UNDERCULTURE

So I got commissioned to do a polyptych for the new bar at the Trattoria San Francesca in St. Francis. Most of the bar is dark red wood but the walls and floor are pretty neutral otherwise. The only brief I got was: “I want it red.” So I did a bit of reading and some sketching and decided to build up the pieces from inspiration drawn from works from Hokusai. I always enjoyed the visual on the wave. As always, I failed dismally at taking the photos. The glare coming off the windows really made it difficult but, to give you an idea. The red of the paintings is a dark, dark burgundy, like a good red wine. I called it Hokusai’s Goodbye.

So we have this Christian bookstore by the name of CUM books (snigger). Actually, I’m pretty sure that they’re part of a great chain but I’m too lazy and couldn’t give enough to a crap to look it up, but that’s beside the point. The point, or a part of the point, is that CUM books (titter) has an unfortunate name because, you know, it’s called CUM books (hehe). And even that’s not a big deal because they can call their shops whatever they want. What is the problem - and it really bugs me - is that they have chosen this as their advertising angle for the holiday season:

no, don’t adjust your screen, you read that right: Christmas with Cum. I actually don’t know how to approach this? Is it possible, even remotely, that no-one at all, ever, mention the less savoury version of the word “cum” to the store owners? Do they know and are doing it on purpose? Or, even scarier, did God instruct them to do it? What’s next: “Easter just isn’t the same without CUM?” I shudder to think.

Cum… eh.

I’ve had this image in the back of my mind for quite a while now. It is part Rothko, part Magritte, part Lovecraft. I call it the Chaos Box and it started out as an imag of something menacing, evil, definitely Cuthuluh-esque emerging from some unknown artifact in some unknown sea. As always, though, the photo doesn’t do it justice. I am particuarly proud of the texture I got on the box and the tendrils.

The high-quality, large version can be found here.

Good
Score one for breaking stereotypes! Just last week, a friend of mine goit her handbag and then her purse stolen, in Central. As it turned out, both items were recovered using an ancient technique called chasing the fuck of the perp and wrestling the purse out his criminal hands. Who were these men who so willingly helped a lady? Nigerians. This gives me hope that, maybe, just maybe, at least one or two people won’t automatically think that someone’s a criminal because of where they come from or what colour their skin is. But, this is South Africa and I know what you’re thinking: one step at a time.

We went to eat at the Kegg and Swan this weekend, out in Sunridge Park. Man-oh-man, I haven’t eaten a good steak like that in a looong time. Not since the days of the old Coachman. I wholeheartedly recommend the cool pub atmosphere, the friendly staff and their fucking delicious steaks.

Bad
I’m bloody glad I moved. When I originally moved into the house in Broadwood, the landlords promised to have the side building built up. They promised to get me keys to sliding doors that never opened. They promised to take all their crap out of the wendy house. I lived there for two years in a construction site filled with their stuff, and what came of those promises? Jack-fucking-shit. That’s what. But what really gets my goat right now, though, is that they are bleating like skewered kittens for every little thing. And they’re going to get away with it faster than you can say “goodbye, deposit.” To make matters worse, my ex-house mate’s probably never going to pay the rent he owes me. It looks like it’s the season for paying through your nose. The only thing that’s keeping me sane is the good work from the Jack Allers Group and the really awesome spot we now have in Richmond Hill.

Ugly
What do we have in last week’s Algoa Sun? Ghost-hunters. Apparently, the Newspaper House is haunted by ghosts because someone heard noises and saw something out of the corner of their eyes. There’re no photographs, no peer-review, no control for bias - no - none of that, but it didn’t deter two local woowoos from claiming that they heard a sound like “un-oiled hinges opening,” and had a spike in their milligauss reading. Oh My God, it’s a demonic entity from the netherworld! We’re all going to die! Save us! Oh, no wait, it’s just a metallic creaking sound a and magnetic spike. The kind that could be caused by “the old iron beams used in the construction of the building” perhaps? What am I saying, that would just be ridiculous!

I wonder if anyone’s ever going to test the EMF readings in my house. I saw a tooth-fairy and a leprechaun. It’s true. Out of the corner of my eye.