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.