Lunacy and the New Moon
I was out for my evening walk which takes me past this fantastic spectacle. As I was walking by I noticed a queue. As I came closer I could see people holding harps and guitars, lots of sequins and a rainbow coloured wig. Here a group of kids doing a rap, there a Shirley Temple look alike singing 'Lollipops Lollipops' in great show tune style. I couldn't resist. I joined the queue and I felt like I had run away to join the circus. I found myself standing behind a woman with five wonderful performing dogs. Of particular note was a perfectly proportioned little Jack Russell called Matilda wearing a pink studded collar who was able to sit upright on her owner's perfectly flat outheld palm with her little paws held up. Matilda's owner was a woman called Ariadne and we got to chatting. Well it seems they were all there to audition for a talent quest. Ariadne gave me her card and we may meet for a coffee some time this week. How wonderful. I am thinking of taking up ventriloquism.

The Light and the Dark
Xavier and I playing badminton in the park today. He finally persuaded me to play, and what fun it was. It's wonderful to really feel into your fingers and toes and be the moving little animal under the sky that you were born to be.
After we had finished our game we sat on a park bench drinking some water. I caught sight of something from the corner of my eye. 'Please no' I thought 'not now'. When I turned to look there was Unbeing. He was distant but unmistakable. He stood under the trees, in shadow. It was like a cheerful tune sliding into atonality.
Xavier had gone very still and I know he saw him too. We sat very quietly for a time until Unbeing sort of faded further back into the trees and was gone.
The sun was shining and we were rested and we decided the day still belonged to us and we were going to keep on playing badminton and laughing and singing in the bathtub.

A Toast to Art
Here is a little assemblage humour. Xavier says it is a homage to finding art in everything. He says it is his second portrait of me.

Rust and Glass

I am still clearing, clearing my mind most of all. Ancient memories haunt me. But I feel better and better. I went out walking today and was inspired by this old building. It sits there year by year acquiring a more and more lovely shade of rust. It was low tide on the beach and I found a veritable treasure chests worth of glass pieces. Beautifully smoothed and sea worn. My favourites are the old bottle bases. I also found a lithium battery for a video camera washed up on the beach. It's of no use to me but it seemed so, I don't know, substantial somehow that I brought it back to my rooms.

Doppleganger
The rain uncovered this fragment in the park near my rooms. Xavier and I collaborated on this work which we call Doppelganger.
Yesterday I wrote about my paradigm shift and I feel it is all a part of my continuing manifestation. I have put many things away and soon I will make a post of my newly spare rooms.
I am still collecting but with new purpose, honing and refining, which is to say, concentrating my efforts on rubbish, trash, garbage, detritus, litter and all other such.

Paradigm Shift

I have found myself questioning everything. I have been on a materialistic binge for a long time and though I have focused on second hand things, it has still been an obsession of gathering. A hunter gatherer instinct gone out of control. A sort of self soothing by way of objects. The thrill of the treasure hunt. The thrill of the bargain.
So I have been clearing. Clearing my space, putting things away, even eating less. Perhaps losing Ernestine has helped me see my life in a new light. The dreadful debacle at the doughnut stand the other day was the turning point. I am not proposing to turn into an aesthete. It's just a question of balance.

Contemporary Art Tonic
Xavier and I went to the Biennale today, a grand contemporary art event, and stood transfixed before this art work, Asian Field 2003 by Antony Gormley. Each of these little clay figures, 180,000 in total, is a unique object, crafted by 350 people of the Xiangshan village in southern China. These people were photographed, each with one of their figures and displayed alongside the field.

Here was a work that did not need explication to move and move deeply, the mind and the heart and the eye.

Art is just so good for you. It's a tonic. The more you give it the more you get back.

Xavier took this photo of me, though he said he felt uncomfortable doing so. Then he wept, overcome by the presence of the work. Finally I had to usher him into the lift as the security person began to look a little nervous.

Xavier found a small black plastic sword on the road and gave it to me with great ceremony. He said I was to consider it a symbolic weapon in my battle with Unbeing. It was quite perceptive of him, for though I sometimes appear to have a smile permanently plastered on my face, I actually do get a little care worn at times.

