Pessioptimism

I am a pessioptimist, or an optopessimist. I see the good and bad side in each event (as well as believing in fate; I, at least, have no free will). I've noticed that many artists complain about the lack of money or sales of pictures, but the advantages to poverty may be great for an artist. Even the lack of security and the stress and worry this causes may be beneficial to an artist's output (although starvation or illness to due extreme poverty is probably a bad thing, there is a threshold somewhere). Still, a low budget forces an artist to avoid wasting time and wasting paint, it also forces an artist to work a lot. The freedom of being able to paint what one wants and when is a huge advantage, the option of being made to paint what someone else wants in exchange for money is usually more unpleasant. Not selling pictures allows complete creative freedom, and there is no position to fall from and nothing to lose. If van Gogh had sold his first few pictures and become a commercial success before 1889, would his sunflowers or Arles landscapes have ever been painted? I suspect he would have still committed suicide, but in Paris and with half the number of paintings he ended up painting.

Mnemonic

This won't make sense to anyone but me but I want to remember this, so:
1. Roman villa. Narcissus. Open cellar or bedroom? I still dream of organon. Mystic. Mosaic of the empire. Seuth sayer. Birth & beginnings. Hope & innocence. Survival & stability. Foundation and civilisation.
2. Bathroom. Narcissus in upstairs room. Sterility. Cold technology and money.
3. On a ship in a storm. Watchman: All is well then rings bell. Society. Trouble. Lack of resources.
4. Dust blown graveyard. With monster truck robots. Power, strong and weak and the growth of greatness. Strength. Biological destruction. Eco death. Weapons.
5. Garden on the ceiling. See Narcissus. Observation & update. Future wisdom and foresight with hope.
6. In a rocket looking down on Earth, grey ponds, flower. Freedom. Escape and salvation.

New Music

I'm back in music mode for a few days and have finished a couple of tunes for my next synth album which will be about nature and include some tracks from the Four Seasons of Dance. I've just submitted Animalia to iTunes and a few other digital downloads services. It'll take a few months to appear and I don't suppose anyone will even find it but at worst it will be useful as a test of the process. I've now got three music projects on the go; two albums of songs with Steven (should we decide on a band name?) and the synth one which has five(ish) completed tracks and is probably my best music so far.

The Physical Dynamics of a Football Player

I've been painting all week on the picture for the "Finding van Gogh" competition but now the second layer is complete. The picture is called The Physical Dynamics of a Football Player and is a representation of a strike on goal. The eye of Apollo as an orange in a violet stormy sky gazes upon a player who materialises, like Adam, but from fire not earth. The player pounces and kicks the ball, then fades away. The picture is full of energy and speed. I was hit by a virus on Monday (a flu-like one not a computer one) but the painting wasn't adversely affected, as it wasn't on Sunday with the discovery of a new cocktail made from 5 parts Pepsi, 1 part vodka, 1 part rose petal syrup that is an excellent way to stay awake for many hours or days. I had time yesterday to add a new links feature to Bytten and fix the email problems there. This week's two songs are pending so I'll get to work on those tomorrow, continue production work on an older one called You Make Me Happy.

Do You Know How God Feels

My latest song.

Do You Know How God Feels

As you pray
in your cell
do you know how God feels?
Faith can be hell
when you know how God feels.
Light can be dark.
Days can be empty.
Stop asking so,
you do not want to know.

As your feet
turn the mill
do you know how God feels?
Pray as you kill
to find out how God feels.
Deceive yourself,
hold out for justice.
Stop asking so,
you do not want to know.

Cards

The future king stabbed himself in the head.

Standing in the Rain

I spent today producing a good 2004 song called One Day, and one called Coma (which I sing). I want to enter both in song writing competitions this year. Off to London tomorrow, and on Saturday I'm tracing a new version of my Liza Minnelli portrait so I can start painting it on the 29th. My latest song is below, it's an unusual ascending and descending chord arrangement that makes the song sound like waiting, every bit as much as today's One Day sounds like the race-against-time that it is.

Standing in the Rain

He said
he will not wait for her,
but he still stands there
in the light.

Cars hiss
and people float on by,
like time they fly past
in the night.

Standing in the rain,
underneath the light cone.
Looking at the shops,
thinking of the moment
when he saw her face
underneath that light cone
round about this place,
beautiful and lonely.

He might
be angry when she shows
but he won't mean it,
she won't mind.

He waits
and watches time fall by,
October rain fall
cool and fine.

Where could she have gone?
Is there something wrong there?
Then across the street
his and her eyes search then
meet.

Viv Mardle

After the recent gift from Bruce Mardle of some empty painting boards and some sketches by Viv Mardle, I felt the urge to reinterpret his scene. For the first time I tried to sketch the scene in thin paint alone, then covering the whole canvas and gradually adding detail as an impressionist might. My standard method of painting is the opposite of this, to carefully paint each object one at a time. Neither method is correct or incorrect. A difference shows in time too, this picture took about 90 minutes but a picture of this size done in my other method would take a week of eight-hour days assuming it's a single layer (and many such weeks for several layers).

First Royal Academy Submission and V&A Invite

Well my form and cheque are away so this year I will submit my first two paintings to the Royal Academy. On Friday I have an invitation to a gala award ceremony at the V&A in London. I'm not sure if my underground picture was truly the best but the winning picture in the adult category is awful (and sadly not awefull).

