UNDERCULTURE

Good
I would like to introduce my awesome nephew. His name is Jonathan because Renaud, my brother is a pansy who didn’t want to call him Superawesomecockrocket like I suggested. Still, I think he’s pretty awesome and damned cute. It also proves that Renaud had sex at least once. Congratulations to all of them (Renaud, Karen, Shavone and, of course, little Jonathan).

In completely unrelated news, I was recently informed that I have a prostitute living opposite me. My neighbourhood just keeps on getting more awesome. I’m keeping an eye out on the house now, you know, just in case I recognize someone going in.

My work got featured in Stone’s Throw Magazine (you can find me here). It’s not a direct line to the big time, but it’s a start.

Bad
My mom is in hospital. She just had a whole chunk of her colon taken out, along with whatever fucking polyp was causing her problems in the first place. Man, fuck that, moms aren’t supposed to get sick. That’s just bull shit. I hope she gets better soon.

So, this morning, I got woken up by my neighbour across the street (not the prostitute, another one) screaming at what I presumed was her boyfriend. She accused him of being a two-faced bloody liar at the top of her voice, over and over again, until it all ended in tears and slamming doors. The thing that surprised me was that all of this occurred at 5:00 AM on a Thursday morning. Why the fuck would you have a screaming match at 5:00 AM? It’s too late in the morning for the guy to come home drunk, and it’s in the middle of the week anyhow so that highly unlikely. It’s far too early in the day for someone to be really pissed off (I mean, you should have heard her. She’s got quite a set of lungs on her). She obviously wouldn’t have been reading letters or SMSs or scanning through evidence at that time of the morning. No, it’s all a mystery. My best bet is that they stage their fights for the maximal annoyance of their neighbours. Sure, it’s a far-fetched explanation, but at least it makes sense.

Ugly
Monday was not a good day for me. First, I had to go to Hell. OK, East London but, damn it, it’s close enough. And, to add insult to injury, I got a speeding fine on the way there. Apparently it’s not legal to go 143 in an 80 zone, even if that 80 zone is a desolate goat infested stretch of road outside Peddie. You’d think that they’d understand that people want to make it as short as possible. FSM damn it.

At the bottom of Albany Road, there is a sign pasted on a lamp post. I tried to take a photo but it came out all blurry. I’ll try again this weekend. Anyway, what’s important about this sign is that it’s a for a doctor offering abortions and Love portions.

I want to know what a love portion is. it sounds naughty.

Most of you who know me, know Grant. And if you know Grant, then you’ll know just how much I love his paintings. They are delicate and full of gothic colouring, but the subjects are raw, vicious or cunningly witty.

It’s also clear that much of his stuff compliments mine, we’re both treading the waters of surrealism. Sure, his paintings are a bit more representational than mine, as I tend more towards abstraction, but the subject, the underlying story-telling, comes from the same source.

I think he doesn’t get nearly enough exposure, which is why I snuck in and took a handful of photos of his most recent pieces. This is what he exhibited at the Grahamstown Arts Festival. I think it’s just fucking amazing.

I normally don’t do representational art. I find it quite boring but, still, every now and then it’s great to get back into it. It gets the thoughts flowing and, I suppose, really serves to inform all the more abstract forms. Regardless, I didn’t have much of a choice with this one. It’s my mom’s birthday soon and I promised her a portrait. So there it is, painted from a photograph. I’ve reworked this quite substantially but a larger version of the original can still be found here.