The Mall

I awoke muddy headed. My rooms were dismal, the sky was grey, the world was a bland and washed out place. Every window seemed to hold the reflection of Unbeing laughing at me. Of course when I turned around he wasn't there.
So I went to the mall. I find the mall soothing. The hum of noise, the lack of cars, the sense of timeless commerce. I wandered, I drifted, I stared for a bit too long at a beautiful girl with long straight shining hair and very pale skin.
Then there it was before me, a vision in pink neon, an orgy of chocolate sprinkles, a rainbow of iced circles, trays gleaming, shimmering sugary heaven. Jam filled, chocolate coated, deep fried, dripping delights.
Yes I was in a state over Ernestine and I was comfort eating. I was going back for my third order when Xavier was suddenly there pointing a camera in my face. 'For ART!' he cried, 'For your Blog!' he hooted, 'Express your Pain!' he bellowed. An old lady at the next table looked myopically at us and I heard her telling her son 'There's a new flavour called a Blog. I want to try that.'
Being my old friend Xavier knew exactly where I'd be. He did me the favour of not pointing out that he had warned me against getting involved with Ernestine.
We wandered around, had a nice lunch of eggplant sambal with rendang curry and rice, drank green tea. Xavier went into a ritzy men's boutique and demanded to see a hat in the window. The sales assistant pretended not to hear him. So Xavier raised his voice. The young man lowered his gaze and raised his eyebrows when he saw Xavier. Xavier, furious, called him a snorty little popinjay. Needless to say Xavier didn't end up trying on the hat. I think he did it to cheer me up. Which it did.

Ernestine Ernestine

Well I had my meeting with Ernestine and I am heartbroken. She was very sweet but she explained that having just been released from the confinement of the Victorian scrap book, she could not think of a serious relationship just yet. I suppose I knew in my heart already. She took my hand in hers and wept and said she did so hope we could remain friends. Of course we can. And she had yet more surprises. As a part of her journey of self discovery she has taken up drawing. She described her first life drawing class. How nervous she was, how she dropped her new piece of charcoal and it broke in three pieces. How intimidating the blank paper is, yet how thrilling the act of drawing. The above drawing is one of hers.

Transformations

I have started another assemblage. I call it '7/27 11A' . I found this piece of cardboard yesterday on my way home from Xavier's. I love the numbers. There is a small beach near my rooms that is always littered, often with smooth sea worn pieces of glass. How wonderful it is to find them, transformed as they are from something potentially vicious into something quite lovely. As I look at the picture that is forming I see that my experiences at Xavier's have led me to something vaguely face like. Yet I feel there is some connection to my arch rival Unbeing here too. Am I applying the transformative power of art to this most problematic relationship in my life? Perhaps.
I put on my snug socks this evening and had a comforting dinner of boiled eggs on toast. Ernestine sounded well (we spoke on the phone) and we have agreed to meet tomorrow. She says she has something to talk with me about.

Xavier the painter

Another portrait by Xavier. He calls it 'My Friend found objects man'. The enigmatic little jester must have some bearing on how Xavier sees me. I feel he has made me look a little older than I really do. Nevertheless I rather like it.
Xavier cooked us a very hearty chicken and lemon soup as a thank you for my posing for the portrait. I have to say he was quite a cantankerous person to be painted by. He kept exhorting me not to move, swearing at his brushes, shining the light in my eyes. He made me sit for HOURS and he had me try on at least six different outfits before finally deciding. And then, to top it all off, I had to pick up the pieces when he had minor hysterics after he'd finished.
'It's not what I had hoped for', 'It's dreadful', 'I'm hopeless' and so on.
I decided he needed some fresh air so we walked, despite bad weather, to his favourite cafe.
Here we had excellent coffee and delicious gelato in a warm and friendly place, all decked out in Italian flags still celebrating the World Cup victory. Xavier calmed down and was cheerful by the time I went home.

Self portraits and bubblegum
I love these bubblegum machines. Just after Xavier took this photo two children tumbled up, coins in hand and great joy ensued when bubblegum was acquired. It seemed to me the act of engaging with this wonderful structure full of shape and colour was more thrilling than the sweetie itself. I remember that being the case. The bubblegum, wondrous in itself, is more of a consolation for the finish of the fun of actually putting the coin in and turning the handle, clunk, and the sweetie drops in the slot. What more satisfaction for little monkey fingers?
Imagine an urban Eden with a big round dome full of apples, a snake twisting round the pedestal, a coin in the slot, a turn of the handle and down drops the apple into your upturned palm.
I attach too a rather touching self portrait painted by Xavier. He calls it 'I am Xavier King of Hearts'. Poor fellow, he's well meaning but unlucky in love.

Reconciliation
Well. Ernestine came over early this morning and we had a talk about our disagreement. She was very touched by my card and said she was sorry too. She said she had done some thinking and began to explain why my ideas were so disturbing. As she spoke I recalled the strong reaction she had shown early in our friendship when I brought up decoupage. Of course it all makes sense to me now and I should have realized earlier. She has a dread of scrapbooking and cut outs, they give her a sense of mortality. They remind her of the long years spent in the claustrophobic environs of the Victorian scrapbook from which she is only newly liberated. She doesn't share the sense of new horizons and freedom that the cut out and collage give me. Still she was willing to be convinced to which end we visited one of my favourite places- the recycling centre. Together we rummaged and sifted and sorted and exchanged exclamations of delight. Here we are with some of our finds from the fabric samples bin.