This Time Last Week

My latest song, the 4th of 2007. This is a ballad with a very simple descending melody. The whole song is probably only a minute in length but it's quite nice and I don't think it would benefit from being extended.

This Time Last Week

This time last week
I was sitting in this room.
We sat together
and we listened to this tune.

The golden tears
that cloudless night
were only stars
of firelight.

This time last week
every pain was far away.
I want to go back
to that ordinary day.

This time last week
everything was different.
I didn't notice
what a normal evening meant.

No worried thoughts.
No sleepless nights.
No emptiness,
or warning lights.

This time last week
there was nothing ever wrong.
We sat together
and we listened to this song.

I Feel I'm Falling

One of my 2007 pledges is to write two songs a week, so here are the lyrics to the second from last week.

I Feel I'm Falling

We were climbing so high
from a misty sunrise morning,
and together we lie
like the fog on this day dawning.

I see you in the trees.
Are you looking at me?

I feel I'm falling.
I feel I'm falling.
I feel I'm falling,
and when I look up I see you.

I see you from afar
where the air is clear as water.
Tiny people and cars
friends and visions of our daughter.

All are dots in the grass.
Safe and warm in the past.

I feel I'm falling.
I feel I'm falling.
I feel I'm falling,
and when I look up I see you.

Now I'm swimming alone
in a lake of cold reflection.
I see you in our home.
I see me and see a question.

When I sleep will I drown?
Should I stay or dive down?

I feel I'm falling.
I feel I'm falling.
I feel I'm falling,
and when I look up I see you.

Metaphysical Dynamics of a Football Player

This week I've been working during the daylight hours on the underpainting to my entry for another football painting contest. I've been invited to the prize giving at the London Underground one that I lost and will go next Friday too. I sent in a print for that one because they don't return entries, a ridiculous arrangement for any serious art contest. My print was rather dark, partly because I had no time to test it due to a tight deadline. I don't mind missing out on that contest, the prizes were not very good. As stated in a previous blog entry, this football one also retains the entries so I will send a print again and learn from the darkness mistake of the last one. Here's a poem about the picture:

Metaphysical Dynamics of a Football Player

Down like an eagle
in destiny's grip
Sharp like a razor
or a laser-line ship.
As keen as an arrow
or a superman horse.
A force elemental
with Lucifer's whip.

A meteorite of fire and flight.
I'm a rocketman sniper with football in sight.

I watch each defender,
a tiger in grass.
I spy every ally though oxygen glass.
I wait for the cross
like a penitent prayer,
and then strike like a viper
with the speed of a stare.

Orfful

Carl Orff was apathetic regarding food. When asked what he wanted for lunch he replied "Oh... four tuna."

Happy Anty Head

Well I got up early and have worked all day. By 6pm the headache I had at 5pm had become a delightful dizzy buzzy feeling and soon throbbed with song like a sack of happy ants. My head is now flushed, possibly with with salt and red wine. By 8pm my ears could see and my eyes could hear the music of the ant people. But the day is not yet done! More Bytten reviews need converting and I need to do some more sound effects tomorrow and lots of artwork too, and I've written no music since Monday. So no time for Bytten then and my road is long and lonely. As the saints call me to arms, I accept! To arms and forward!

My Trumpet Smells of Porridge

I'm tired out today after renaming and cropping by hand each all of the Bytten screenshots to the correct size for the new site, that's 716 little jpgs. Christmas has been relaxing but also rather depressing and I've resolved to work all the harder at my creative activities in 2007. I have managed to write a song today, although it's more of a chant with rock guitar bits inbetween. It was inspired by the strange lyrics of Frank Zappa.

My Trumpet Smells Of Porridge But My Dog Still Blew It

Sitting in my car with a cabbage and a bunny.
The doctor and his monkey think the moon is funny.
Playing my guitar with bit of black bone.
The wizard on the mountain never uses his phone.
Lying on the beach with a sad woman's daughter.
The only way to save the world is drink just water.
When Socrates met Goldilocks I don't think he knew it.
My trumpet smells of porridge but my dog still blew it.

Jumping on a duck that is made of rubber.
The chemist had a carrot and a blue pan scrubber.
My liver thinks of Mary in her little brown bed.
The forest in the winter is a little bit dead.
The windy parts of Kazakhstan are lonely but cheap.
Euripides was loony and he never liked sheep.
The secret of a window is to see right through it.
My trumpet smells of porridge but my dog still blew it.

Running for a bus and wearing only high heels.
If God had had a plan he would have given mice wheels.
Throwing my tomatoes at the railway sign.
My sister wants her pudding but she's too young to dine.
The onions laugh at Lennon in his glass cube cage.
The play was only starting when they all left the stage.
The rabbit wants a jigsaw but he won't want to do it.
My trumpet smells of porridge but my dog still blew it.

Hitting a banana with big red sock.
Mister Fallon's mother has a black silk frock.
The teacher talks rubbish with a mouth full of cake.
Singing on a submarine is always a mistake.
The radiator maker has a silver motorbike.
The music was a problem for the knife man's mike.
The princess hadn't thrown her throne until the day she threw it.
My trumpet smells of porridge but my dog still blew it.