Pony Gold.

So... how's your girl?

New sketches tomorrow, then the painting starts. I'm psyched about these next two bits of work.

Meanwhile, it's been mostly aquatic.

Apart from the fact that he's taken to wearing Crocs, my dad's the best.

And this one goes without saying.

My momma, bless her heart, instructed me, 'Don't make personal remarks, never tell a hostess you enjoyed yourself, don't force anything mechanical, never kick anything inanimate and don't fuck around with the inevitable'. Now, Gold, it appeared to me that in disputing with me you were drawing very close to fucking around with the inevitable. I hope I am mistaken.

Catch 22

"Be glad you're even alive."

"Be furious you're going to die."

The number of the beast

I'm always down for goat encounters. But I can pretty much rule out having one for a pet now -- some guy came over and told horror stories to my dad about how his rogue goat used to jump up on everyone's cars about as soon as they pulled up in the drive.

Regardless of that, they're still cute, they still have octopus eyes and I've been seeking them out, living vicariously through various kinds of fencing.

Satanic symbols couldn't get much cuter.

This guy was the best, he came straight over to see what was up. Everyone else was shy.

Jirat James Patradoon

Jirat James Patradoon is probably my favourite Australian artist, more so than Lister now... It almost physically pains me how much I'd like to have his talent -- or even just huge pieces of his work adorning my walls.
Look and love.

Both images copyright Jirat James Patradoon.

I saw a couple of his works in Byron gallery Retrospective last year (?) and they're so much better (bigger, brighter, meaner) in real.

He makes me want to lock myself up and learn to draw for real, but I have no where near that discipline.

Blog here too.

The Likes of You

And look at us, all our lives at different levels with our fuck ups and failings cast all around behind and before us. Ex-communicated wives, kids and girlfriends, drinking problems, lost jobs and driver’s licences, no money, no board, no car, no booze, no cigarettes, no clothes, drug problems, and that guy on liquid acid sitting quietly at the table... Al making cock-and-balls out of sausages and rissoles, the boys kicking the football onto the roof, the phonecalls, the hand rolled cigarettes, the coming night, the passing fitness freaks, the bullsharks being reeled in on the river and bogans in hotted up cars. All this stuff is crashing heavily around us in what is just another evening, and at times it weighs heavy on one or two of the minds. But we all just keep getting by and surviving, because that’s what we know. We have fun on our lives’ tight budget and hope that waking up next to that person will be enough to make you smile today, that that tiny break is going to make it seem worth it, when it comes.
It’s all miniscule and big at the same time, and it’s impossible to balance, so we never try. We just keep on going on until we notice again the failures and fuck ups strewn out before and behind us forever.
And we hope it won’t matter.