger might call me "dick head" in a bar. It is not true because my head is a head.









Ready for another 4 are you?

Tablet hi-jinks.

Need this term be hyphenated? Complaints to the usual address.

Earlier today I made four little ads for the best unheard band in England, testing my lovely graphics tablet along the way through Adobe Photoshop. Here are results, expect more very soon:









Now Cass and I are off to look for dissertreats at the former-KIAD library [the place became a University and now it is know as UCCA].

Words. Then pictures.

The library had one book that I looked at which offered some longwinded expose of the British art market, apparently providing evidence that there is curruption around etc. Many Phaidon 'best of' collections are available, as well as some highlights from 'how to draw incredible monsters' series. After that I went on through the high street I was eyed and waved down by a young unaffected idealist with an Amnesty hoody. He showed me things going on in other cultures that my £6 could help to stop. I was interested but also annoyed, saddened and distracted by my own confusion about being 'back here'. So far, so dissertation irrelevant.

After a [rounded] 30 minute conversation with Amnesty Lad, I went to the Downs. I stopped at the King's Hall for a £1.10 drink-in coffee and wrote a bit, trying to make some sense that would lead to 'work', that stupid bloody word, pretending that there is some universal definition that sneers at any activity that isn't part of its gang. Bollocks and up yours work.

I have spent hours with box contents, defragging my bedroom floor. Amongst the cack, I found some things that I hoped would look good in my internet diary. And here they are:



My friend with the propeller. Please don't stare.



A cup I decorated back in my KIAD days. Note that I have not improved since.



This may refer to something very serious but my name's on it so it must be me.

I'm Bayin' It.

In a short while I'm going to the Herne Bay library to look at art books for my dissertation. I must be careful to retain my seriousness because it is 'all too easy' to become flippant and dismissive with the information that such books contain. The main problem lies in the fact that it feels boring, like a process of resentment, because I haven't found a subject that can withstand questioning - blunt queries shred art into acrylic confetti - and I get scared that I will never treat art theory with any respect for the rest of my very important life. Perhaps it is the free feeling of making art [meaning the thrill of improvising daft words in front of strangers or drawing the same face again but with a purple crayon] makes the rest of it seem stupid. Or that fact that I want to write something entercational. Or because I am lazy or confused. I reckon that I've done enough head work, the simplest explaination is that a person allows things to be what they are, and I know that instead of writing about the crass world of intelligent opinions I am going to seek that 'power of suggestion' bit and see how it can be stuffed into today's crap racket. Art is so unimportant in the animal kingdom, me and the ants have been arguing all day so far. I sincerely do not care about it. It's entertainment data to the mind. A piece stimulates you or it doesn't. I will do something I promise. Anyone got a genius down their road?

Kent 25.

Yeah, following hassle from that box of slug turd landlord and the fun [and I mean it] of running upstairs to collect things from my newly former bedroom, we trio of relatives drove back down here. Two stops on the way. Reached HB HQ at around 04:00 this morning and I have been unpacking, sorting and talking ever since. My graphics tablet is brilliant and I shall be producing drawing next week.

On the 30th, the Psychotic Reaction are playing at Whitstable's Horsebridge Centre. Guess which typer is going to watch them?

PS: Jean Genet played at the Retro Bar on Friday and they made my eyes move around.

City bye-bye.

Man Met library, mass of books deposited, Vic and I were lost on the way during our hospital detour where we saw renovation/demolition in action and scrapped beds aplenty. Next I go to the Central library to release more tomes, and later dad and a sister arrive for food and then a wild gig at the Retro Bar before a long drive back [at least as long as the drive up]. Plus I have to clean yet more of the house, which makes for a wonderfully busy afternoon. But where's the art gone? Wait and see...

From ages afterwards.

Well well well, the degree results reading process is interesting. There they are, normal and plain pieces of A4 white on the wall, pinned at the corners, listings of names and numbers divided by the 'class' of the result. And the reactions are so far away from the mood of an exam and the character of the paper. It felt like forgery to be there because I ain't gone one yet, a degree. But the strangest thing is that we all have 360.

