Pony Gold.: May 2011

When you build your house...

Been listening to loads of Fleetwood Mac in the car... Stevie was so pretty.

Ruby Tuesday

God this computer makes me want to die... but here we go. This ended up being not at all what I thought I was painting/drawing, but I'm happy enough.

Enjoy the weekend.

Redcliff

Shots from Redcliff camping trip last weekend...

Love him. Finding emus.

Chillin.

Kitsch.

I have so much stuff I'm supposed to be doing/said I would do at the moment... I suck. I'm going to busy for the next few weeks...

Blind Alley Cat

Model: Milicia @ EMG
Photography and Art Direction: Kaycie Smith
Styling: Annabel Wendt
Hair and Make-up: Desiree Wise @ Network Agency

Really digging MHQ's winter campaign shoot 'Blind Alley Cat'... loving all things rich velvet and deep maroon, and I'd probably take the cute patterned cardigan and cross shirt too.

Yep, this winter is going to be a questionable time for my credit card.

Clean line

I'm heading up the coast this afternoon--hopefully find some emus and urchins.

Or at least some sun...

TGI Friday, enjoy the weekend!

Computer blue

Photos from the weekend, things that are blue...

Poco's strange eye.

Time out of mind

This is the artistic equivalent of a rough draft... but not really a sketch.

I decided I should only work on this while I wait for the new pens, in case I destroy more pencil sketches by taking to them with my current armoury of thick pens.

But it didn't turn out too bad... so here it is: the wrecked version of this idea.

Outgoing

Packing to go camping... these are my favourite three-dolla-holla shoes from the op-shop under my work. Love them.

DFW and last week's op-shop gold 100 per cent silk English rose print shirt.

Conchos!

Well, there are puppies where I'm going, so I'd better get there.

This is a bit of 'in the mean-time' stuff... I'm waiting on some pens to arrive in the mail and, as usual, have drawings in process. And these are a bit different from my usual stuff because reading David Foster Wallace is making me think in giant, syrupy, existential loops. It's great.

The truth is you already know what it's like. You already know the difference between the size and speed of everything that flashes through you and the tiny inadequate bit of it all you can ever let anyone know. As though inside you is this enormous room full of what seems like everything in the whole universe at one time or another and yet the only parts that get out have to somehow squeeze out through one of those tiny keyholes you see under the knob in older doors. As if we are all trying to see each other through these tiny keyholes.

But it does have a knob, the door can open. But not in the way you think...The truth is you've already heard this. That this is what it's like. That it's what makes room for the universes inside you, all the endless inbent fractals of connection and symphonies of different voices, the infinities you can never show another soul. And you think it makes you a fraud, the tiny fraction anyone else ever sees? Of course you're a fraud, of course what people see is never you. And of course you know this, and of course you try to manage what part they see if you know it's only a part. Who wouldn't? It's called free will, Sherlock. But at the same time it's why it feels so good to break down and cry in front of others, or to laugh, or speak in tongues, or chant in Bengali--it's not English anymore, it's not getting squeezed through any hole.
So cry all you want, I won't tell anybody.
--DFW, Oblivion: Stories