Tonight's Rant

I’ve been a bad mood all day because I’ve had dealings in the Melbourne art scene this week and it’s got to me again. I really try very hard not to let these people make so angry. But they do. Oh God they do.
Why do these art people have to be so unprofessional? Why do they think they have the right to take such a nasty and rude attitude with me? And this was just the admin staff. We create the paintings/art that allow them to have fucking stupid jobs in this industry and without us they would more than likely be working in a supermarket. I really deserve a little more respect and I want to be treated in a professional manner. She was such an vain bitch, it was unbelievable. This lot wouldn’t know professional if it ran over them.

I had dealings with these so called art professionals last year. I had a nightmare meeting with them and it was one of the worst I have ever had to endure. One woman sat doodling on her note pad with a glazed look in her eyes while the other guy gave me a lecture on all the other brilliant artists he could think (most of which were popular and very conservative rather than brilliant) and taking almost zilch notice of my work. He gave me a lecture about correct art storage/transport as apparently I was not transporting my work properly. And finished in a patronizing tone reminding me that even if they decided not to proceed with my work I should always remember I was still an artist. Fucking tool. I was hardly going to be crushed and give up my art practice because of him, what an ego. Most professional artist’s are very used to knock backs, it part of a normal art practice, 20-30 knocks before you get a gig is quite normal even for the talented, it’s the way the system works.

At one point I almost just got up and walked out but I didn’t want to play into their stupid little game so I stuck it out. Worst thing is I have to deal with twats again over the next few months and all their immature ego trips. Honestly, not all art people are this bad, there is professional behaviour in the Melbourne art scene, but still, there are many like this. I’ve know artists who have put in art proposals only to have them returned with comments so unnecessarily horrible, things like being told they have no colour sense, suggestions they need art lessons, all sort of crap, these people just love to crush them. And I know quite a few that have stopped painting because of it. This industry seems to attract a significant number of insecure , immature dickheads, desperate for attention with out of control egos.

Any wonder I love showing my art on the internet. Ok, you don’t get to see work “in the flesh” but when I exhibit in galleries I would only have 200 or so people go through. I get that number and more per day online. Along with such encouraging feedback and support. People are nearly always friendly and not full of shit. The internet has such a vibrant art community.

I’m happy showing my art electronically. I hope the internet can really threaten the bastards, next time I deal with these fucking tools, I will be mentioning the numbers of people viewing of my art online, the global presence I’m part of and all the wonderful feedback I get. What can they offer? Two hundred people, high commissions, gallery charges and a pretentious opening in one city. Hopefully, it will make them feel inadequate. Two can play at this game.

And there ends tonight’s rant, that is much better out than in.

New Assemblage

I've had the line 'One foot in the badlands" stuck in my head for the last few days. When this happens I kind of know it's either a piece of art or a poem struggling to get out.

Today I realised One foot in the badlands is a new assemblage, a style that I've been messing around with for a couple of months and I think it's finally coming together.

I've been mesmerized lately with bill posters. I love the multiple layers of them, their impermanence, and the way they are often ripped or torn in some manner. I walked past a wall that was always covered in these things and someone had attempted to clean it up but not done a very good job of it. What they had left was multiple and ripped layers of bill posts, It looked absolutely amazing and I was so inspired by it. Fucking awesome. Really amazing. So there will be some pasting and then ripping off and pasting again, of copies of selected original pieces. Can't wait....I love ripping up my art...

Further, I've been wanting to photograph drains and metal grates on the street so I think this will be another element of these pieces. These pieces will be exhibited on the floor. This one one has a "base board' but it will be an assemblage of layers of work.

And later, I was walking to the studio from work today and the thought popped into my head,
" why don't you spray paint on these". I got really excited, being lover of graffiti, I think it's going to have to happen. I've wanted to use tinned paint for a while but I could never find the right work to do this on. Guess I can now. I really can't wait.

So this will leave me with 3 styles/directions. The Repetitions, I am wreckage hear me roar series, and these.

This will be an awesome mix and a great new experiment in my art practice. I'm starting this one on Saturday.

Sensitivity

I've had three weeks of my office job so I've been painting pretty much non stop. I've been doing 4 day bouts at the studio in Melbourne and mostly it's been great. I'm relaxed and rested, I've slept in and done what I wanted to. Drunk leisurely coffee at my favorite cafe, gone for long walks, spent time with my kids, it been good.

I've written poetry, something I haven't done for some time, painted some great pieces and significantly pushed my art direction up quite a few levels. Not bad for three weeks. However, it's pushed my sensitivity level to everything around me to a much higher level too. The down side to my talent. I know this has been increasing over the past weeks but today it's been particularly bad. All my senses are just taking in far too much, I can't ignore what I usually do and I've become hyper sensitive to my surroundings. Noise annoys the crap out of me as do other people. I'm more sensitive to light and color. I get so over stimulated, I need to be somewhere quiet and dim. I hate being over stimulated. My mind works more quickly and I'm just overwhelmed by the simplest things. Not to mention the other more unusual 'abilities' or 'senses' I sometimes experience, I find myself predicting stuff, knowing what people going to say, and I think I might be picking up on other peoples emotions. It was driving me insane.