Other than this chilling clip of wonder, social events and house cleaning have dominated ones lifestyle. I must admit, I was gutted for Owen. The art books I have been reading are not going to last simply because they are talking about the past and I don't want to read them; I don't have to. It's all common sense in disguise or encrypted and 'mysticated' snoring. Ideas eh, who'd have 'em?

I need to add a picture more than ever, to justify my use of time and restore the merit of my art "effort=devotion" game turn. Balls to it, art will go on without me. Besides, it's about time for a feed.

Logo'd. Rougly.

Next step is a MySpace page, then some music and words, then song uploads, and then performances and promotional material and reams of senseless joy and ten goals at half time. Our rival band will be the unsigned, unexisting miracle farmers "The Flaw Cult." We're going to show them up in public, like fooling them into streaking at an imperial visit. They won't know with what we hit them. Here goes, SD set sail for posturban innerspace, packed to the hull with nonsense and chaotic dancehall trademarks. Bust it raw time. Kicking it golden. Showering in camomile milk. Booting it up in retroscope.

Free association.

Not just a potential name for some terrible new media advertisment firm, this 'free association' made Bob Dylan and Ol' Dirty Bastard seem brilliant to your true-typely. Be it in the morphing symbol animations of Len Lye or the character comedy of the Fast Show's Colin Hunt [to whom I was once compared, oops], this method of ideas linking and leading to others in a sequence sometimes really wins. Visual/aural thesaurus, bingo. Noticing similarities then sitting things next to each other. Accessing your memory and stirring around at speed. I want to hear those mistakes and discoveries that the cool people omit from their more heavily-controlled official releases, even if they're shit. The things that break even the most personal of conventions. The embarrassing and shocking things. But also the imaginative and beautiful and surprising things. Beck used to do it too didn't he? I find it exciting to be able to rely upon the internet for bringing weight to my input memories from the 80's, the vague research that could add so much to my essay. Anyway, the process is simple. Harry Hill does it too.

Here is the Wikipedia tale:

Free association (Psychodynamic theory) is a technique used in psychology, devised by Sigmund Freud.
Freud had abandoned hypnosis as a clinical technique, both because of its fallibility and because he found that patients could recover and comprehend crucial memories while conscious. Using the technique of free association, Freud asked patients to relate anything which came into their mind, regardless of how apparently unimportant or potentially embarrassing the memory threatened to be. This technique assumed that all memories are arranged in a single associative network, and that sooner or later the subject would stumble across the crucial memory.
Freud found that despite a subject's every effort to remember, a certain resistance kept them from the most painful and important memories. He eventually came to the view that certain items were completely repressed, and off-limits to the conscious realm of the mind.
Freud's eventual practice of psychoanalysis focused not so much on the recall of these memories as on the internal mental conflicts which kept them buried deep within the mind, though the technique of free association still plays a role today in the study of the mind.



This character, flat and built of round shapes, shows variable proportion and interchangeable representation opportunties, the circles could become many things...when I have my graphics tablet [when in Kent] I will be exploring the world of rounded lines, so trippy,

A world of icons.

I am part of a secret musical collaboration. I chose the name "Sprue Duet".

In foundry work, a "Sprue" is the passage through which metal is poured into a mold. The term can also refer to the excess metal on a rough casting, which solidified in the sprue hole.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sprue

A duet is a musical composition or piece for two performers, most often used for a vocal or piano duet. For other instruments, the word duo is often used.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Duet

I made an icon to represent us, though it is as yet a guess and a shot of essence. The data age eh? I feel that I have more in common with Google than with any of my school teachers. Except the socks. Here's the icon, rendered in Stabilo Trio felt tip pens. The group may perform some written things including messy research for my dissertation. How's that for transferrable skills?



But is it music?

Hahahaha!

Let.

