Member since Wednesday 2nd Nov, 2011
I am an artist, and in the words of Charles Dickens “This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate”. When you strip back the many other things that I have done to fund my life’s journey so far, that is the one thing that remains constant.
I have helped build a swimming pool on Bondi Beach (not as nice as it sounds), removed the intestinal tracts of king prawns in the kitchens of a posh restaurant (not as disgusting as it sounds) and spent time in soul-sapping offices along the way, working with people who had found their calling in life and others as lost as me.
Whenever I have found myself in a non artistic job my mind has always been elsewhere, and I have constantly strived to make my feet follow my mind…to elsewhere.
My travels have taken me to Machu Picchu ruins in Peru, Piranha fishing in the Amazon, Scuba diving with sharks in the Great Barrier Reef and shooting lions in the Masai Mara, Kenya (with a camera not a gun).
I have survived a sting from a Portuguese Man ‘o’ War, a menacing stare from an Eastern Brown snake, Cuban Airlines and daytime television.
Along the way I have met an Iraqi girl who had danced for Saddam Hussein, a Rodeo rider who had broken every bone in his body, a Voodoo witch doctor who told my fortune with bones and a giant Grouper fish called Elvis.
But what do you care about how I arrived at the place that I am currently at, you just want an artist, and if you were paying attention at the start, that is what I am.
You just want me to prostitute my artistic skills for my financial gain and your viewing pleasure, or your financial gain…you just want to know why you should hire this artistic prostitute instead of the last one you looked at.
Credentials?...hmmm
I was born an artist, in both potential and temperament. The story goes that when I was in nursery I drew a picture with a skill beyond my years and upon receiving admiring praise from my teacher, proceeded to cover the painting in thick black paint, until there was no remaining trace of the original nascent masterpiece. Now I don’t know what my thought processes were behind this little Francis Bacon-esque outburst (my memory was too underdeveloped), However looking back, I feel it went something like this “how dare you pass judgement on my work, good or bad, what are your credentials to be my critic? You didn’t even ask me what I was trying to achieve with this piece…sycophant.”
My credentials…oh yes…please stop me if I digress from the subject.
I’ve been doodling since I was old enough to walk and have gained a plethora of education in doodling, cumulating in my 2:1 degree in doodling. I have doodled for international advertising companies, for personal clients requesting depictions of their family and pets (not always easy to tell apart) and for personal pleasure (this period coincided with steady weight loss).
My work covers many different styles to suit the subject, the client, or myself; and I have used many different mediums to produce my work, from oil paints, acrylic and watercolours to soil and red wine. Tip* if a wine isn’t good enough to drink, it isn’t good enough to paint with…or is that cook with…I forget…I’m digressing again.
Anyway, talk is cheap and this pen is running out…there’s an old adage…something about a picture and a thousand words…
