Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Mosquito Dreaming


Love the wooden built stealth Mosquito. 

There is one at PT Cook being put back together, slowly sand papered, rejoined and glued, one piece of wood at a time. Tree's can fly.

Mosquitos can bite. The Mosquito is also a dreaming spirit to some mob around Maningrida. On hunting trips in the mangroves they would buzz up a storm. We would go out slugging our way through mangroves, knee deep in mud, launching ourselves toward a creek for the super taste of crab and fish.  We'd set up a fire to tease the mosquitoes who would then start humming around for business screaming for the blood of a brother.

It was great sitting in the mangroves watching the balance of the tide, snacking on fish, mud crab, mud muscles and firing up the billy. The mossies were always pretty busy and I was always the over dressed dude in the crew, a bit like having someone dressed in pyjamas who has just got out of bed and comes to a restaurant with you. Yea, the mossies might box my ears but the locals would get pummeled by the squad circling. They would respond without retaliation, sweeping them back into the  air as these 'where dreaming ones' and could not to be killed. 

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Light catcher


Up the steps
around the bend, 
through the woods,
across the bridge
a light catcher.

Monday, June 20, 2011

Making gold


It was early in the morning when I awoke to get up and have a coffee. The warehouse was quiet, perfect for bit of dream writing. The dream that had caught my eye had coiled into my sleep and thrown me into a party, a party in my own pad, which was the warehouse that I was hanging out in. In the dream, people where arriving, including some 'Mad Monks' who went into our toilet and started to shit gold.

As I sat sipping my coffee and writing this dream with my breath into the cold morning air, my house mates came home after a night of reveries, completely surged in an electric vibe of excitement announcing that the Chemical Brothers where coming around.  

Snap. What the hell, who, what, when, my brain started to sing with....

The Chemical Brothers are Coming. 
The Chemical Brothers are Coming.
The Chemical Brothers are Coming. 

Yes Snap. I was being launched from dream time coffee mystic into a Good Morning Australia, host. I thought Good Morning Mr Chemical Dudes would you like a coffee?

The 'Badlands' blazed with the dazzle of repetitious echos of excitement from my house mates. They grouped on the old Art Deco couch sponging cigarettes and swilling coffee while waiting and monitoring the time till the Hazchem team arrived. I sat hinged on a stool by the bench in the kitchen hunched over my coffee conjuring the merits of having a sickie.  

The 'Badlands' was about to Peek, Go Off, start spinning in a land of wildly re-mixed day dreams. I could feel the euphoria rising in me and it was not going to hold, famous people made me nervous,  famous people in my own house....... if I met the Chemical Dudes,.......... I would simply shit myself and hide in the toilet.............instead I choose to go to work.

I left and went to work. Work was a three hour shift looking after a client who some years before  had suffered a head injury from walking drunkenly in front of car. Before his tragic event he had been a butcher, dragon queen-biker.

Yes....shit does happen...... yes shit happens and you can hurt and then shit happens and you turn it into wonder, like in alchemy and in this sense shit is the object we turn into gold.............if you believe in this your own your way to becoming an artist, so here is my rap.

Sometimes life is a magic that makes a film, 
Sometimes a film is a magic, that we dream could fill our life,  
Sometime magic happens and we shit ourselves and leave the cinema.
Sometimes gold is what we make between going to the toilet.
Sometimes we don't see the gold in everything we do.
Sometimes we can turn shit into gold
Sometimes shit happens for  no reason 
Sometimes shit happens for a reason
Sometimes you find gold in what you do 
Sometimes the gold is already in you
You are Gold.

The film El Topo is gold, but close to being shit. The first time I saw El TopoJodorowsky's 1970 fantastic surrealist western was while I was living in the 'Badlands'. It is a must for those who believe in magic. 

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Poseidon's Slippers


What do you see???

Flotsam and Jetsam !!!!
Yin Yang!!!!!
Poseidon's Slippers!!!!!!

Thursday, June 09, 2011

The Flying Cat


Spotted this monument on the Esplanade dedicated to No11 Catalina flying boat squadron which was based in Cairns during WWII. 
Have not seen one flying since the 80's when there was one at Essendon airport and the one being rebuilt in hangars at the RAAF museum at Point Cook. 