Ernestine and I have had our first spat! It was about art, of course. I do understand that Ernestine has the aesthetic sensibilities of a bygone era but to call my assemblage 'obnoxious' and 'desultory' seems a little cruel. I suppose I should be glad she has such strong opinions about art, but why must they be so very conservative? I tried to explain about collage and assemblage and so forth. I fear she saw me in a new light after this conversation.
Mind you, I could have taken it better. I may have sulked a little. Thinking it over I feel it is up to me to extend the olive branch. So here it is my dear Ernestine, lets be friends again.

Xavier and I
A few pictures from today. I must admit I am exhausted as Xavier and I went to the fun park. I tried to win Ernestine a giant stuffed sea horse, maybe next time. Xavier insisted on being photographed for the Blog. He was a little resentful that there were so many photos of Ernestine and none of him. I have also included my first found objects assemblage. I call it '=O464m'.

Down at Heel
The trains are rattling the windows again this morning. Funny how you notice things some days and not on others. Yesterday I was so full of my time with Ernestine I barely noticed the object I picked up on our walk. I just tossed it on the pile as I breezed in. Now I find myself staring at it, very moved.
It is the heel of someone's shoe. A flat heel, sensible and downmarket. The edge is all jagged so they favour the outside of their heel. Someone has worn and worn and worn the shoe to which this heel belongs. Just looking at it, sitting here on the table with its sloping angle, I feel the ghost presence of that towering human bulk that has pressed and pressed and pressed down on this heel.
Now they have lost that dependable cushion and their well used shoes are rendered useless, and they are probably not worth fixing, or so the cobbler tells you when he looks at your poor old shoes with some distaste. How to communicate the bond you have with those old shoes that have carried you so faithfully and so far?

In the park with Ernestine

I think this picture speaks for itself. Ernestine and I had a lovely time together. We went for a long walk then ended up in the park where we played on the swings and the merry go round.

She loved my new hair though she did seem a little unnerved when I told her about Norma Jean's reading. Though she did say that cabbage well cooked is a very nourishing food, so I took that as a good sign.

Xavier has been exhorting me to take up badminton and I am not averse, just a little shy of exercising in public. Well I may yet take him up on his offer. It might impress Ernestine too.

Cabbage casserole and new hair

I went to Xavier's this evening for dinner. I thought I should try and heal the little rift between us since the other day at the markets. He cooked us a fine steak dinner (here I am showing my appreciation) and I filled him in on all my news.

Well, I had another appointment with my hair specialist, Norma Jean. As we were finishing up I told her how pleased I was with the result and that I hoped my new lady friend, Ernestine, would like it. Norma Jean got a hazy look in her eyes and said 'she will like it very much'. Something in the way she said it gave me pause and I must have looked curious because she became a little flustered then said vaguely 'Oh I have this gift you see'. So it turns out Norma Jean is something of a spiritualist. After much pressing she agreed to do a reading for me.

She went to her sideboard (the appointments take place at her home and though she isn't affiliated with any of the big name hair replacement centres I still have full confidence in her abilities), and took out a large and unlikely tome, The Constance Spry Cookery Book.

She lit a squat little beeswax candle (such a wonderful smell, real beeswax) and settled herself with this volume before her. Eyes downcast she flicked through the pages, humming a low tune, then suddenly her index finger stopped, poised over a page and plunged down. 'Here' she proclaimed and her eyes rose slowly to meet mine.

'Chou Farci Lorraine' she whispered. A sort of cabbage casserole with chipolata sausages apparently.

'This is a very good omen for your new affair of the heart. The plain and wholesome cabbage tenderly succours the sausage. A sprinkling of fresh parsley over the top gives the freshness of Spring and a blessing on new love.' This pronouncement left me blushing, but pleased, and I was happily preparing to be on my way when she grabbed my hand.

'But wait' said she, 'the cabbage should be tender and succulent' she murmured 'A warning then. Be wary, all may not be as it appears. I sense a dark presence. Be vigilant lest the cabbage be over cooked.'

So I really had to talk it over with Xavier and he agrees , the dark presence could only be Unbeing. But that blagard seems far away just now and tomorrow I have another rendezvous with my little cabbage, my Ernestine. Xavier and I are back in each other's good books. So, in short, I am in love, I am eating well, I have a new crop of curling locks and I have made it up with my good friend, life is good.

Morning. The city is waking up. The ever present sounds of construction somewhere. An electric saw, someone hammering. I sit, drowsy with sleep and a dream of grey snakes, and sift through my ever growing collection of found objects. Here I am with a small portion of it.
What opposites Ernestine and I are. I wonder if there can be any hope for us. When we parted yesterday after our luncheon, just as well really as I did have a bit of a backlash from those beans, she blew me a kiss as the bus whisked her away. Was it just a friendly kiss? It's impossible to say with her, she gives so little away. She is my Aoede and my song is the song of the city and the detritus it sheds from its shaggy hide as it rumbles along.