The process of improvisation, however someone chooses to title it, is what I am interested in. I am interested to discover new techniques and philosophies as well as new instances. I wish to learn about art that is the product of spontaneous behavior. Let, the word that keeps getting me excited, is the best way to describe what it is that I love about the improvised methods of art. People do often harmless things like talk or sing or draw. I think the lighthearted acts of 'innocence' [I don't care whether or not I believe in this idea, I have never been inside a brain, plus such arguments are boring] and the desperate mania, to create extremes for a scale, as well as the barely controlled experiments and accident prone refinement deserve to be celebrated. I am also interested in how computer data is all just data, measured in kilobytes and megabytes, whilst human memories, dreams, lies and emotions can make millions of dollars at the box office. No really, I don't care about any of it if I am honest. I just want to be alive and well.

From the Thesaurus.com website, these synonyms give me room for a little more of that 'positive language':

Main Entry: let
Part of Speech: verb 1
Definition: allow
Synonyms: accredit, approve, authorize, be big*, cause, certify, commission, concede, enable, endorse, free up, give OK, give go-ahead, give leave, give permission, grant, have, hear of, leave, license, live with, make, permit, sanction, suffer, tolerate, warrant
Antonyms: prevent, prohibit
Source: Roget's New Millennium™ Thesaurus, First Edition (v 1.2.1)
Copyright © 2006 by Lexico Publishing Group, LLC. All rights reserved.
* = informal or slang

So the core of the process for me is the conscious decision to let things happen without 'too much' thought. There is no test for improvisation, for permitted automatic behaviour, you can't smell it like a gas leak or truffle. In fact, that doesn't really matter at all. I just love seeing other people work and other people's work. I am drawn to playful methods, I like humour and smiles, I have read enough miserable crap in my life already and I don't care much for contrived technofear etc. This is nice, I know why I am doing this now, turned it around to my advantage, made the most of it, yes. I get excited about things happening in real time. Is this possible in all media? Who cares? I don't give sculpture the same status as music. Who cares? I want to go outside but I am waiting for the painter to arrive. It'd break his heart to turn up to a house and be denied entry, even though I should demand that he substanciate his credentials really. This is going off-course. Blame the soundtrack.

Proposal.

My research:
I will be using books found in the libraries. I will be using the internet. I will be using journals. I will try to find new ways to obtain information, drawing the line at kidnap.

Underlying idea:
I want to read loads about improvised art of all kinds and then write an essay about it. I have no single question yet.

Describe intention:
I want to learn more about automatism and write a happy and informative essay.

Jar.

Probably the best pasta in the world.

I've urinated into this jar in the past. The word 'change' gives new limits and opportunities to the visual object, as a container doing its job and as a whole including its content. I suppose you could easily reach into my life and smash the jar, but this would cause upset as well as dangerous shards and pest bait.

So the game here is:
container,
content,
title.

These elements provide the basis of play. Any container plus any content plus any title/word/caption equals object ripe for a good photographing.

Some possible names for the 'piece':

"Jar of pasta with change on it"
"Change 2006"
"Jar of Life"
'Homage to Laziness'
"Gone Cold, Gone Soft"
"Leftovers in Glass"
"Fun with Food"
"The Riddle of Italy"
"With Nowt Taken Out"

I am copying my own work. Last year, for our end-of-term show, I created five or six sculptures and invented stupid titles that parody the plinth fodder of Today. This is similar. I am glad to be inspired by such a close source.

All of these decisions can easily be rendered as utterly pointless innit. But if the pasta is happy then so am I.

Who isn't it?

Barbs yes soap on ceramic
Tartar sauce everyday life
Make it this go on
What is the purpose?
But what is the concept?
Who would buy it?
Ah, old old know it already
Why such argument?
It's hard to accept this as civilised as we caption
The deep rot pull extra gravity
Can't be bothered either
Feel no threat of ideas
Just everything else
Carried away
Always ends on a leaving note
It's just
That's all

Shiner.

