Life and Art at the End of the World
{ Monthly Archives }
I won’t be doing the PE Report for a couple of weeks. I need a break. In the meantime, here are some pictures of lions cubs that I took at the Seaview Game Park. Have a Merry Whatever!
And I’ve even got a small video of them, for anyone who’s interested.
While it is not my biggest intellectual leap, by any means, the triple cruxifiction is always the first image that pops into my head when I hear the word “scarecrow.” And in this panel about the friends of Dorothy (for the Wizard of Oz series) is no exception. While it might be taken as an indictment that religion is, like the scarecrow counterpart, brainless, that is not my intention. I think that it has more to do with isolation and positioning than anything else.
This painting is based on certain elements of the Wizard of Oz story, for our thematic exhibition occuring in early 2007. It initally started as a house crushing the poor old “witch” beneath it and dripping a viscous red from it. As it happens, though, I painted this as I had to prepare to move from my house of 10 years. It turned more nostalgic.
This is the first of the Wizard of Oz series that I am currently busy with. The idea was first suggested by Grant and Jean, who want to have a thematic (theme: Wizard of Oz) exhibition in early 2007. What I am most proud of here is the lumninosity that I managed to get. This painting doesn’t so much glow as appear.
Good
PE in the summer time is really beautiful. Not only is everything green and beautiful, but the short skirts and summer dresses start making their appearances. School is out and all the young beautiful women are out and about flaunting what nature gave them. And there’s nothing wrong with that. I’ve also come to terms with my move to suburbia and have been enjoying my daily walk with the dogs. I have a feeling that this summer is going to be a special one.
I suppose that I should mention the latest James Bond film, Casino Royal. I have seen all of the James Bond, most of them more than once, and I can say that, without a doubt, this is my favorite. The new Bond, whose name escapes me right now, does a not-half-bad job. I might just be enthusiastic about watching the next one.
Bad
Before I attended it, and brimming with enthusiasm, I had already written up my visit to Uncle Jumbo’s Christmas Party under the Good Section of the PE Report. After all, what is not good about a Christmas party for children, organized by Rotary, in order to raise money for charity? I was also quite confident that it would be a good show because it had been going on for years.
And it was with that mindset that I found myself (after an exciting tractor ride) in a circle of hay bales with a hundred or so excited children and toddlers. I was still enthusiastic when I joined the hundreds of parents. Unlike me, all slowly getting drunk on the beer and wine they brought with them. I wish I had thought of that. The smell of booze, hay and diapers was carefully masked by the gentle aroma of braaing boeries, as small almost as heavy as the make-up of the assorted tannies, grannies and gold-digging moms. This was, unmistakably, a South African event.
That’s when Uncle Jumbo entered. He was dressed as a farmer and acted as the master of ceremony and generous friend of children everywhere. He seemed the only competent person there, helped as he was by an entourage of ragged, awkward clowns. I think that they got away with it only with the support everyone’s silent mantra of “well, at least the kids are enjoying it.â€?
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I was expecting a slick, professional show of International caliber. But I was expecting some sort of semblance of an effort. The three main characters (Noddy, Big Ears and Santa Claus) who eventually graced the soggy hay were the saddest looking individuals I had ever seen. Their costumes looked like they were created at the last minute by a blind orangutan. They had no presence and mumbled in an unintelligible voice for most of the performance. And if you think that I’m exaggerating, think about how bad you have to be to be ignored by a four-year old when you have a bag full to the brim with toys?
Between them, I think that they were single-handedly responsible for chattering the belief of old Saint Nick, in the vast majority of the children. It was Ok for them not to believe in Big Ears and Noddy because, quite frankly, I’d be surprised if a single one of the children actually recognized them. Shouldn’t they, at least, try to modernize their performance? Is a Lion King, TMNT or Spongebob Squarepants costume really that difficult to make?
Little five-year old Adam (who is, admittedly, sharp as a tack) called Santa Claus on his bluff the moment that he walked into the stage because it was, as clear as his cheap gum boots, that it was a skinny teenager with a false beard. You heard me right: a skinny Santa Claus with a squeaky voice? What the fuck! Give me a break! Are we expected to believe that there wasn’t a single fat jolly guy up for the part?
The only thing that these performers had was a clear slur either brought on by being drunk or chronically shy. In either case, it is not someone you should be using to bring joy to kids. At least, the clowns were enthusiastic. Oh, no, wait, they weren’t.
The cherry on the cake, as far as I was concerned, was the appearance of Tinkerbell who led a game of shouting with the children. You see, when she arrived, they switched off all the lights, and the only way to get them to come back on was to shout that they believed in magic.
For hippy bullshit magic make-belief indoctrination, this was a roaring success. As a magic trick, though, it sucked big balls. Some guy waiting behind the scenes next to light switch waiting for the kids to shout loud enough? Give me balloon animals any day. And don’t think me jaded, it was painfully clear from all the little faces that very few of the kids were left convinced
And that’s what gets me: it really isn’t difficult to create and maintain a sense of magic and wonderment in a child. Children are naturally gullible and eager to believe. You don’t need to try a lot, but you do need to try.
