Unexpected angel

Always, always a weird one; how things change internally in your mind from day to day. One of the things I love about meditation is how it encourages you to watch, observe your moods and reactions impassively to see how things affect you - so much to be learnt instead of accepting 'how I feel' as 'how it must be'. Spent last night drawing totally uninspired angels on a Scottish theme in a futile attempt to find a way forward with combining the 'local art' thing with my own style and inspiration. Doesn't work, by the way -how many times have I learnt, relearnt this? I just end up with dodgy caricatures of Braveheart Scots with rough tartan and ginger hair. Hmmm, think this might just have been done to death and with my heart clearly not in it in the slightest its not exactly going to set my world on fire.

Then, driving into town for creative frustration (more later) I passed an awesome urban angel crossing the road at a junction who looked like a crazy walking 21st century Chagall; totally glowing red/orange mohican that was left long and down so the effect was more halo than aggression and a fabulous snub-nosed baby teen face. Stopped the car to scribble and hope it comes to pass that she sees the resulting painting one day and smiles.

Looked at a slideshow of Chagalls on the web this morning that was drawn to my attention by Facebook, wondering again how the old masters of modern art would have dealt with the new media and used it to their creative ends. Would have been great to see. I was drawn once more to his use of colour, sometimes fauvist and sometimes so sparing; just one crazy orange sun with the most subtle blues filling the rest of the frame. Calming down my technicolour splurges is something I am constantly working on; it can be so much more powerful to use the colour sparingly and still capture the power it has. A tiny turquoise tile among terracotta has infinitely more power than a whole swimming pool of green blue. Unless the pool is seen from a distance among ochre grey hills. You get my feeling.

Argh. Saw a painful thing today which tempted me to art anarchy; a shop in a genteel area of the city was punting a terrible Klimt copy in the front window among some pretty classy furniture, the irony apparently lost on the (moronic) window dresser. To add insult to injury it was pasted with a garish 'reduced' sticker - buy our sophisticated meubles and we will chuck in this crappy insult to art to really add a touch of je ne sais quoi to your contemporary but classic living space.

Vomit. Sorry, sometimes the art student in me is dangerously close to the surface.

It is times like these I remember with fondness a now-far-more-sensible friend who would smear his kebab wrapper on 4x4s on the way home of an evening.

So the only down point of the day was frustration at the crazy creatives of the world who still interpret deadlines in a hazy fashion and fail to catch the importance of my quest to fuse artistic life with commerce; ie: be a self sufficent painter. One thing I am grateful for in my years as a restaurant/event manager is the organisational skills it has furnished me with - I was always a list writer extrodinaire but I do now take pride in my ability to make things reality.

Just means that I can get frustrated at happenings like today when the ordered ten frames are actually one; I understand the backstory - it was so I could see if it was what I wanted - but now another seven days will elapse before I am able to get them painted. Another seven before I can take them out on the road to find someone to sell them... I mean, there's no rush to be honest, I am only working on the ambition of breaking even just now; covering my own paint and framing costs, but a utopian dream of self sufficiency still glimmers on the (shifting) horizon...

Away to create; paint angels and frames and relax into the timescale I am given. I have a stinky cold anyway so I shall not be building Rome today. Sorry, please come back next week.

Oh, and dinner tonight is a super fave one-hundred-ways-with-mince classic; lamb koftas with toasted pitta, salad and sweet potato dhal. Dahl? How dya spell it - spellcheck no know!

