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This week my usual sketchbook post has jumped over onto the Volcom blog, where it's in the company of radness among posts from artist Jamie Browne, typographer Gemma O'Brien and creative babe Billie Edwards, to name a couple.
Click here to check it out ... this is my first post from the cute back veranda of our new house, which is full of excellent creative mojo, strange bold birds, and late-spring sunshine.


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Volcom Tees Me tank; vintage jacket; rings: Rejoice the Hands, Tree of Life, vintage; vintage turquoise necklace.

I love nothing more than an 80s-esque eagle print and an acid wash jacket. 
OK, maybe I love a couple of things more ... Scotty, Humble, my Harley boots, Ted Nugent, spiced rum ... but yeah, not that many things. 


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New prints! 
I've just stocked two limited runs of my favourites of the moment -- Gyrfalcon, and a hand-finished run of Trust the Path -- in my online store here.

Gyrfalcon is a piece that holds a special resonance for me, with the initial sketch drawn on the road in Belgium in anticipation of the arctic shores of Iceland, earlier this year. And for added bonus points, there's a bit of a Yeats reference in there, i.e., The Second Coming, which brings us in a round-about way to Joan Didion's constantly-echoing-in-the-back-of-my-mind book of the same name.

Well, I love nothing more than references that run in vein-like traces to ever greater discoveries, so consider that self, indulged. 


It’s a weird feeling, packing everything into boxes, deciding what to keep and what to discard, winnowing away at all that life detritus and accumulation.

I’m a terrible hoarder: in every corner of the house there was something hidden or taped to a wall or safeguarded in a wooden box or a glass jar. There was a piece of ivy growing in a green bottle on the windowsill. Dried paper daisies that I’d collected on the walk back from Nethercote waterfalls during the past summer in Eden. Buckets of urchins on the front porch where my dog couldn’t get them. Polaroids, taken everywhere from Iceland to Barcelona, from Brisbane to Las Vegas. A box of kangaroos jaw bones I bought before Northern this year. Flowers pinned to the wall with electrical tape next to my desk. Leatherworking tools from my dad. Books from my sister. Invitations to weddings, funerals, engagements, christenings.

But I had to sort through it all, and make sure it fitted into a smaller volume than previously. I hope I didn’t throw away anything I’m going to miss.

All because we now live in a new house, in a new suburb, and the vibe seems good. It’s spring, so everyone along the street has amazing gardens, and our little lemon tree still had a couple of stragglers on board when we arrived. There’s a tree on our neighbour’s place that hangs over the fence and almost touches the ground, like a willow, making a little green room at the back of the yard. The floor boards are all twisted and the walls are a bit cracked, but there’s French doors and wooden window sills, and Humble can stand on our bed and stick her head out the window to see who’s come in the front gate. There’s a good Mexican place at the end of our street. Yesterday we found a park with a creek and a dog park and a lookout and miles of native bushland.

And last week I sat at the table on the back veranda and painted and drank and listened to Talking Heads and Notorious BIG until it got dark, and it all seemed really excellent. So I promise I’ll be back again soon, making things and taking photos and chasing ideas around … because, yes, the vibe seems good. 


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