Monday, June 06, 2011

The Angel of History

Spotted this fire rig at the back of the airport. 
It is reminiscent of Kiefer's large lead plane, 'The Angle of History'..........Zim Zum.

Saturday, June 04, 2011

Transition from cool to warm

 performance and installation, 
at Howrah Terminus Kolkata, 'Diamond Cutters', Mark Misic, 2000.

A while ago now, I was in Kolkata. I had been invited to meet artists and activists involved in preserving the tramways. I decided to join their campaign as I had experience as a tram conductor campaigning to save conductors in Melbourne, and while at the V.C.A I had worked on the trams doing late shifts to fund my studies. 

In Kolkata I decided to investigate the system in the wee hours of the morning, when the world was spacious and quiet, it was also very very cold. Off I went walking the streets, following the tracks around parts of the Kolkata network. As I tracked the system, the streets filled with all the homeless people sleeping on the footpath. There they lay in a never ending order on cardboard beds under what ever they had for bedding, asleep, caught in dreams. The shear number of homeless people in Kolkata was mind blowing. Walking around them and over them was like stepping over the sleepers of track.

Years before when I had started my 'Connie' job at South Melbourne Depot, I had taken up residence in the Toorak Private Hotel as a kind of adventure, having left my family home.  I choose the hotel as a Keroac like dream. This hotel was my base for adventure, and the hotel itself was a 'home' that I would share with a 'shady' cohort of Melbourne's transients. 

However Kolkata homelessness was bigger and colder than Melbourne's.Kolkata in the early morning is a very cold place. As I walked Kolkata, the deep cold invited the fog on my sojourn,   following me around like a ghost guard. Surrounded by the mist, like a phantom, I would breath into the eerie stillness of Kolkata's morning night. It is hard to explain to anyone the need, the want,  the desire, to follow a line of steel track around in the early morning. But like a Shinto monk following a sky walk through mountain clouds, the path, or the track is a means to warm insight into the activity of life as it happens.There is nothing to imagine on a walk, it is a simple process of allowing ones mind to wrest in the breath of the world, and allow one to witness the state of being awake. 

Early morning walks. I love doing early morning walks. I had caught this desire from having to do the early shifts on the trams where one would rise at 3.30 am, peddle the pushie through 'miles' of shivers, then arrive at work at 4am, begin sipping tea and as the tram rolled down to St Kilda Beach one would pocket the fingers in the ceiling bulb cavity of the W class tram to keep them warm. Slowly as one went from one end of the city selling tickets, the day would awaken.

Kolkata is still but not for long. Glows of activity awaken the day, and the city is on the 'rize'..... street showers, street tea, street break fast, street vendors, street prayer, holy cows, herds of goats trotting to Kali's temple for sacrifice, and then the grinding legs of a tram. Within an hour, the stillness melts, the day quickly warms up. Kolkata mist transforms into a brilliant yogic bustle, a tantric noise, stillness now retreats into a temple, into the lines of a Sutra, into the breath of ritual chanting, rhythmically warming the hearts soul, stillness is a peaceful passenger within.

It was on this, my first trip to Kolkata that I came across Anselm Kiefer's book, 'Transitions from Cool to Warm' (or it found me) while I was waiting in the library of Rabindra Bharati University to  present my work to the students . It was also on this visit to the University that I came to be aware of the life and poetry of Rabindranath Tagore. I do miss Kolkata.

Roaming Cloud 
I am like a remnant of a cloud of autumn uselessly roaming in the sky, O my sun ever-glorious! Thy touch has not yet melted my vapor, making me one with thy light, and thus I count months and years separated from thee.If this be thy wish and if this be thy play,then take this fleeting emptiness of mine, paint it with colors, gild it with gold, float it on the wanton wind and spread it in varied wonders. And again when it shall be thy wish to end this play at night,I shall melt and vanish away in the dark, or it may be in a smile of the white morning,in a coolness of purity transparent
Rabindranath Tagore

Thursday, June 02, 2011

The psychoanalysis of fire

The ridge line this afternoon was smok'n up a fire and later in the evening from the veranda we could see it all lighting up. 
I love this time of the year. The burning off, the wild lazy fires moving slowly up, and slowly down, 'tasting' the forest, 'tickling' the ground.