The Great Wave

Slightly unrewarding day today for no apparent reason other than my own antsiness - dying to get on with things in the great scheme and finding the timescale frustrating. So many little opportunities keep presenting themselves and it takes time for offers to come to fruition. I know I should just be enjoying the moment but sometimes this wisdom can be hard to appreciate. I can be a bit of an 'I want it all and I want it now' character when I don't check the tendency purposefully. Take time to smell the flowers girl..
Poppies out in the herb bed which are wonderfully fragile and transluscent; that particular shade of pinky purple really is beautiful; and by this evening they were gone, blown to the four winds leaving only their little shakers behind. These I shall treasure and increase my display next season by scattering all over the front bed with the Scabious; that'll be a fab colour combo. And so to my lunchtime rumination with a colleague today, which turned to flowers as well; he was wondering out loud whether there is a purpose in attempting to replicate nature in art, for example in a flower study. It's a tricky one for me; where would we be without Vincent's sunflowers, Georgia O'Keefe, Monet's waterlillies, Cezanne.. maybe the problem lies in the suppostion that the flower is an easy or suitable subject for painters of all abilities? There are a thousand books and now DVDs on flower painting but it is probably one of the hardest things to master. A good painter in my opinion puts much of themself in the work and to put ones feelings for flowers into a picture is a very hard thing, let alone trying to capture their vulnerability, radiance and transcience. A pretty tall order for paint on paper or canvas.
I feel a can of worms opening; the questions of art and nature have long caused me to ponder and I don't feel a conclusion is possible. While I have the highest regard for the craft needed to render a scene or bouquet 'as if it were real' I have no real interest in the resulting image, and I find it positively restrictive to be a slave to reality as viewed directly. I have too much respect for 'nature' (how I wish there was a better word for it but I don't know it) to imagine that I could try and reproduce it in two dimensions. I love to steal its colours and patterns but to try to draw its face accurately seems like sacriledge, or arrogance. Plenty more thinking to be done on this subject methinks, it is not one to get too bogged down with.
Happy birthday to the Dalai Lama, with apologies for being a day late! I had the immense and unforgettable priviledge to see him a few years ago in wonderful circumstances. Driving through town over the Mound my car was flagged to a halt at the head of a queue of vehicles by traffic police; it soon became apparent that we were waiting for a car to exit the castle, which it soon did, among an accompanying security surround. My car being at the front, I could peer into the black limo to try and discern the passenger; thus peering my face must have been a picture as I recognised the bespectacled face of one of my heroes peering back at me; then he gave a little wave, a smile and was gone. It moves me still to think of that tiny moment in time, such a special one for me.

Visiting flamingo

Right on cue, I was woken by the Twig alarm mid-dream this morning; I think I must have been in really deep R.E.M. as it felt like I was coming from another dimension. Sadly Stu was in the shower and the best way to record my dreams is to tell him immediately as otherwise crucial details slip away almost at once; I am left with a feeling of otherness and some vague visual things. This one left me with a rather lovely image of a friend I have recently re-met after a ten year break and who I associate with fashion; thus in my dream fragement she was dressed in some fabulous stage costume type garment in scarlet and fuschia pink - kind of a Moulin Rouge/My Fair Lady hybrid. I am so annoyed that the circumstances escaped me as I know that it was quite surreal and threatening and that the friend in her flamingo plumes had come to bail me out from whatever situation I had found myself. Alas; I must go to bed with my sketch book beside me and not my current reading matter, which for the record is driving me mad anyway. I am still on 'A Passage to India' and getting frustrated; part of me loves Forster's turn of phrase and oh so painterly linguistics, part of me wants to punch him for creating such a bunch of onlovely characters... frigging Forster indeed.

The lovely red/pink costume left me thinking colour all morning however, as if the paradise bird had left its feathers or aura around me. While I was on Arran I wanted to paint red and pink skies all the time, and very bright other colours; maybe a reaction to the confusion within? I seem to be less drawn to very bright colour combos when I am more settled; the subtler side of my spectrum is allowed to play. There is always a desire to clash or contrast though, and I really can't see myself giving up that one lovely little piece of turquoise or red-orange. I dropped a bit of cadmium red by accident on the mermaid's tile background and left it as the colour was so good against the subtle blues... Ha ha the mermaid song in playing now just to remind me. I am terrible with music, I will listen to something till I have it on the brain, all lyrics memorised and pretty much growing sick of it; then I move on to the next big thing. A tenedency that has come out in various facets of my life too, but that is a story for another emptier day.

Been amassing stuff in my Amazon wish list as a substitute for actually buying it - lots of the bands off the sampler CD I am doing to death at the moment appeal, and Jakob Dylan has released another one sneakily when I wasn't paying attention; liked the last (first, outside the Wallflowers) one a lot. Stu's birthday is fast approaching too and my inside information tells me that he has an Amazon voucher on the way, so an up-to-date wish list is a must. It's not rocket science, I've been asked to purchase the voucher on behalf of a less technologically minded relative... I've got a great painting in framing just now for him - at this point I am relying on him not reading my blog, which is a fair but not entirely foolproof idea; once I hid his present in his sock drawer overnight, knowing he would not need socks until the morning. You guessed it, that was the one day ever that he had a mystical urge to look at his socks before retiring for the night. Damn funny though. The painting is by Ritchie Collins and features a bald man with wonky ears holding a fish, in great bold colours; I met my beloved in a fish restaurant long ago and you guessed it about the rest.