Ugly
Fucking Pink Eye. What kind of loving god creates a disease whose sole purpose is to make you scratch at your eyes? And while, admittedly, it was pretty cool walking around the mall looking like the living dead, it really didn’t help me get laid. The only good thing I can tell you about Pink Eye is that, at least, it’s not Ebola.
And, lastly, I would like to extend my deepest condolences to Nicky and her family, who tragically just lost their father. This is all the more sad and devastating as it follows her brother’s death by less than two weeks.
This was originally the left-hand panel of the “Loss begins at home” diptych. It consists of a background map of the Brussels subway overlaid with layers and layers of glazes. In the center of the map is a red block with the scribbled (in pastel) words “What if?”
The central theme for this piece was a young lady I met in belgium and with whom I hit off quite well. For very practical reasons, like sobering up, this ended up not being taken any further. Anyway, to cut a long story short, she said: “You can be my What If guy. Everyone needs someone like that.” At the time, I thought it very significant and very wise, if not a little tragic.
This was originally part of a diptych inspired by my trip to Brussels at the end of 2005. I ended having to split it into two seperate pieces because I couldn’t reconcile the two sets of emotions I wished to convey.
Both, however, have taken me the better part of a year to complete. The background element in this is the right-hand part of a map of the subway of Brussels over which is layered tens (if not hundreds) of glazed layers and pastel scribblings. The pastle work consists of repeating “Loss begins at home” until the text loses its significance and becomes a homogeneous pattern.
Good
Thanks to Andrew, I discovered that you can renew your car’s license disk at the Post Office. Holy Shit! What a difference it makes. I managed to go in, pay and get everything sorted in less than 10 minutes and without having to go to the traffic department.
That almost makes up for those fuckers fining me twice in the space of a week for having an expired license disk.
Also, I owe a huge thank you to Steve, Brad, Mike, Athel and Delene for their assistance with the move this weekend. I will be posting photos of the new place presently.
Bad
Some days, things just go wrong. This weekend was such a time. First, we must remember that I was mostly sleep deprived from a long and emotionally draining week (ask me about it some time) which culminated in an angst-ridden evening on Friday. We also shouldn’t forget that I am currently (and was then) infected with Pink Eye (see below). So, as you can imagine, I wasn’t in the best frame of mind.
It starts on Friday afternoon. i leave the office early to start packing. I make two round trips to the new house and back and arrange to meet up with Mike at 18:00 to fetch the trailer from Tracey’s parent’s house. We fetch the trailer and drive out to the farm. We pull into the garden and the left tyre explodes. Literally. We soon discover that neither my nor Steve’s spanner fits, and that Mike’s spanner is snapped in half. The cherry on the cake is the discovery that the spare trailer wheel is flat. We manage to move a box or two and call it a day. That night, I really, really needed a drink. Much (ask me later) was on my mind.
Come Saturday. I wake up early and go and get thespare trailer tyre pumped up. I got to the Cow’s Corner Cafe and that’s that.The guys show up at 10:00, spanners in hand. None of them work and we discover that the spare is flat again. It must be a slow puncture. We send Steve into town to get it fixed, while Mike, Brad and I filled the bakies. We load up and get to the house. We discover that the landlord still hasn’t picked up all his crap. We get unloading.
Half-way, some guys show up to clean the carpets. It was nice of them to tell us in advance. So, now, I have to stay in the house, and wait for Steve. Mike goes off to pick up a bigger spanner, Brad goes off to pack more stuff. We eventually all meet up out at the farm at 12:00 and we have yet to use the trailer.
We finally swop out the wheel and get the trailer loaded up. We make the trip, unload. I unpack boxes until about 21:00 and go and fetch the hounds. By then, I could barely see out of both eyes.
Sunday. On Sunday, I wake up early (again) and unpack the studio. I load up all the empty boxes into the car and drive off to the tip. As I pull out the driveway, I smash the pillar and manage to dent my car something fierce. The whole front left of the car is smashed. Fuck. Undaunted, I proceed to head off. Then, out on the Seaview Road, the car starts shuddering and then vibrating. Bang! The fucking tyre explodes. I don’t have a spare (well, technically, I did, but it’s flat, and under an entire carload of boxes. Shit. I break down. And a fit of screaming and railing against the Old Gods of Chaos, I was fine. I phoned Steve. He helped me out and I was back on the road.
What a fucking ordeal. That’s all I can say.
Ugly
So, last Thursday, I suspect that I might have Pink Eye. Full of optimism, I traipse the 50 meters down the road to the local Chemist. I enter, ask the woman to look at my eyes and ask her to reccomend a treatement. She confirms that it is pink eye and hands me over some eye drops. I think nothing of it, pay my money and head back to the office. once there, I read the notice and box. It’s fucking homeopathic medicine. In other words, it’s about as useful as a cock-flavoured lollipop (to quote Dodgeball).
I return to the shop, explain to them that they should be ashamed of selling this Vodoo crap, and that I expect decent evidence-based medicine. This they provide to me at R11.00 cheaper! Money-grubbing bastards.
That’s the 1st Avenue, Walmer, Chemist, if you’re looking for a place to avoid like the plague.