Bargain
Loose paper waste days
Tiny in the corridor
Gusts and gales of pep cracks
"Sure", dragged out and not meant or trusted
Are you not sick of these people?
I am
I go
Open the fridge and take in the white
The smell of the cooled air before the spoiled ingrediants get to you
The items given extra colour by their placement
At home with the nothingness
When the dial tone ends
When you're sleeping in a car at night
What you hear by accident
It's a joust of desperate limits
Out again
See you tonight

A story put on a song? (To be asked in cereal advert dad voice)

There is a man we know
To whom we gave the name Tam
With facial lining like an old tyre
He makes he way across the road
We followed him
Because we wish to know
What it is that gave his face its detail

Up close his eyelids appear stuck
As if the mechanism died out halfway
He stares all the time
We look into the creases
Aging him like rings in a trunk

We watch him in the cafe
Pretend to know his life
Making amusement and biography
From the prompts below his scalp
He should be pleased that we've never seen his legs

Tam just looks
We are obsessed
We sketch his room
Because there is only one
His minimal kitchen
Not happy or lonely
Just thinking
Watching like us
But watching something really closely
And if we could find out what it was
We'd kill the character off
Our launch pad would be rubble

Tam stands
We try to smell him as he passes
Clues, anything, we need more
But gradually so
He leaves no tip
He leaves no mess
We have to wait for a new day to see him again
And when we do
His jacket flat
We see his eyes
Are wholly closed
We see his hands
Are like a Lego man's

Our hero is on his way out
The Tam we know will become a myth
We pay for his coffee and run

Plastered.

Yes, Christ knows it ain't easy to be the Junior Minister for shite jokes. Here you may witness my donation arm's sticker, a practical gift from the National Blood Service which stopped me from getting all over other things. To a degree.



And then it struck me - this is the World Cup time, this is England United, this is differences aside and emotional openness for one night only. And then it strack me - wield the symbolistic opportunity. And then it streck me - ask Stephen to decorate your practical arm sticker with the Saint George Cross motif. And then it strick me - you are onto something here.

And that, my friend, is how I made my millions. But that's another story.

I liked having the thing on my arm, nobody really looked at it and I made a predictable joke about heroin addiction when quizzed about it, for as usual my forearms were bare, I am not the happiest person when it comes to having full sleeves. So I was wearing this plaster and it came back to me - practical/decorative - pleasing the logician and the beautician. I aim to please myselves, like any person aiming for a happiness with their life. And I looked at the newly redesigned blood stopper and I said to myself, silently, internally, you are enjoying this silly addition too much mate. Then I knew, as if it was carved into stone above grass above soil above a fully loaded coffin (and nobody carves something that isn't true - effort is only for profit and honesty eh?), I knew that I was deeply happy, surrounded by smiling people, frowning people, people people. In a pub. On a bus. Outside of a pub. Queueing for anything.

So to conclude, and I love pretending to be formal in a world of uneven rubbish and force conclusions (like storytellers have been doing forever), the most pompous of all people deeming themselves essential, powerful, great and flawless, trusting in any mental structure for controlling things, such important things, forgetting about the things that make them joyed, not my problem, not my concern, no point in judgement, no point but what you choose, I choose walking off with friends, but for how long eh readers?

My point got lost in the post. I was bitten by a radioactive idealism. See you in the better.

Sud neigh.

Andy Sykes is an Interactive Arts graduate but more importantly he is an animator and illustrator. Why not hover your pupils over his work?

http://www.hexjibber.com/

I am inspired by his humourous, sweet, odd and finished products.

I am going to something at 1pm, here are the details.

June 17 and 18 FEAST! Midsummer picnic
Platt Fields Park Lakeside, Wilmslow Rd, Rusholme, Manchester M14
Saturday 17th June 7pm - 10.30pm / Sunday 18th June 1pm - 5pm

A midsummer mass picnic event for families and friends, with entertainment and activities, that will reflect the many heritages and rituals surrounding food and celebration. It will take place around the lakeside all Saturday evening and Sunday afternoon.