Served Ian Rankin again today; he is top of my 'most served celeb.' list, although I am sure he is blissfully unaware of this status, or indeed of me. This makes three establishments in which I have had the pleasure (which it is, he is polite and unassuming) of serving him at least twice in each one. So, for the record Ian, I am actually a talented but impoverished blogging painter on the threshold of great things and I will sell anything to you (painting wise) at a highly favourable rate for this month only. Cash preferable but I guess original manuscripts might be worth a few bob one day too.

To the studio! Angels gather there.

# Nine Dream

Just gazing out of the kitchen window trying to identify my mislabelled crops; 'Maybe it's the purple sprouting brocolli?' 'Well, if it goes purple and sprouts...' We're sure about the poppies now though; they flowered, and they are definately not rocket. Does mean that I ate some poppy leaf though in their nursery stage; hope it isn't a really slow acting poison.

Worried about the idea of blogging about blogs this morning as I wanted to expand on something I read in The Bitchy Waiter, who I love and who has actually lived my life in catering. This lead me to the phrase 'blogging the blog', which in turn reminde me of Noggin the Nog; a legendary (to me) childrens book series - and maybe even TV although I can't remember. He was a kind of Scandy hero viking type guy and the pictures were great. This, I hasten to add, is not actually the point I started out to make.

What I was considering is whether it is au fait to blog on another blog, or if this is outside blog ettiquette. But then who cares. Bitchy waiter wrote a couple of days ago about his recurring 'server dreams' (he's from the U.S. so I would translate as 'waiter dreams') which consist of very full restaurants where you are the only waiter and customers keep coming in. They used to drive me actually insane when I was a restaurant person and would get really surreal; sometimes it was a wedding where everyone kept rearranging the furniture and there were a million interconnecting marquees which I kept discovering. One time I was working in a weird creepy hotel where I had lost all the chefs and had to find them to cook an order; in the end I found them all in a cupboard, very drunk and so proceeded to make a smoked fish sandwich, which in true dream logic I figured would feed a table of four. Another real gem was when I was serving in a nearly empty (for once) American style diner, but I had to cross a busy motorway to reach the kitchen - I also had one 'table' of diners who were actually sitting next door in a garage forecourt. I kid you not, these dreams drove me insane for years, and then you would have to go to work and face similar, if less surreal situations and remain cheery. Boy oh boy do I not miss it.

I do have a particularly fertile dream mind however, which when not annoying me can be very entertaining; another stress related recurrer involves carrying a cat/person (once it changed from one to the other mid dream) across unknown cities using a variety of public transport and not speaking the language. Every now and then I wonder if I will ever pitch up in a city I have never visited and recognise it from one of these dreams - total head-fry!!

A final strange one that has stayed with me and given me a life-long phobia is from childhood, when a wardrobe door would open at the foot of my bed powered by a ghostly hand, while a disembodied voice proclaimed 'By itself!' No wardrobe doors in my houses ever since; no closed doors even...

I have never really seen the point of dream tranlation though as mine have always been so blatantly obvious; walking through clay-like soil struggling to lift feet and slowly sinking anyone? Not a good time in my life. Working in a hotel struggling to serve multiple guests in a miscellany of interconnected rooms, man reception and stay awake while sleep deprived? Oh yeah, I was working in a hotel struggling to serve multiple guests..... You get the picture. That job sucked by the way and the guy earned himself some seriously bad karma before the end. Saw him the other day and gave him my best customer service smile...

Normal painting services will be resumed tomorrow; feeling ropey and uncreative today and need my sleeps; the Twig alarm was up to her tricks at 4am today. Perchance to dream...?