Normally, I'm ok with this, I find a way to zone out, I play games on the iPhone, I find walking stops it or if it's later in the day I'll have a drink or two which dulls the affect. (I'd rather do that than take drugs.)

This morning, on the way to the studio from my house in the country, I got stuck on a train packed with over an excited football crowd for the hour + trip. It was horrible. I couldn't zone them out. Fuck my head is still buzzing from it all. This is the shitty side of being creative.

Anyway I ok now, I'm at the studio and it's really quiet. I've got a uni paper to edit that will dull it all down. Tomorrow I'm back at the office, the monotonous, boring office, that will give me some routine back and lower my levels of sensitivity. Other than that, I'm not painting today, I'm just going to do stuff here and maybe go for a walk.

I'm starting to feel human again. The painting and words make it worth it though.

addicted

I've become addicted to painting & drawing. I've given up my demanding friends in favor of more convenient ones so I can spend more time creating and locking myself away in a studio. I always feel so guilty about this but it's about time I stopped and just do what I want. It's a talent thing, when you can do what I can do, why would I want to do anything else. I need to stop giving myself shit about this.

Endlessness

there is no end
there is only movement
through this
backwards and forwards
there is no finish
only continuity
driven by the heart
propelled by life
jolted by what we desire
all these moments should be loved
from the vulnerable and the lost
to when I run my fingers through your hair
they are all our moments in this endless flow

virtue jo fern
18.4.09 12.4opm

Trashed studio and a hangover

Shit...I am wreckage hear me roar no 6 ... this one really hurt...I'm wiped out , hungover, I couldn't sleep and I needed serious numbing so I drank too much...not a great idea...I need to go home and sleep in my real bed, enough painting for the next few days...This series really takes it out of me...that was only the first paint on No 6...only 4 or5 more to go...don't want to think about it...I'm too tired...

My Iphone is driving me crazy

I went down to Richmond in Melbourne today on the way to the studio, to buy a cheap sofa , I was looking for this particular shop that sold such sofas. I'm not really that familiar with Richmond and I ended up lost.

Bloody I phone! It's has been slowly getting more erratic day by day, won't play music anymore, it's not letting now when I get emails, strange stuff.

So I'm wondering around Richmond and I realise I'm lost. I get it out and type in the address for directions. First it tells me there no service. I'm in inner city Melbourne for fucks sake! I turn it off and on, about 6 more times and suddenly it comes good, service at last. I pump in the address BUT it only downloads the two pin heads, one green and one red and a nice purple line between the two and NOTHING ELSE. no map, no street signs, just a nice grey blank screen.
This is not very helpful!
So I turn it off and on again, and again, etc. No, still just the two pins heads and the nice purple line! AND NOTHING ELSE! it would be ok if I could see two GIANT FUCKING PINS IN THE STREET TO GUIDE ME!!!
I tell you I was standing in Bridge St Richmond Shaking the fuck out the thing. I then took to asking people on the street and no one knew where this address was. I was thinking, just go to the studio, forget it, It's got far too hard!!!
And I looked down and it had downloaded the map! Bloody device!

So the outcome, I have a new, cheap, slightly damaged ( it's a studio sofa!) but very comfortable sofa arriving on Thursday.
The bastard device is going to the I phone hospital sometime this week.

What is wrong with people?

I'm into my second week of vacation from my day job, on more week of bliss left.
This morning I laid in bed watching TV until midday. I'm not used to watching daytime television, but over the last few days I've seen a bit. What strikes me the most about this time slot is it's almost all about celebrities. Nearly all of it and it's about the same three or four celebrities too. I can't understand how people can really be so interested in this, to me these celebrities seem to be no more than untalented attention seekers. Are people that bored?

Ok, TVs not the most meaningful medium but is fucking needs to raise it's standards above what they are! My god, they are really scraping their arses along the ground. It's total crap. I read a theory not long ago which suggested the cult of the celebrity was a powerful capitalist tool and I agree. It sells. It's like being invited to an exculsive party but one you can never attend. People must feel part of this bullshit world when they watch this crap.

Still, I can't understand how they can be so unimaginative and pay so much heed to this pap. So I'm not watching TV in the day time again. Ever. I like my brain cells intact. The more I watched the more brain cells died off, I could feel them suiciding.

Back to the studio tomorrow, I'm really looking forward to it. Plenty to do...Plenty to do...And hopefully new collage pieces up on flickr/red bubble. I'm also starting work on a new assemblage piece which is going to further the artist style of this series and seriously explore the subject of my creative muse in much more depth and detail.

