High level distraction.

On my god, I have fallen back into the role of neglectful and uncaring blog administrator with very little aardvark action taking place in the last few weeks. In my defense, I have been a little preoccupied trying to find us somewhere to live. This is not as straightforward as it may sound, and is in fact completely doing my head in. I am utterly mental with not-knowing-what-to-do-ness. Do we a) try to buy a house, b) rent another house, c) stay where we are in the hope that this house i) doesn't sell or ii) the new owners want tenants in it or do we d) go live in the local caravan park and stop thinking about all these questions that do not have answers because they relate to a future that I cannot possibly predict?

Why is life so tricky like that? And why am I so concerned about making the right decision? Usually I just sort of do whatever seems like the easiest thing. But right now, nothing feels easy. I might have to bring out the big guns and try to crochet my way out of this pit of complexity. Plus tomorrow I am going to spend a whole bunch of time painting; finally making a start on the series I thunk up a while ago. If it goes well I may even be brave enough to post some photos of the progress. My hope is that his process will help my brain to find it's way back to equilibrium. 

And I still can't get that damn poem right. Because, you know, I'm sure you're just waiting with bated breath to read another one of my poems.

Hey, I just had to think a bit then to remember how to spell 'bated breath' so I looked it up. Check this out on World Wide Words - who even knew about aphesis? And I suffer from it! Heaps of my mates drop the first vowel of my name and go with Thena (or Theens or Theenyboo). They are subjecting me to aphesis! (Jessie Williams, I'm looking at you). I feel so relieved to have a diagnosis for this debilitating affliction.

I think I want a job at World Wide Words. Maybe just part time. Like, once a month or so. In between using all my precision honed analytical skills to decide where the hell my family is supposed to live. Yerg.

I spy.

I love the way things have insides and outsides. These photos are the inside of a leek that I sliced open whilst making soup. And to me, they seem totally unrelated to the outside of the leek which is like a whole other tubular, tufted creature.

I spy.

Really, as if I would let the dog lay on the bed.

I spy.

Me and the three teenage boys went for a walk in the National Park on a drizzly grey day. We got kinda wet and they played bush ninja games and I took some photos.

 

Words and pictures.

And this morning, whilst I was enjoying the extreme luxury of laying in my bed and thinking about nothing much, something happened in my brain. I had to get up and it was really cold but I did it anyway and went to fetch a book and pencil because I had ideas. Ideas that needed to be recorded with a pencil in a book because they were about things I want to make. In fact, a series of things I want to make. Yes, more than one thing, a whole bunch of things that are all related, and most of them made of paint. I was also thinking about how cool it would be to get hold of some of that yellow fluff that covers baby chickens, but that may have been a bit of a tangent. And I don't think the baby chickens actually molt the yellow fluff off, I think the yellow fluff physically transforms into feathers as the baby chickens reach adolescence. This complicates matters somewhat. Anyway, I did several pages of drawings and even made notes about how I would like things to look. So full of arty thoughts. It was a process worth climbing out of my leopard print flannelette sheets for. I think.

From  Sanctus Stitches

I spy.

Lamp love II.

A is for Aaaargh!

Oh man. I have been working and working on this poem and I just cannot get it how I want it. And I am having Aardvark-related-poetry-deficit-guilt. I really want to get better at just smashing them out, but they are not so easily smashed. I am thinking about this one all the time, especially when driving in the car, and have even braved total wanker territory by recording words and snippets on my phone. But only when driving by myself, not when, like, waiting in the queue at the supermarket. I think this officially makes me a poetry tosser. Now there's a vocation to aspire to.

So now I am sitting in my home with a bowl of pretzels and a beer, thinking about the same blasted poem and wondering if I should approach it this evening. Perhaps instead I will tell you that I was at the opening of a great show last night. It is the work of my mate Tanya and jeez, it looks beautiful. The show is called On The Road and you can see it at the Rex-Livingston gallery in Surry Hills until the 7th of August. Truly, I know she's my mate, but this woman makes bloody fabulous art. And it was so fun swanning about, glass-o-wine in hand, chatting with lots of lovely people, not a cheese cube nor a chunk of cabanossi in sight. I think the one below was my favorite, but sadly it is not destined to come home with me as it has already been snapped up. Cause it's awesome. And yes, it is made out of actual cars.

Such inspiring stuff. Maybe I will go and have another bash at that poem after all. Besides, my pretzel bowl is empty, oh, and so is my beer. Yikes.

I spy.

Lamp love.

Lordy.

I have no idea how this woman has stayed off my radar. This is by far the most interesting tattooing I have seen. Pretty much ever. See all her astonishing work on her website.

Tattooing by Amanda Wachob.

 Tattooing by Amanda Wachob. Legend.

I spy.

Oh my gosh, would you look at this extremely excellent Totoro bonnet. It's from the lovely Hello Yarn site. Thanks to Adrian for letting me share it.

Last drinks.

So. Painting classes have finished and I am afraid for me it was with a whimper, not a bang. It wasn't my fault. There was a real live Mexican in my house enforcing frivolous behaviour and mezcal consumption so someone had to stay here and make sure the kids didn't go cactus crazy. Yes, I wagged the final painting class to hang out with my buddies and remain remarkably sober whilst they demolished the complete bottle of mezcal, three worms and numerous beers. Some of us had to go to work the next day. You will be happy to know there was no loss of life or limb but there was a fair amount of shabbiness the morning after. Thank goodness painting class has finished so my loyalties will not be torn and tested any further. Torture, honestly.

But what now? I guess I have to find the gumption to go it alone. Without Bob-the-Quilter and I-Just-Love-Landscapes-Cheryl. And most of all without Fiona the Painting Teacher with her sensible shoes and chock full of good advice brain. It actually feels kind of weird. Transferring an activity from something you do at a particular time, in a particular setting, with particular people into something that you just do. Whenever you feel like it. Cause you are a person who does that. I don't think I am really convinced that I am someone who paints. It all feels a bit like an uncomfortable hat that I am trying to squish on my head. But I guess you just have to keep squishing the crapola outta that hat until it fits. Or at least doesn't fall off every time you make a sudden movement.  Maybe it could be a bonnet. They come with handy strings. Then you can just tie it's arse down and be whoever the hell you like.