Concerning Roses

I would like to apologise to roses today, who I have long dismissed as ugly plants with dodgy leaves and stature, barely making up for this in their stupid, puffy blooms. I was wrong and I am big enough to say so. The rose we planted on the hawthorn in memory of our first cat, Franky, is now in full waving, drooping, glowing bloom and greets me upon opening my curtains every day. Each day more flowers and more joy; works particularly well on the thorn branches, it is all good and wild. I suppose that is the basis of my bias; well manicured gardens of earth viewed in my youth with small sticks poking sadly out covered in garish coloured flowers with dodgy names. I have seen the light, nuff said.

Looked up more on the Mermaid Parade today and found some fab pictures which I copied in a amateur fashion off the monitor with a digital camera just for my own inspirational means. Great shots of a girl in mermaid-geisha gear with filigree black flowers and foliage on her face; also fab blue people that reminded me of Hindu gods. I have to find out the pros and cons of visiting; I would love a trip to NYC at some point, it has always been on our list and I last visited in the eighties, scary thought... The Parade looks wonderfully amateurish and cool; a heap of camp and a lot of art school drop outs jumping about in home made costume. I must see what my New York girlfriends think of it and its inspirational possibilities.

Started the day well despite being a wage slave for five hours; had a long chat about angels with a colleague who I only bump into on Sunday mornings but who reliably asks about my painting and engages me in conversation about related topics. Today he reminded me of the different angels and related beings across non-Christian religion - Apsaras in Buddhism (which I first remembered as 'Uppsalas' until it was pointed out that this is a place in Sweden) and the angel Gabriel communing with the prophet Mohammed in the desert. It really is a huge area and there are so many different subspecies (?) of angels; I have looked at Seraphims and their six wings, and then the Cherubim favoured of so many painters - not sure why... I saw a fab. documentary on the Boticelli in the National Gallery in London on over Christmas - I must look up the title - with the circle of angels dancing under the golden arc of heaven over the nativity. Awesome.

Did some great doodles today too for the next pic that appeared with force in my head over the last few days - angels in tree - which I now know to be a holm oak in front of a tiny sliver of Bruegel style landscape to suggest the infinity over which the angels have jurisdiction. I saw some great holm oaks on the Isle of Wight at Sandown and somewhere else I can't remember; they have a touch of the magic of Yew about them. Yew was a close contender for the angels to live in but somehow it smacks of evil and sinister things; also its shape isn't quite right for this one, I needed that big, wide oak stance. I have great memories of yews in various places; the 'Four (six?) Apostles in gardens near Juniper Green in Edinburgh, a fantastically evocative gathering at Dirleton Castle which seems to suck the light in and create its own atmosphere; also a great cottage near a friend's in Wales which is almost obliterated my two massive yews framing the gate.

And so to the studio and the start of the holm oak, with five little faces to be found among the leaves (not there yet); a fun bit of drawing and blocked in the undercoats. I'm going to work a little backwards now and work out the little mini version before I continue on the big one; I think it will look dinky small too and it will let me check the contrasts as I want the tree quite dark but don't know how that will work in practise. Used Gwyneth Paltrow as an unwitting model for one of the angels - via a mag, she didn't pop by for a sitting - and she looks very angelic. Working in tandem with Archie's park, so that got a few more bits and pieces done and I spent a while sorting out her face and hair - still very Botticelli, I couldn't resist...

And so to a warming tea on this mightily monsooning Sunday - roast chix, mash and peas. Can' t beat it.

Finding Archie's Park

Started a few things in the studio this morning, once my usual procrastination hour was over, during which I washed rugs, framed postcards, broke things and hoovered. Archie's Park has the feel of 'Le Chien Perdu' when I started it, so I am hoping this is a good sign. The feeling is one of familiarity before a mark has been made, as if the picture is existing in my head waiting somewhat impatiently to come to reality. I have become quite adept at tuning in to my visual memory while whiling away the hours of mundane make-money-work, and therefore had a pretty good idea of the painting already. The new trick out the box, though, is the mini pic and that was remarkably successful; not only have I figured out what goes where, I can think about what technique will work and give me the right texture, pattern etc and importantly what colours will work. In this instance I did the whole thing on instinct, with blue sky, green park and red hair - then realised that the reversing of two key colours would be far more striking, namely the sky and hair. I have wanted to do blue hair for ages, in painting at least!

