Telepathic Daisy Glazing

A slow and difficult day. Glazed the sky part of the Telepathic Daisy painting but made many clumsy mistakes in my room including dropping the ultramarine, causing it to eject a line on the carpet like the result of a lunar meteor strike! This stain is now a permanent mess. I didn't at any point feel like painting, my energies here are slowing off, but I must and will continue until the season ends.

I mixed up some test wood stain but the ethanol I bought for the purpose didn't at all dissolve the oil paint I'd planned for this! I need bottles to test different solvents. I'd fully expected the paint to dissolve easily and quickly. I regret buying the ethanol at all. I should have bought either isopropynol (which I've used often and know to work well as, for example, a Laropal A81 solvent), or methylated spirits. I expected the denatured ethanol to be meths, but it's not.

Made a new sound for some of the Fall in Green tracks, how I love my MODX! 'We Used To Store Sunlight' has strings on the lower part for the left hand backing, with a wind-chime for the lowest note for occasional accents. There's a triangle-wave arpeggio on the upper octave which matches the one in the recording, and a melodic lead of a flute for the right hand. A press of the AF1 switch and the flute switches off and a piano appears for the second half of the song. If I light AF2, I get a second piano an octave higher for the initial piano appearance. It's a full orchestra at my fingertips!

Rehearsed for the Paul McCartney night and made some financial moves. A frustrating day that felt terrible at all times, yet I can see that there are positives. Nobody knows, in the long term, whether a day is good or bad. Things done today may be crucial to success in ways that only hindsight can determine.

Live Music Rehearsals

Today, rehearsed my songs for the Paul McCartney night on Thursday, and for our Fall in Green set for Morecambe, a full day for small performances. The McCartney song I chose, Women and Wives, is piano based but I only have a puny (in range and polyphony) Microkorg, so I've decided to do a synth version with distorted saw-bass playing a riff almost like a doom version of 'Smoke on the Water'. A fitting alternative version.

The Impossible Hopes Of Sisyphus Tracing, Aspirations of Brilliance

Frame completed yesterday. The painting is now framed, but ideally I need a (very large) backing board for the frame. I can't afford it.

Today, a full day tracing the large Sisyphus painting. This is close to the largest painting I can manage without upgrading certain pieces of equipment. Over 1200mm, I'd need a larger drawing board, and spend more on the Polydraw film, as it's width is 1016mm (of course, this can be the shortest side, but that is a bit wasteful, in this case I used a shorter 841mm roll, but there's not much left on that). So, 1010mm is a reasonable maximum for longest side. 'The Impossible Hopes Of Sisyphus' is 1097x740 visible, the canvas is 1117x760.

For these works on Top Gun canvas I trace with the Polydraw and use oil paint, pencil won't stick to the waxy canvas. I used a new technique today, applying the paint with palette knife which was far faster than the subby brush along each line. It still took several hours to trace, but not as long as some works. I recall 'The Art Of Painting' taking many hours spread over 3 days to trace. This is of comparable complexity and took about 4 hours.

I feel artless and uncreative. My instincts and cries are all for music. It's a tragedy that the things I could make are being lost; this feeling last night inspired me to work on the painting today. It's a tragedy that the things I am making are being lost or unseen or unheard or ignored.

I feel I could do better, that everything is weaker than it could be. Every time I finish a painting, a piece or music, a piece of writing, it seems far worse than planned, far worse that I feel I am capable of doing. It instantly becomes a failure, yet that shame of failure generates an inspirational energy. The anxiety of the failure induces an aspiration to make the artwork again, or make something new, something similar, something better, and trying to do it as well as I'd planned, as well as I know that I can; and yet everything I complete generates the same feeling, that it's good or bad, but never as good as planned, and I'm again filled with the shame and knowledge that I can do far better.

Today I'm tortured by that feeling constantly. That everything is a failure and yet simultaneously know that I'm capable of much more, much better, if only I could somehow prove it.

Two days ago I watched a film called The Killings At Outpost Zeta by Robert Emenegger, a man who is perhaps the Ed Wood of the 1980s. Actually, from what I've seen, his films are worse than Ed Wood's. 'Zeta' is a cheap copy of Alien that is so immensely bad that it borders on hilarious, though it's usually more boring than scary. By chance I've also seen Beyond the Universe, which is perhaps the worst film I've ever seen, yet so bad I just had to keep watching. In that film, the Earth is running out of oxygen. The government plan on sedating everyone to save oxygen, but the 'world's best scientist' decides to overrule their plan and build a giant laser-gun-like weapon to beam a message beyond the universe to 'God', to ask him for advice (that's right, asking God for advice was his entire plan). I mention these films because no matter how bad I feel that my art is or has ever been, it is still at its worst far better than either of these films.

Punishment Of The Sun Frame

A day of making the frame for 'Punishment Of The Sun'. A complex work, as the edge has to be bevelled and gilded, something I've rarely done, and not yet on plain wood like this. First step was working out the bevel depth. It's a matter of angling the wood lengths on the worktop and running along the sharp edge with a power-plane. Then planing that edge and sawing the 4 pieces by hand using a floorboard saw an an old iron mitre. The sizes were calculated using my Frameculator software to spare me the mental working out each time.

