Gauguin's Storm

The storm swept towards me and even in my dismay I was transfixed by the watercolour wash of golden light behind sheeting rain, bruised thunderheads and open ocean. But soon the horizon was lost to me and all about were heaving mounds of water and it grew very cold very quickly. The rain reached me and I wrapped myself in a sea stiff and rather fishy piece of sail cloth from the fore of my little vessel.
I am quite partial to a storm when I am sitting up in bed, beneath a tin roof, nursing a cup of hot milk and honey. It is quite another thing entirely when one is consumed by its elemental fury. I felt every lightning lash and thunder rumble in my blood, and bones and stuffing. Darkness was a moving beast. I experienced a moment of communion with all those poor souls who have foundered since humanity first lashed some logs together with vines and set tentatively out onto water. After that I became almost peaceful, and though it's hard to believe, I slept, and it was as if my sleep soothed the Sea God's savage temper and I woke to dawn breaking on a flat horizon.
That red and gold glowing green enamelled sky was the great awakener. For suddenly I knew why I was there and why I had to suffer the storm, be humbled by it and live through it. Gauguin was present. I did not see his regal nose, nor read that wild and barbarous look in his eyes, but I know he was there. The colours revealed him and he them and all the great raw symbolic possibilities surged through me, riotous, as I realised I had survived. I floated in this beatific chromatic state for some time when the skiff scraped against something and I became conscious of the slip of land towards which I had been, trance like, moving for some time.
Practical considerations took hold. I braved some rather treacherous footing and managed to push my coracle over a little reef and into a clear lagoon.
The atoll curved around the lagoon, a sandy strip leading to a fringe of palms. I stumbled up the beach. Coconuts were strewn around, Poseidon's apology perhaps. I managed to break one open and feast on it's sweet milk and white flesh.
It wasn't long before the rescue party, mounted by Mrs Piko, found me. Though it seemed impossible, I had not floated far from civilisation, yet I have travelled far and seen much.
The rest of my trip was a dream. I was able to harness new energies and produce this video which was the pretext for my journey. My thanks of course to Mrs Piko and to the Anonymous Patron. I have tried to capture the moment when one comes through the storm to calm waters. It is my homage to Gauguin, to the sun, to beauty and to the turn of the seasons which is life.

Art Junket

My artistic engine is running very much on dross and fumes. I am sputtering along in my current milieu, devoid of inspiration, filled with ennui, dull in all my faculties, glassy eyed and pushing through life as through treacle. This seems to me terribly wasteful and I think I should go on an artistic junket. I feel the lure of all things tropical, palm trees and coconut fibre, sand and salty sea. So I went to Norma Jeans for a fitting (she is making me another coat), with this lure hooked firmly in my heart, which being the intuitive entity she is she was able to see straight away. A large and seemingly insurmountable obstacle to this junket being the conspicuous lack of pecuniary freedom. It was time to approach her Oracle once again, that marvellous tome, The Constance Spry Cookery Book. (For new readers I should note that Norma Jean practices an eccentric form of divination whereby, in trance state, she consults said tome for guidance).
So the lights were dimmed, the curtains drawn, the candle spread it's ancient glimmer, incense filled the air and Norma Jeans attractively shadowed lids began to droop over her dreamy eyes, lips parted and she began to flip the pages of Constance Spry's excellent volume. Did I see the candle flicker? Did a chill mist the air? Was there a little thrill up my spine as her hands stilled over a page and her lashes swept upwards? Yes, yes and yes again.
'This is the sign' she announced. Under the auspicious title Sea Fish, the recipe Filets De Sole Sylvette was revealed. A delicious sounding dish of fish in a creamy sauce. This Norma Jean said is proof positive that my yearning for tropical climes should be followed. The Pacific she thinks, and to be more specific, the French Pacific. Immediately I thought of Gaugin, that old reprobate, and his time in Tahiti. 'Tahiti. Oh yes' said Norma Jean, the last vestiges of trance upon her. 'Yes Tahiti is is'. The issue of funds remained unresolved but her parting words to me as I left were 'Remember, this is a very rich sauce'.
I went about my business, which that particular day included a yoga class led by Hugo. I am improving in the strict discipline that is Iyengar yoga and finding it very healthful. As I lay in a half shoulder stand my thoughts wandered back to the issue of funding my journey. And the answer came to me so forcefully I almost fell over. A rich sauce, a rich source... Of course! The Anonymous Patron.
So after the class I approached Hugo, the Anonymous Patron's seneschal. I mentioned the Patron had commissioned another video work from me and that I would like to undertake it in Gaugins wake, on Tahiti. After some days Hugo contacted me and the answer Amazingly was Yes! It shows great faith in my efforts and I am more pleased than I can say. There is a little tension with Xavier who seems to feel he should have been included in this whole venture but I explained this was really something I felt I needed to do by myself and that really he did have enough to be going on with himself. So I am in the full flight of preparing for my journey and Norma Jean is obligingly making me an appropriate wardrobe.

The Journey to Atlantis

What wonders! I finally dislodged Xavier after pleading, threats and taunts, from the dark hole into which he had fallen after his competition rejection. We dressed quickly and made it to the venue of the Undersea Extravaganza, the Boatshed on the Harbour, with less than an hour to set up. It was a balmy evening and the air was full of the sweetness of flowers. We brought our little monitor and set up our installation. I have posted here a shot from our art piece, The Journey to Atlantis. Our piece was greeted with incomprehension by the gathering and was certainly not half as popular as Ariadne's Performing Pups. They performed a circular, jellyfish inspired dance. Each dog wore a little tutu and crown and carried a flower in its mouth.

I will confess I was gloomy about the reception of our piece until Hugo took me aside to tell me that the Anonymous Patron enjoyed it very much and hoped I would contribute again next time. The piece was intended to evoke the alien qualities of the deep sea environment and give the sense of a mysterious, perilous journey at unfathomable depths.

The night ended with dancing to wild klesma music. Norma Jean, who is responsible for our helmet outfits (which I must say were a little cumbersome when it came to dancing), graced me with three dances and Xavier and Ariadne were of course inseparable.

The Owl and the Pussy-cat

A picture of Ariadne and (Admiral) Xavier on a Sunday afternoon boating trip that put me in mind of Edward Lear's The Owl and the Pussy-cat who went to sea in a beautiful pea green boat. Not oblivious to the parallels I believe Xavier provided honey sandwiches and they threw one coin each into the sea and made a wish. Whilst I don't entirely approve of throwing anything into the water, it was a Romantic gesture. I was once again dog sitter to Matilda who would not be persuaded away from the pier and howled until they came back! For solace I had a new coat, made for me by Norma-Jean, so at least I looked dapper whilst creating a public disturbance. Plans continue to blossom for the Undersea Extravaganza and it is scheduled for next weekend. The Patron has provided a wonderful venue, a harbourside boatshed, and Xavier and I are experimenting with old fashioned sea helmets.