I also did a totally inconsequential study of a face which I had sketched in scrafito on a tiny two inch board; this was a real revelation. Not only did it look quite cool of itself, it gave me some really useful ideas for loosening up my drawing, especially of faces, and reminded me of the two-colour faces I did for a while with a pink face colour side and a blue shadow side. Me likey this teeny tiny picture thing, its really useful!

Sitting gazing at 'Amanda's dream' just now, as I am having one of my moments with her - I'm just really pleased with it but prepared for the probable fact that in a month I will be in love with someone else and have forgotten all about her! I am so fickle with my own work. Luckily (as it is mirror plated to the living room wall) I have kept my fondness for 'Le Chien Perdu' despite it now being the ripe old age of five years old, hence my enthusiasm for Archie as it has a similar feel to me. I am so happy to be painting angels and the ideas are coming thick and fast. I have one hovering in my head that I just love, and has to do with the medieval images from Winchester, green men and Bruegel, among other things. It is called 'This is where we live.'

I think Fennel in the Fence should have his own Facebook page; maybe next year I will start early and record his growth. He is just waving away now and due to the support of the fence there could be no stopping him! Honeysuckle is out in drifts now and will continue up until December if it is like most years; amazingly hardy stuff and so rewarding with flowers and fragrance for so long. All this despite being mashed when the new fence went up and then relocated to attempt recovery. It really helps having my little patch of land, however small - I do like to mess with the soil and there is nothing better for stress than a little light weeding and some communion with your plants.

Made friends with a very interesting figurative sculptor today on Facebook, only to discover he is another Swede (should have guessed from the name) so I hope he won't be disappointed to find that I am not a native speaker. Must make that crucial trip to the Motherland soon... maybe next year - then there is a good excuse to at least learn some pidgen Swedish. Karen the Whole Swede is over there just now (she calls me Half) and I am driven wild with jealousy over tales of midsummer picnics and camping by the lake in the long summer days....

Lost dogs

Typing hampered tonight by the fat plaster on my sliced fingertip; I have been holding it out of harms way at work all day with the result that half of the customers probably thought I was giving them the finger. Oops. Jolly sore too, you don't realise how much you bump a finger in the course of a day until it has an ouch monitor on the end of it!

Watched part of a DVD last night which I dislike but can never remember why until I watch (part of) it; the film is 'A History of Violence' and stars the very lovely Viggo Mortenson, probably not long after the hobbity films. Besides having probably the worst script know to man, it is also memorable, as I can now not forget, for totally gross and gratuitous sex scene. Impressively, neither participant actually gets naked, but trust me, the knicker flash and following shenanigans are enough to give you flashbacks of a dirturbing nature. We have made bad jokes about it all evening which I fear I cannot share with you for fear of lowering the level of what must be a family blog, surely.

Stunning morning today and a total lack of human life in the Braidburn valley as I walked in, unusually, which nearly tempted me to break the habit of a lifetime and arrive late so that I could sit by the stream a while longer - just about every pastoral poem I remember from school reappears in my head at such times, but I can never recall whole pieces, just fragments. Maybe tagged together I could create a masterwork of nature worship.

Spent this evening finishing off the very lovely 'Amanda's dream' and messing with the new little boards. I can already see the advantage of trying out ideas in this way, which also gives me a mini picture for my own purposes or to give away to friends; 'Archie's Park' is taken from view from a friend's flat and it is she that pointed out the key features of the area, names of dogs etc, so I may have to let her have the mini pic as a keepsake. She is the proud owner of two of my paintings already and as such my best patron to date, so it is well deserved; I did her a version of the huge painting I have in my living room - 'Le Chien Perdu', one of my favourite pieces about the Montmartre angels, and a lost sausage dog we happened upon near the Pompidou. Actually it wasn't lost at all, but given that I painted it in Montmartre instead of Chatelet, it probably felt lost. The smaller version is titled 'Petit, perdu'. Ha ha, I liked it anyway; nearly called it 'Le Chien Perduling' but that would just be silly, now.

So, angels all around me; angels in my dreams and my sketch book. Still not come up with what I think is a definitive title for the angel show but I have time and plenty of think-space.

Onward tomorrow with a new pic; always a fun time, and pleased with what I learnt from Amanda - much subtler on the colour and left much more relaxed lines.

I am really flopping tonight; must be evil Twig and her five thirty wake up calls...only a few hours away until the next one!