Ernestine and I went to a cafe for lunch. I ate a baked potatoe with beans, sour cream and avocado. She opted for a cucumber sandwich. With Xavier out of the way we were able to get to know one another a little. She does have a rather enigmatic quality. You are never quite sure what she's thinking. I'm sure she disapproved of my menu choice but she is too much a Lady to let on.
Her interests are Romantic poetry and walking, preferably in some suitably evocative natural setting. She showed loathing, in fact, an almost morbid fear when I raised the subject of decoupage. I'll know better than to mention that again!
She also seemed perplexed by Xavier's outburst at the markets. He got into a rather unpleasant shouting match with a South American stall holder after asking for a discount on a poncho. Xavier was heard to loudly declaim 'but I can tell it's not Alpaca', whilst the stall holder , quite justifiably in my view, retorted with some ripe language and a shaken fist. I managed to extricate Xavier before a real stoush ensued but I fear I will have to protect my precious flower, my little dumpling Ernestine, from his pugnacious influence! Still he is a good friend, one I wouldn't mind having at my side if it ever comes to the point with Unbeing. Mercifully he has not been sighted in days.

Ah Sundays.
I left the bustle of the city, that mouthwatering smorgasboard of the new, and retreated today, in comfortable shoes, into familiar territory.
My friend Xavier and I went to the markets.
The sky was blue. The live music was jolly. The heady mixed aromas of stall cooked food and incense. The good coffee in a paper cup. And of course the bargains.
We wandered through the stalls, bumping and bustling between the collectors and the 'dipping my toe in but not fully immersed'.
I found this lovely lady from a Victorian scrapbook. Xavier disapproved of her and said she would cause me trouble in the long run. But it was love and we could not be parted. I know these amours often don't last long, it's all based on fleeting romance, but for now it's bliss. Like warm slippers, toast and tea with just a hint of Heathcliff and Cathy for drama.
Those few of you familiar with me may note I have undertaken some hair replacement therapy. I'm not shy about it, I am unashamed. The hair replacement specialist, Norma-Jean, is a lovely lady and she tells me that if I persist I may soon be sporting a full 'do'. I hope my Victorian lady friend approves but she remains mute on the subject.

I took myself on an excursion into the city. The crowds were there in force. I felt shabby in my hand me downs. So I decided to bask in the reflected glow of these sunglasses and dream of sipping champagne.
I guess if we didn't all imagine we would 'some day' be filthy rich it would all be a bit depressing. Hence the very important function played by the lottery in this world we've made.

I may have caught a glimpse of Unbeing in the crowd but then a tall man in a long black coat obscured my vision for a moment and when I looked back, Unbeing was gone, if he was ever there to start with. His skin is the texture of week old tripe. And that's on a good day.

After my near miss with Unbeing today, I was despondent.
It seems just when I turn a corner, there he is, lurking in the shadows,
waiting to strike.
Still, I was able to side step his little scheme to sabotage my Blog.
In celebration I went and had a delicious luncheon of Tapas, replete with chorizo, stuffed olives, octopus and saucy meatballs...wonderful.
There is nothing like a good feed to cheer the soul.
Afterwards I found myself wandering a small beach, contemplating the flotsam and jetsam. I felt a certain affinity with this tidal line of debris.
Not unlike myself, no, not unlike at all.
A curiously beautiful aggregate of all the experiences time has given me.
So I collected a few oddments to toy with in an odd moment.

My arch nemesis has made an attempt on my life! I knew it would not be long before he tried it. But rest assured I am still here. He is an execrable character, quite loathsome. He likes to call himself 'Unbeing', pretentious git. Still. All is well, for now...

Welcome to my Blog!
This is me, a man in the process of manifestation.
Wow. So great to be here man. I mean it's really great. I am out in the ether. The world is a sea of honey lapping at my feet. This is a cosmic thing. I feel great!

One thing about me, I am a collector.
I can't stop. I mean, don't think I've got cash. Not me. I'm broke.
But I can't stop collecting. I'm carrying stuff around with me that I've got from all over, and I've got nowhere to put it either. I've got stuff from markets, garage sales, charity shops, council clean up nights and just plain rubbish.
What's it matter if you love it eh?

In fact I think I've been on an anti-taste binge for a few years.
That's it, hey blogging is great, it's all coming clear to me now.
I've been on a taste free diet. I mean I've really purged.
My aesthetic sense is blown wide open and I'm free, free, free. There's nothing like being at play in the world of form.
Today I bought a new work of art. Here I am with it.