Bring your own picnic or try food prepared by cultural communities living around South Manchester - or probably both! You may sit at our long tables or on your own blanket on the grass. During your picnic, we offer a feast for your eyes and ears with tabletop entertainment, mariarchi serenading, circus, street theatre, activities and games. Bring candles and a bunch of flowers along with your food! Dress up, bring frisbees, kites, acrobatics .... The park is yours for 24 hours!

Visiting artists from Europe, the UK and cultural communities in Manchester.

Photos yes, but the rain is out...

Metro Art 06.

The phrase in everyone's palms was "much better than last year's". Variety spiced its way onto the walls, ceilings, screens, floors and plinths. Friends of all colours and genders were there, the bars were generous, the atmosphere excited. I met a vice-chancellor by chance who was very interesting to talk with, inside the gypsy caravan that Interactive Arts graduate Janie had parked in the courtyard. I return on Sunday tomorrow to take another, longer and slower look with Brian and then you can have your photos. Seayah.

Screened.

So it went, two sheets on a clip board, a short wait, horrible lighting, excitement about the possible scrutiny, any publicity is a reminder that you're alive. I sat with the screener in a special room with a view of All Saints Park and I answered questions and signed forms. I am being referred to an educational psychiatrist in September who will decide the rest. Kent LEA has the job of funding my flawed mind. I reckon that I am not dyslexic, just lazy. Tune in again in mid-September to see if I get humiliated in front of the whole school during sports day.

And here's a photo before tea and a biscuit:



This is a Herne Bay shoreline from last year. I hope it makes you imagine something pleasing, or a story about a tramp that 'fell' onto the bonfire. Love ya.

Dona Brag.

I gave blood, ate some biscuits before and some after. I talked with the blood removal nurse about art and the power of suggestion. Before I was free to sway toward a sofa, the nurse told me that I have hypnotic eyes. That was not the end. She asked all kinds of questions. She showed me to another nurse. Ten minutes later, as I was leaving, I could still hear her describing them. I laughed and blushed at intervals, before I reached the Man Met Library where I was an ordinary student again.

From the library I chose four books. They were:

Eurythmy: Rhythm, Dance and Soul (Rudolf Steiner's Ideas in Practice S.)
Author: Thomas Poplawski
Publisher: Floris Books
Publication Date: 1998-05-28
ASIN / ISBN: 0863152694
List Price: £5.99
Paperback
128 Pages

Manifestoes of Surrealism (Ann Arbor Paperbacks)
Author: Andre Breton
Publisher: University of Michigan Press
Publication Date: 1969-04
ASIN / ISBN: 0472061828
List Price: £11.50
Paperback
316 Pages

Andre Breton
Author: Anna Balakian
Publisher: Atlantic Books
ASIN / ISBN: 0930279158
List Price: £9.95
Paperback
147 Pages

Sigmund Freud
Author: Ralph Steadman
Publisher: Firefly Books Ltd
Publication Date: 2006-08
ASIN / ISBN: 1552091740
List Price: £10.83
Paperback
120 Pages

I used 'BookButler' for this information - a simple and useful piece of technology for getting all of those precious book details at once. I finished the Viz book today and recommend it as a story of how a small publication can become really popular and then less so.

Oh, before I forget, "come on England". Looks weird in type doesn't it? You can't argue with the mob. Just not enough man in me. Ooh get her, etc.

Picture?



This is my MS Paint diagram that I reckon is a town/barcodial landscape. Would you live there? What does it make you feel about?

Charm Tests.

I just made contact with Learning Support and now I sit listening to nude instrumentals by a Kentish trio called 'The Charm Offensive', who are all people that I have known in my mysterious musical past, before I became a full-time idler. They have placed three such tracks on their Myspace space and I am listening with intent; melodic/atmospheric/syllabic curiosity, little tests. I have been invited to 'add content' to the pieces.