Then distressing and staining the frame. It's much easier to paint (sponge) each length before assembling the frame. I chose the colour to match the somewhat dried and cracked buddleja wood in the painting.

Then masking off the bevel and applying gold size and gold leaf.

Then peeling it off. The edges of the gold are a little rough. This can't be helped unless the gold is trimmed with a blade, it's impossible to get a 'perfect' edge. Often this roughness, and marks and gaps in the gold, is simulated on painted frames. The edge is rougher here because I didn't apply a framer's gesso ground beforehand, but I didn't want to; that's a whole extra layer of work, a few extra days.

I'll let the gold dry properly overnight. I have a few options for that rough edge. I could leave it (I'll tidy the gold a little when the oil is dry, rubbing it smooth now would create a sticky mess). I could add paint, or tape, more distressing, or a host of options. All of this took until 15:30. I'd often make a few frames in a day, but have none planned for the moment. I try to frame as needed now as unframed paintings take up less space.

Trips and Outfits

Three busy away days complete! Yesterday, collected a new lot of wood for framing - my next job is to make a frame for 'Punishment Of The Sun'. Then, a trip to the Good Vibrations event in the library followed by an overdue visit to the Oil Art Advisory. I took along the recently completed Kafka portrait and it was immediately hung on the wall. I wore more interesting clothes for the day and feel I should do this more. Couture fashion has always been part of art and is an important part of every artist as well as every art movement. My outfit, I think, improved Good Vibrations, made it feel like more of a special performance by all.

I'd like a head mould for my head so I can make custom hats...

Most of today was tidying and completing admin work for the past three days, plus an update to my framing software Frameculator, adding various preset sizes of wood, as I now often use two specific sizes.

Trips

Trip to Macclesfield yesterday to have my father's First Day Covers valued. Today, a coach trip to Gloucester. We met Kev Milsom, a long time writer for Ink Pantry.

Impossible Hopes Of Sisyphus Composition

A rubbish day of nothingness yesterday but I did manage to add social-media link 'previews' to my websites. My father arrived back from hospital. My mother is adjusting to becoming a full time carer.

Today, a full day's work on the Sisyphus painting, refining the outlines and adding more. The 1/3rd scale drawing was really useful for working things out. Another little job was woodwork, expanding two of my drying rack arms to permit much larger paintings, so another aid to painting large. I like this scale.

The next three days will be hectic with trips, so no free time until Thursday, which is set for lightning storms. I expect I'll need that day to rest.

Anti Digital Counter Culture

Listening to Stuart Lee's Radio 4 programme about Counter Culture. Thought it odd that he didn't comment on populist politicians being the modern rebels against the mainstream. I digress.

Stuart said that he hated the internet, and I thought yes I do too! - yet I have social media accounts, many websites which I use actively and enjoyably as an archive of my life, and I browse news and check my emails regularly. I hate computers, but love my computer too, it's the first thing I switch on every day. I use my software Prometheus to create music, even though it steals away some humanity from the result. I use digital photography and image processing tools to create my art, even though they steal expression too. What do I dislike? The easiness perhaps. Perhaps I remain embittered at the theft of so much of my life to those things, my decades of sole computer focus, my years wasted on making games (and a good many hours playing them).

Yet, does this mean I love the non-computer aspects of life and art? Not especially. Perhaps the digital world was appealing because it felt better than the real world.

Could I make music non-digitally now? I'd have to buy a tape machine, I expect, but I expect that I'd want or need a multi-track machine, and a mixing desk. Perhaps those things are already a bit 'digital', a bit easy and computerised, a bit controlled and artificial. Perhaps the only pure and organic way to create music would be play live and record the result in one take, or better still play to a live audience alone. Would this feel more satisfying? Perhaps, perhaps not. The music's record as a memory would be transient. The goal of life is resilience, and computers give us better informational resilience. Some aspects of the internet are not resilient, but some things are more resilient by being online. Computers and the internet are hard to ignore today. So much of daily use, official use, demands it. I had to pay £4 extra for real paper train ticket because I don't have or want a smart phone.

In painting I could paint from life. Ignore scanning my drawings, digital photographs, 3D graphics, AI tools. I could make clay models, as I do, and paint exclusively from those, or from my mind's eye. Would electric light be acceptable? Would the Amish of art paint by candle light? These pure results might be better for being more self-expressive, and occasionally I improvise paintings in similar ways, although I often use 2D reference material, like the portrait of Telly Savalas. I tend to be unhappy with the muddy results. These sometimes form a template for a new painting with clearer source material, as in the first Fly In Amber painting, as in the Sappho painting, and so the cycle begins again.

Ultimately, I use technological tools as any other tool: to make a better quality result. Without the internet or computers I'd probably find other aspects of 'real life' I'd dislike. There's a lot of technological interference in a lot of the music and art I like, but it must be a balance decided upon by the artist. Music from the 1950s to today hugely differed in tone by decade primarily due to technology. The muddy mid-range clang of the 1950s. The 'clean' low bass sound of the 1980s. The compressed and constantly loud sound of the 2000s. Perhaps now, we have control over this. We can sound like the 1960s-era Beatles if we want, but few, if any, artists do. Thousands strive to copy their song writing, none strive to have the same limited gamut of tone. We all want to sound like the future. If there are Amish artists, the key question isn't how but what do they depict? Perhaps both how and what have always been inextricably linked.