Landscapes

I'm in the mood to draw some landscapes with oil pastels. Landscapes are something I like to draw about once or twice a year. I'll go up to the old cemetery in town it's got great gardens and the mix of stone textures is great. It's such a beautiful day. I'm starting to feel so relaxed I should take more time off my day job...wish I could but I need to eat and keep a roof over my families heads

Manallack St

I'm so tired, I finished working for 5 days in the studio. It was very productive. I've worked ut new directions for the Repetitions and Assemblages. I realised my recently created pieces have significantly improved because my styles has matured but the important thing was they had such intense subject matter. These things are both very necessary to keep my work moving up levels.
But for now's it's time to relax...

It's Finished

I am wreckage hear me roar No 5

New blank piece of paper in the studio for no 6 100 x 100 cm , I'm staring at it right now...

Manallack St

A day at the studio...From the top... I am wreckage No 5 (Childhood) Almost finished. I'm hanging it so I can study it before I do the final paint. Because these pieces are spontaneously created I need to take some time with it before I do the last paint. Below it, I am wreckage hear me roar no 4 (Muse) which is finished but on the wall for reference oint. I have packed away No's 1.2.3 in this series as No's 4 & 5 have really taken a huge developmental step forward and, although I still like these early pieces, they now seem immature and lacking.

To the left and on the floor and three new collage pieces, the words for I am wreckage hear me roar No 6 (not started yet). along with three new repetitions.

I'm glad this art sorted iteslf out over the last day or two. I'm finding my creativity very hard to handle sometimes. It overwhelms me. The more my art develops, the more pain and pressure it causes me. I've pretty much been emotionally all over the place for the last two days. I feel better now becuse I got it out of my system. But fucki t's getting hard to deal with sometimes. I feel bad about locking myself up in a studio for two days, ignoring everyone. I am very happy with the creative results but I cant help but wonder what this will lead onto.

I read a book the other day on Classic & Romantic art, it was mainly about all he significant artists on the romantic/gothic art movement. I see my own habits, attitudes, and creative obseesions in these guys. At least I don't feel so on my own. If they survived so will I.

So time to sleep. I'm sleeping in the studio tonight, I'm too lazy to go home. I love my studio. I've had enough.

Train Journeys

On my way to the studio in Melbourne. I got the station in Ballarat and I realised I'd left my purse behind so I had to turn around and walk back home to get it. It could have been worse, I could have to all the way to Melbourne before I realised it was on the kitchen table. Still, I knew if I hurried back I'd still make it in time to catch the train. So I rushed back ony to find the train wasn't running now. Melbourne trains are a fucking joke. Really! As soon at it either rains, which it was this morning, or it gets too hot, the whole system grinds to a holt. I'm glad I'm on holidays from my day job, I'm not too stressed about. I'm sitting in a cafe drinking coffee and eating toast instead. I'll give them an hour to sort themselves out and try again. I miss my studio and Im really want to finish my lastest painting.

Prose I wrote in May 2005 and reworked over the past two day

Ghost Man Hiding.

The path winds past tombstones and onto the house. Old house, heavy with dust. Parts of the interior had never seen the light. Long forgotten. He lived in this house in spirit only. He was hiding.

When he was younger he would sit inside an old wooden box in the corner of the first floor room. He would sit for hours, still and quiet, his hand on its lid that leant against the wall. This was before the house was forgotten and before the darkness engulfed it’s rooms. From inside this box he felt his dark self could live, his light self could die peacefully.

Many years later he lay down amongst the musty old newspapers that lined the bottom of the box. Face turned upwards he would stare without seeing.


When he hears the footsteps coming he is soaked in a delicious feeling of danger and enticed by the courage of the approaching steps. He feels a sharp uptake of power owing to his clandestine position. Deep inside his box he wishes he could experience these lost feelings forever. But he can’t, the footsteps will eventually turn away and walk back. He will be still barren and still dead.

The path winds past tombstones and onto the house. Old house heavy with dust. I wander down this path never knowing where I’m really going. Or what I am heading towards. You lie safe inside your box with nothing to confess. Silent. You’ve nothing to hope for. Yet inside this dark death you have begun to feel. And if you lift the lid it would no longer be death, it would be life. The whites of your eyes would flicker and their black centers would see again.



I step through the front door into the dark. It’s not at all like I had once imagined it would be. There is no life in here, there is only death. But death is different here. It can move and it can see and it feels.
Unrestricted.

A dream is a ghost in your life.

So many of these. Ghosts, you could call them, but they have never been dead.

I ran through the unexplored house. I ran through the apprehension, and through the fear. 
Lurking, he was always lurking. I stopped in a small room at the top of the staircase. It had a large, wide window with dusty cotton curtains. I flung them open and stood blinking. The window blackened almost to the top; moldy gnarled branches and rotting leaves blocked nearly all of the sunlight. Only at the top did it shine through, bleaching the ceiling but leaving the bottom of the room cold and dank. Nature was smothering his house in green. From this side of the glass it seeming so black and dirty but from outside it would have pure beauty.

Room now all unused. I walked past he dirty furniture, past the apprehension, and past the fear. He was still lurking

I see your coffin. I know where you’re hiding. I can lift up the lid and make you come out. Do you want me to?

Word and art...Virtue Fern. Reworked 1-2 april 2009