Tomorrow at 10:00 I am being tested for dyslexia. Maybe I could tell the story through one of the songs, I am still fascinated at how such things are defined and believed. I want to read more about the power of suggestion but not as much as Derren Brown because, unless he was suggesting a mistruth, he spends most of his offstage life in psychology books. That's how you make a living I suppose, a dedication to something. Sounds so old fashioned. Not really. Coffee please.

Bonus: cute badge photo.



This came from the Manchester Museum's badge exhibition, which brought back a lot of memories (including the Heinz Haunted House and the Stamp Bug). I took this photograph because I felt that I could trust the unidentified red thing whether it was nuclear power or not. I dug its smile. I enjoyed its contrast with the yellow world on which it lives. I understood more from its face than the message on show. "Make an atom happy today". I have since found that there is a neutral badge producer who also made a 'Yes Please' variant. The thing still smiles but it's green...my favourite colour...I don't know what to believe...

Image prompted words [1].

Drawers, rusty metal and thin, numbered on the bottom right of their faces. I pulled one open to find several old nails that had bled brown and orange until they were trapped in it. I usually expect dead spiders or paper, so this discovery was a welcome surprise.



This didn't work, I am tired and allowed myself to become distracted. I wanted to make a long and selfish story.

Myth 'n' Meaning.

No absolutes, such freedom, we can imagine and believe anything we choose and say anything we like, but don't you want the best of it? Not enough time to find the things you love? Not enough money to get the things you love? Lacking in confidence? Lost in a world of superiors? Addicted to a hoax?

We can help.

We are an independent group of like-minded individuals with unlimited space for new friends. We are all terrible idiots and open hearts and messy bedrooms. We are the decorators, the drivers and the desktop toys. We are the police. We are the comb holders. We are the functional upstarts with pain in our pasts. We are the investors and toenail clippers. All of us have fine nights out, all of us have jackets and coins.

Guess our name.

That's right, it doesn't matter one bit. We're things like you doing things like you. We are you, so trust us, believe in us, adopt our ways and be recognised, accepted and rewarded.



I could think about things like this all day and become sad that all the important things can mean nothing, then I could look at the chewing gum wrapper and know that I am happy to look at a chewing gum wrapper and that is far more important.

Just another art show...

Of course, anyone with the connections will be there on Friday, filling their minds with wine and mental notes about people's parents...I am going to get so drunk that I take good photographs...

Operation Dust Storm.

Stephen and I have broken for lunch. We have been cleaning the house, the kitchen has a lot to be solved, mostly superficial rubbish. We are having pizza with water. Defrosting the freezer is interesting, This has nothing to do with my art study...yet. The experience of cleaning a shared house and the tiny discoveries that follow are cause for slight inspiration. Back I go. Bye.

Zzz.

The Font Bar art show is now a memory, and the underground setting re-colours most of the work with its atmospheric lighting. Talk and drink, social interaction, no business...I am going to bed. The night was a charity event which will help to buy photography materials for orphans in Bulgaria. Goodnight.

Art Font.

Stephen and I are going to the Font Bar. Here: http://www.fontbar.com/. We are going to see an exhibition and will no doubt enjoy a drink too. This Friday is the evening of the final shows at our dear Metropolitan, including Interactive Arts. I promise pictures.

Blord wurreds.

Two jaunts into the realm of yes.

First:



Second:



A title is a suggestion and a suggestion (probably) has a reason behind it - how does it change the view of the work? Or rather, how can it?

This ends my postal service, I think that these images are rather satisfied with me for sharing them and therefore giving them a potential 'social value' rather than just a personal one, but I remember that social is only a bunch of personals...

My conclusion is that I like the pictures and I know why. What's yours? What? You can't read? Don't worry - I can't write. How about a bit of drawing to reply? What? You can't draw? That is just pure bullshit.

Breaking up the alphabet.

Six adventures in Microsoft Paint.

First:



Second:



Third:



Forth:



Fifth:



Sixth: