fifteen

Yesterday Mr You and I celebrated fifteen years together.

It was a chilly Winters night, and we reminisced escaping the cold on a tropical North Queensland holiday for our 5th anniversary. Then for our 10th we embraced the cold with a weekend away up the frosty Blue Mountains.

This year we were a little more restrained. We went out for our first dinner since having Millipede, and he was a champ, slept through the entire thing! I don't think he even realised he'd left the house. When we got up to leave at the end of our lovely meal, patrons around us exclaimed "Oh my gosh, there's a baby. I didn't even realise he was there." Heee.

Then to add to our pride, our little Millipede gave us a sleep in! 8 o'clock!!!! 8 o'clock PEOPLE!!!! That's 3 whole hours more than usual. B-lissful.

And of course, back to the man of this moment; Mr You. We love you :)

And my gift to him, to the man who loves wood so much he expressed it at our wedding...

This!

annual bloom

Last year were given many lovely wedding gifts, but one of the sweetest was from our neighbours.

Do you remember how we asked each of our wedding guests to bring a flower, and with these they made the circle we stood in?



Well our wedding present from our neighbours were the actual plants they picked their flowers from. They dug the plants out of their garden and potted them for us. They told us that the flowers bloom at the same time each year... So we would be reminded that our anniversary was near when the flowers appeared.

Well last week, this is what happened to those plants:



This past weekend, one year ago, we stood together inside a ring of flowers, and were married. Now we get to be surrounded by those flowers each year, to help us relive the brilliant day we had.



Our first wedding anniversary was sweet. We spent the weekend looking through markets, art exhibitions, eating out, and listening to the recordings of the live music performances from during our ceremony.

Now I'm in just the right frame of mind to start a new project this week. A good lookin' couple from Melbourne have asked me to create personalised wedding invitations for them, in the style of ours. Perfect timing!

the 5 year old giveaway winner

Wow, that giveaway was SOOOO nice for me (watch me lay back and bask in all those nice comments). New blog friends, ones who've been there from the very beginning, and ones who I've met along the way. And so reassuring to hear what you all value and recall the most. I've forgotten most of them, so it was very cool to be reminded.

- I loved Laura & Cindy's comments about the sad times being as important as the happy ones.
- I loved that you liked watching my mural come to life. I might try that again one day :). And your excitement about the annual giveaway draw machine.
- I loved that the wedding meant so much to so many of you, and that you celebrate along with me when something outstanding happens, like getting engaged, or clinching the deal at the Art Gallery. That means alot to me.
- I loved that some of you had an out of the ordinary stand out post.
- I love that you remember little things, like the name of our cat!

Really your comments were all so surprising to me. So amazing!


This process also gave me a chance to reflect. In these five years I have had you by my side as life evolved. I started my blog when I had a stressful full time job, and wasn't too happy with life. My blog has been a safe place for me. I started illustrating and crafting, quit my day job with no alternate plans and became and artist. We adopted a cat (fur-baby). We moved from the city to the country. We got engaged, got married, and bought a house. So, yeah, in retrospect it's been eventful. But it isn't until you take these moments that you realise that there have been accomplishments.


And my favourite post? I think it was always this one: With Added Plumpness


So, enough reflection, the winner, for the pure fact of recalling a very old post and event I had completely forgotten about, is Victoria!

And because it was such a close race, for her choice (Aqua Hug), the runner up, is Cindy!


Thank-you so much to everyone. You are the bestest. I will be smothered in warm-fuzz for weeks from this one. :)

(Victoria and Cindy, send me your postal addresses (flossyp AT gmail.com), and I shall pop a surprise in the post for you!

circling my head

Okay, I've started writing this post 5 different ways now and keep restarting, so please excuse me while I just go ahead and spit it out.

Renee, a very dear blog friend is not doing well at all. I've been in tears this morning. How does this happen? How do we never meet, never "really" get to know each other, accept that we may never meet, but somehow become so linked with each others lives?

I think it's because somehow, across the world, we find people we genuinely click with. When it's often so hard to find that in real life, finding people who genuinely seem to care about you is amazing. It doesn't take too much to blog, sending your thoughts out into a nameless ether, but as soon as someone connects with you it changes. It takes alot of trust, faith and love to share yourself with a perfect stranger, and that does not go unnoticed. It is warmly reciprocated.

This isn't the first time I have ended up crying for an un-met friend. And I'm not talking about a little weep. I'm talking about curling up in bed with a box of tissues crying my heart out. (To people who aren't part of this little community that would sound completely looney, but I'm telling you this because I know you understand.)

But I'm so far away. What can I do? Really? Send a comment, a card, a gift?...

In this case what I am going to do is show you our wedding photo's.

Strange leap I know... and one that may seem incredibly self-centred and off the mark. But I know Renee would really really loved to have seen them. Really, it would have meant so much to her. And I can't tell you how bad I feel that I've left it too late now...

So to honour her I'm going to pull my finger out and finally share what I've been dying to show you all for months now. And in some way I hope she feels this gesture, and knows it comes with all my love.


So, I shall pull on a brave face, smile and glow from within, and recount our wedding day in all its love, joy and happiness. (After all these are the very qualities and abilities that makes Renee such an amazing woman).

turn of tides

Thank-you for enduring my grumpy post yesterday. It seems just by getting it out, I have cleared the way for all things fresh and new. I'm feeling so much better today. Pheeew.

Spending time out of the house with friends, brainstorming with someone who is really excited about a new venture, and a sudden flood of requests for commissions, has me all bubbly again.

One of the commission requests in the pipeline is for a wall mural inside a new boutique bakery. EEEEEEEEEEk! SO EXCITING!

Not since year 10 work experience have I done a full mural! (I work-experienced at a place I thought was a film editing company... Turned out to be a one-man video editor for Bikey Strip Video's... A bit too freaked out to stay in the edit suite, I spent my week painting a mural on the outside of his studio/shed instead.)

Anyway, this opportunity is way more sophisticated, and I've got my fingers crossed really tight that it actually eventuates.


Remembering the joy, today I am grateful for:
- Staying in close contact with dear old friends
- Finding such great new friends with so many things in common
- The beautiful weather
- The flood of new creative opportunities
- A generous thank-you gift from a friend I did a family photoshoot for
- Having cute flirty Skype chats with my absent hus... with Mr You



And because Mr You has been away working this week, this pic is for him. Just one of the girls at home missing his hugs.

Good luck with the exhibition opening tonight Mr.

Too bad you're going to miss your new favourite TV show. I'm sure P.M.M. will fill you in ;)

teeeeeeee heee heee heee heee hee hee he he he he

a week in sydney

It started with a stroll up and down King St, Newtown. Followed by chai tea, laksa, a funk band that night, which we blew off for a MUCH cooler rockabilly gig (with people dressed up in the full 50's get-up, and rock and roll dancing and everything!). And that was all on the first night after a 7.5hr drive! I feinted you know? Yup, on the very first night I had a feinting spell. I'd only had one beer... The only thing I can put it down to is pure over-stimulation.

The rest of the trip was filled with:
- visits with our favourite children, who proudly showed off their new fairy costumes, computer game scores, dance skills, and drawing abilities
- visits with friends who have moved into new houses (including my sister sparkle)
- meeting up with friends at markets
- catching the ferry to Cockatoo Island to see the Sydney Biennale... with friends
- going to friends places for dinner, and having friends over for dinner
- meeting up with friends for lunch
- having great conversations with friends who pushed aside their busy schedules to spend time with us
- drinking coffee with friends in the park...

...Are you picking up any kind of theme here? Yes, this rip was ALL about friends!


But, it was also about the food, let's not forget the food:
- Laksa
- Gozleme
- A very fancy modern Asian lunch at Longrain shouted by the wonderful woman I work with. (can't say I've ever started the week with champagne before)
- Gooooood sushi
- Home cooked roast, risotto, and chicken thingy. Plus a home cooked breakfast from friends
- Very fancy expensive Japanese restaurant dinner shouted by Mr You's clients
- Best felafel in Sydney
- Yum Cha
- And finished it all off with Greek

Then of course there was shopping, actual shopping at the beginning of the week, which turned into restrained window shopping towards the end of the week. There were clothes, more clothes, fabric, things for my desk, and a trip to IKEA. There was one dress I tried on twice over the week. I LOVED it, but knew I'd never wear it back in this wee town, so instead I took a photo of myself trying it on in the change room, hehehehe!

Thrown in there was a bit of work, a few meetings, music, a new haircut, catching a movie, lots of laughing and of course a few tears at the end there. Plus a warm, understanding, supportive, "I'm not letting you go" BFF hug when emotions ran high.

As I mentioned, I had a brilliant time though! Brilliant!

The last couple of months especially have been really hard, being here with no friends, so far away from my friends and family, trying really hard to find a niche for me to feel part-of, unsuccessfully, with all that loneliness. This trip came at a really good time. But boy it was hard leaving... and coming back here.

As beautiful as is it here, it's definitely a trade-off. I haven't really mentioned the struggle much, instead I've been reveling in my painting and keeping myself busy (hmmm, I must keep a watch on that habit).
Maybe I'll talk about it more from now on... maybe.

Anyway, getting back to the funliness of the past week. With all that I could see, and taste, and touch, and smell, and hear, I loved it.

There were many highlights, but one of them that will linger was seeing Persepolis. A friend and I saw the French speaking version. Have you seen it yet? I can recommend it highly. I loved loved loved it.



And there I shall end this post; there on that love-love-love note. No better place to end.

.

pinky's bum

This is:my most treasured childhood possession.

I have two comfort items I got as an infant that I still treasure, (they were actually both gifts from when I was first born). One is a yellow satin edged baby blanket, and one is a pink teddy. I won't call him a bear because no-one has ever been able to identify his species. Some say panda, some say pig, some say crazed bear. In any case his name is Pinky. He's shy. He's had a rough life and more surgery procedures than anyone I know, and it shows. But he and I are tight.

Mr You wanted me to show you his face, "C'mon, you've gotta let them see that thing!"
And I admit it's a sight to be seen; a face only a mother could love... So I'll spare you... and my own soft dirty-pink matted heart.

Thanks to Danielle from Teacups on Treetops for this beautiful topic.

molly's commission

A little while ago Molly contacted me with the request of an illustration, a gift to her friend, a friend so dear they know each other as sisters. The illustration was to mark the event of Kelly's first pregnancy, and was to be given as a gift from Molly at the baby shower.

I'm learning that when you're asked to do a commission it's always significant. It's never just "paint how we spend Sundays", it always seems to entail capturing the entire character of a person and the relationships surrounding them. When I'm first asked to do a commission it's fair to say I feel daunted by the task, but then incredibly honoured that someone I barely know has entrusted me with such faith. Upon reflection, I love it.

This, again, was one of those times.

I became privy to wedding photographs, blog posts, favourite flowers and colours, family trees and histories, pets, and tales of the strongest friendship I've ever encountered... plus the emotions of expecting your first child. I guess my part is to re-tell that story, in a form that can be hung on a wall, immediately identified and read by others. In a way that can both capture time and evolve to mean news things as time passes.

Of course I love getting feedback, especially when I can't be there to judge the response in person. Molly wrote me an email, but also the most beautiful post about what she can see in the painting (she has a magical way with words), plus photo's of how she had it framed. Then Kelly herself wrote a comment for Molly:

"...I cannot thank you enough for this beautiful gift. And I'll probably cry everytime I look at it. I can't wait to show Baby the painting and explain every intricate detail to him. Show him what family is and how much he is loved and wanted."

...a perfect example of how a mother keeps nothing for herself, she shares and gives everything, as her whole being becomes all about what she can give to her child. And unexpectedly the painting took on another meaning again.

Now my part of the relationship has ended, the painting is no longer mine... it has found it's fate, and becomes another ribbon of bonding between those within it.


Thank-you Molly. I'm so glad both you and Kelly liked it. Wishing you the very best for the arrival of baby boy.
It's been an honour.

getting on with it

Mr You has pointed out that I should stop moping on about myself... I didn't realise I was, but after reviewing my last few posts I think he's right. I apologise for being such a sook. I think I "de-railed" after the exhibition opening (where my Rosa painting was), and have had trouble getting back on since then.

...but that happens from time to time.

Thank-you all for your kind words. It's amazing to have such great support from distant friends.

Now I shall shut-up and get on with it.

Much love,
flossy-p .xx.

pikaland

Have you visited pikaland yet?
If not you really should, it’s a fantastic resource for illustrators and those who love it. If you have been there then you’ll know why I’m so thrilled to have been featured in pikaland last Thursday. (Big thank-you to the mayor of pikaland!).

Amy of re:makeables fame launched pikaland earlier this year, and has quickly created a “place to be”. And it’s pretty! Really pretty.

She really caught my attention recently with one of her lovely illustrations for Illustration Friday. The theme was “leap” and she spoke about making the leap from her fulltime job/career, to becoming a self employed arty type. It was a perfect topic for her that week, and it reminded me of when I was going through the same thing a year and a half ago and the week’s IF theme was “change”. It seemed incredibly prophetic at the time, and if you’re a fan of The Alchemist, then you’ll understand what I mean when I say I felt like I was suppose to read the omens.

Just this week I’ve been emailing with Amy about my experiences during that period. It’s bringing up lots of memories about that time, and I’ve been looking back through my posts too…
- agonising over my future (rambling post)
- actually quitting my job (in Spring)
- and the fear that arose in the time between quitting and actually leaving work (my “change” illustration)

It’s all there. Funnily, I got a shock when I realised it’s been a year and a half since then. It still feels like it was about 4 months ago. Honestly.

Anyway, I’m so excited for Amy; the mayor of pikaland and queen of re:makeables. I’m re-living all the feelings I had, only this time they’re for her and I’m leaving out all the fear and anxiety, and enjoying all the fun and excitement… because I know that she’ll never look back!

this theory

It’s been a funny old week. We packed up the guest room on the weekend (our visitors have come to an end for now), and I spent the first couple of days this week miserable; unable to get out of bed, mopey and teary. Then, slowly, I managed to help myself up and out, went for a swim in the sea, laughed at being slapped in the face by a wave, and by yesterday afternoon I was walking barefoot along the beach with no-one around, smiling wide for no apparent reason.

When my loneliness subsides I’m once again given the chance to feel the bewilderment at what a beautiful place we now live in. Amazed that I can pop down the end of the street to a quiet, almost untouched beach… Swim in the ocean, and breath in fresh sea air that’s travelled miles over distant oceans. I just can’t believe it. It feels like a reward somehow.

Then this morning I woke to find an email… I’m not one to count my chickens before they’re hatched, so I’m not saying too much right now… but let’s just say this morning started with much excited/astounded gasping and leaping.

You know how much of a self-help cynic I am… well, a-hem, I’m starting to warm to this theory of gratitude… express thanks for what you have, and you’re offered something more in return.

At least that’s kind of what I think is happening. Either way, today I feel really good, and that’s a great thing to be able to say no matter who you are or where you’re from.

a white lamp in a sea of brass

You may recall me mentioning a book I was reading a few months ago; Sixty Lights by Gail Jones. It’s the story of a sister and brother growing up in the Victorian era. It starts out in Australia, migrates to England, then to India and back to England once more. Anyway, before I return the book to the friend who loaned it to me, I wanted once again to record another one of my favourite passages from it… so I can re-read it in the future, and so you can enjoy it too.

This is when Lucy, now a young woman, has travelled to India, where the Victorian age seems not to exist, and a whole new world like nothing she’s ever seen before has opened before her.

There were places Lucy would travel to where her own ignorance astounded her. She entered customs and buildings she knew nothing about. People around her spoke and she understood not a single word. She considered herself a crude cipher of the West, carrying her own culture as impeding knowledge. This territory she had entered was on the whole indifferent to her presence, and might well engulf or erase the speck of empire she accidentally represented. It was in the marketplace, where foreign women were never seen, that she felt most keenly her presumptuous misplacement. Local women of exceptional beauty brushed and slid alongside: she thought her own clothes a stiff and ridiculous dome against their fluent forms and loose clinging fabrics. She was, more over, pastel to their augmented hues; she had never before felt so bleached and so encased. There were merchants standing behind pyramids of many-coloured spices who hailed her and smiled; they waved their hands like magicians over their mini-geographies, enticing the stranger to inspect and buy. Lucy instructed Bashanti to acquire a few ounces of turmeric, for no reason other than its colour, and that it was something she could confidently name. There were men in saffron robes devoted to multiform gods, and children with kohl around their eyes and small grasping hands. Here were beggars with damaged limbs and whole families with fingers and faces eroded by leprosy. Lucy asked Bashanti to give them money, but her servant simply flung coins in their general direction, afraid of their touch. Flowers garlanded tiny shrines in nooks and crannies, and sewage and rubbish lay strewn beneath her feet. So many people and so prepossessed.

Lucy would have liked to announce that she was Australian, not English, but she knew that here the distinction was probably meaningless. Her face was a white lamp in a sea of brass. She wished herself dark. She wished herself Indian, part of this throng of purposeful, myth-saturated, interconnected people. Now and then she passed another foreigner, a man, inevitably, who would nod, or touch the rim of his hat, as if exchanging secret English messages in code. Lucy had no wish to communicate with these other lamps who felt – she could tell – that they shone more brightly and more importantly than anyone else, that they dispensed white light with a civilising purpose. In her imagination she flickered in the midst of the crowd, her face appearing here and there, inconstant and impermanent, a kind of fleeting figment, in a more general and self-sufficient sea of brown.


The storyline itself, although lovely and interesting, is not utterly brilliant, but the way it is written is. Man, I enjoyed reading this… can you tell? Ha.

words that linger

I am reading a book at the moment; Sixty Lights by Gail Jones. It's not a very thick book, quite slim actually, but it's taking me ages to read. Like a fudgy chocolate pudding, it's delicious and satisfying in so many ways, but you have to eat it slow and only take little bits at a time, or it all gets too much.

The language and words used are so syrupy, fluid, eloquent and beautiful, that if you take in too much at once you lose the grace and beauty in the volume. Fortunately the chapters are only a few pages each; the book, aware of it’s richness, sets its own pace.


It started out in a sad way. Two children, recently orphaned, coming to terms with what it all means:

…Thomas and Lucy existed in a state of effacement and disability, as though they shared an undiagnosable illness. A kind of anaesthetic quality smothered their experience; they were disengaged in each task they performed, and their feelings, such as they were, were delayed and denuded. Moreover, the children had become convinced that there were ghosts in the house, presences that seemed everywhere to call: behold me! At night they saw flitting shapes and weird transparencies. Noises like whispers filled up the darkness. Once Thomas swore he saw his father’s face – unshaven, eyes bloodshot – hovering on the surface of the hallway mirror; and Lucy dreamed that the baby that would have been their sister was crawling in the cramped, dark space beneath her bed. There was no vacancy to grief. There was instead these drastic invasions, that hung omnipresent in the air itself.


The bit I’m up to now is more positive, their lives being rebuilt with freshness and wonder. Their Uncle collects them to take them back to his home in England:

When they were at last on the ship together, up high at the rusty, red-painted railing, Lucy and Thomas stood hand in hand – in biographical reversal and repetition – as Honoria and Neville had once done, approaching their New Beginning. Thomas pointed out that there were lovers shining mirrors at each other, one on the dock and one not far from them on the deck. It was the woman who was leaving. She tilted her oval mirror to catch the sun and a young man, diminishing, answered from the shore. Lucy was transfixed. This was what she wanted, a photosensitive departure. Light trained by glass to locate and discover a face, a beam to travel on, a homing device, a sleek corridor through the infinity of sky itself.


Isn’t it lovely? I'm only half way through, but each time I read a bit more I relish it, like sneaking an expensive chocolate from a box and nibbling at it in a way that makes one mouthful last and linger.

mona lisa meme-y thing

There's been a meme-ish type of thing ambling around the traps about the Mona Lisa. I didn't have a chance to get to it while it was fresh, but it reminded me of a few works I did when I was at uni. I still have them, so I dug them out from the bottom a box to show you...


They were works of protest (in a way). It annoyed me so much at the time, that what the lecturers responded well to, was if your work mimiced the look of an in-style-artist (there seemed to be a few to choose from). Make it slick, conceptual, and a rip-off of someone elses work, and you were in. One of the things they started to say to people in critiques was "well, it's not quite art, it's more like craft". ARGHHHHHH! God it pissed me off.

So... (rubs hand together maniacally) my next body of work were crafty reproductions of some of the most popular artworks of all time. I never explained the purpose of the work, so all they could say was, "yes, well they really are craft, not art". And despite me getting the terrible marks I expected, it gave me such a great laugh and sense of satisfaction.

Anyway, I have chucked out most of my work from those days, but I hung onto these because I thought they were cute, and they still make me laugh.

i lick it alot

My mum is moving house in a few weeks, so she has been cleaning out all of her stuff, packing and sorting. Last week she gave me a box of things that she had saved from when I was little: a few baby outfits, school photo’s, report cards, certificates, etc. She also gave me a scrapbook of cards. She made one for both my sister and I, a scrapbook of all of the birthday cards each of us received as children.

Mine starts with all of the cards they received when I was born. I remember this book, I used to look through it each year as she was sticking a new year’s worth in. I remember the smell of the glue she used, and I remember counting the cards each year.

It was my birthday yesterday, so it was funny looking through it again all these years (and years and years) later. Mum had made a neat heading page for each year, listing the date, my age, and where we lived at the time.

I think it was Mum’s intention to keep the cards up until we reached 5, but evidently after that I took over, and pages for the cards when I turned 6 and 7 go a little, um, let’s call it “free-form”. Apparently I was rather proud of turning 7!
It stops after that, so it was either so good being 7 that I no longer needed to record the years from then on, OR I was busy trying to learn how to spell.

I had a nice day yesterday, much quieter than the wild hootenanny last year. Notice I’m not mentioning my age this year, ah-hem…

In any case, lets hope I enjoy this year as much as I licked being 7. hee

my muse

This week Gwen from Muddy Yellow Dog shared photos of her bedroom circa 1980’s, and shared her idolisation of Martha Stewart, even back then! Soon after marvelling at the fact she even has photos of her childhood room, I felt a wave of embarrassment about my bedroom, and how unsophisticated it was compared to hers.

Instead of the pretty wallpaper and Esprit ad that her room had, mine was plastered in posters of boys. Yep, there must have been at least 80 hot sultry boy eyeballs leering at me as I slept each night. Then, as she confessed to me that she too had a poster or two (out of shot), I recalled that my hot-boy poster phase was in fact later, not until the early 90’s.

It was then that I remembered in the 80’s, before I was into hot boys, I was into… well, pretty ones. Boy George actually. In a big way! HEY – it was the 80’s okay! (And I was young; pre-teen). Again there must have been 80 eyeballs, but these ones were colourful, pretty, and immaculately made-up. I remember one of my favourite past-times was borrowing my mums eye shadow and copying Georgies various eye make-up art on my own wee lids. It was masterful I tell you. The way they got those multi-coloured rainbow blends was just genius. (Sometimes I even put a skirt on my head like a headband and pretended to have long colourful hair like his too).

Each poster presented a new rainbow to try, some even topped it off with the ever popular (in the day) blue mascara! Santa delivered my very own mega-spectrum eye shadow kit one year, plus there was blush so a whole new world opened up. Oh the joy!

Now, when I read people’s bios, you know the ones that say things like, “I’ve been drawing for as long as I could hold a pencil”, I always feel a little lost. I have trouble writing a bio for myself that sounds as passionate and “meant to be” as those.

Do you think “Since the first moment I saw Boy George’s eye shadow I knew I wanted to be an artist” makes the cut? Or how about “I’ve been creating art from the moment I could clutch an eye shadow applicator doobawacky in my tiny hand”?

I’m not sure what Martha would have to say about all of this, but I guess you could say Boy George was my muse. So, while he’s out there somewhere picking up trash off the streets, he can relish in the fact that one little girl was so moved by his rainbow eyes that she’s now all grown up and has even quit her job to chase the dream… Ah, red, gold and green, red gold and gree-ee-ee-een! (pff, sorry)

through rose smelling glasses

I’m allowed to read again this week (according to the Artists Way), so I’ve just realised that I’ve spent all week reading other people posts and have completely forgotten to post anything in return. Umm.. what can I tell you????

Oh, okay….

So don’t you hate it when a product that you’re faithful to isn’t in stock when you need it? It always happens to me. I went to get hair dye the other day and my colour wasn’t there. Havana Chocolate is the one I prefer, do I need to explain why? Chocolate! Mmmmmm. I know it doesn’t taste like chocolate, and in fact you shouldn’t attempt to taste it – it says so on the box. But for a little while I get to pretend I’m all Cleopatra-esque bathing in milk and honey and smearing melted chocolate into my hair. Okay so there’s no milk and no honey and the chocolate is a potent mix of smelly chemicals, but a girl can dream.

The up side of this is that you’re forced to try new products and sometimes discover a gem of a product.

With this in mind I willingly chose a different product when I went to re-stock my facial cleanser recently. I usually get a tube of creamy cleanser with little pink micro-beads that I use when I’m in the shower. But there on the shelf next to it was the same shaped tube, but this new cleanser was called “Vital”, then in small letters underneath it said “for mature skin”.

“I wonder what they define as mature?” I thought to myself while considering both products. “I AM 30 now. Does ‘mature’ come right after ‘young’, or is there something in-between like middle-aged? Well if this product is made for 50 year old skin then it must be uber-intense, and if I start using it now, get in early, I bet I’ll end up slowing down the aging clock, maybe even reversing it!” Thinking I’d devised a plan that no other woman on Earth had yet considered, I put the cute little pink micro-beads back on the shelf and bought “Vital – for mature skin”.

It only took one time using it for me to realise that their definition of ‘mature’ is old lady. We’re talking 76+. The only uber-intense thing about it was the pungent sickly-sweet old-nana fake-rose perfume. And there was no cleaning power, no oil removing, no pore cleansing, and no micro-bead exfoliation. In fact the whole experience was more like a bunch of old roses gently weeping creamy tears onto my face, sorrowful that all they can do is make you smell like an old lady.

Of course I’m making myself persist until every last drop has been used up. A punishment to that part of my brain that, as a cruel prank, somehow tricked my rational thought into choosing this product over my pink-beaded faithful favourite.

tempted?

Right now I wish I had a web cam set up on each of your faces ready to take a quick snap at the very moment you spy this pic. I’m laughing already, partly because of the funniness, the other part is pure nervousness as I wonder if this is the point where I finally lose all my online friends, once and for all.

Wait! Before you think to yourself “I thought this girl was sweet and wholesome… turns out she’s a freaky-pervert-sicko” and snap your browser closed, please, let me explain.

I innocently happened across this in one of my art supply boxes the other day.
“Yeah? Well how did it get there?” I hear you ask.
Okay, fair question.

Some years ago a I did a photoshoot for a friend (a talented dancing and singing camp gay man) for his promotional material. As a thank-you he gave me a hamper. A normal hamper, as hampers go, you know crackers, olives, relish, chocolates, a bottle of wine… OH! And this totally weird set of "Temptation edible body paint, in 4 devine flavours"!

I have no idea where he bought the hamper from, or if he knew this was in there; all I can think of is he must have accidentally picked up the ‘honeymoon’ hamper instead of the ‘thanking a friend for a non-sexual favour” hamper he intended to.

At first I was shocked, then confused, then embarrassed then I just laughed.

Have a look, (if you can bare) she’s a friendly lady isn’t she? And doesn’t she pull off that early 90’s Warrant groupy look so well? Isn’t good to see that even though she misplaced her bra, those sensible big white nickers were handy? And how about that wonderful landscape she’s painting?

I laughed even more when I opened it up to see what the paints actually looked like. OMG, they cannot seriously be edible! What exactly is ‘blue heaven’ flavour? They look like radioactive waste. Even if I was feeling kinky enough to try it, I certainly would think twice about letting that stuff come in contact with human skin, let alone eating it!

What’s wrong with chocolate anyway? Can’t go wrong with chocolate!
(Having said that, a guy at work told us a story of over ambitiously coating his girlfriend in chocolate body paint, methodically starting at her hand then being too sick to continue by the time he got to her elbow. The less-than-sexy attempt ended with him sending her away to shower the rest off herself).

Back to the radioactive waste…
I was too scared to throw it out in case it fell out of the bin on rubbish night, ending up in the neighbours garden, forcing them to start a petition against us, thinking we’re swingers with a keen but low-brow interest in art. That’s how it ended up in one of my less regularly accessed art boxes, and there it will stay I suppose.

That is until I’m brave enough to sell it on ebay! It’d gain loads of interest don’t you think?

(p.s. I never did mentioned it to the friend who gave me the hamper. We’ve since lost contact.)
(p.p.s. I wanted to post the images bigger for added shock value, but was concerned about hate mail from protective mothers)

go go nymphettes

Thinking about this week’s Illustration Friday theme “dance”, I remembered an experience in my life that I’m quite sure up to now I must have repressed.

A bit of background…
I love dancing, can’t get enough of it, I’ve loved it as long as I can remember and I do it any chance I can get (except at gigs cause that’s uncool). I bop around the kitchen (while I’m waiting for my toast to pop), I love watching it and I love learning new ones. I loved learning how to tango and now I really really want to learn how to rock’n’roll dance (if I could just convince Mr You…)
You could say I’m mad for it!

So, when my friend Fi called to ask if her and a friend (lets call her Gwen) could stay at my place, as they were going to a dance workshop nearby, and would I like to come too, I was pretty excited. This was back when I was still at Uni and Fi went to Uni in a different state. I was excited to see her, to meet one of her new friends and of course about the prospect of dance. Fi is good fun but also has a lot of dignity, so when she told me the dance workshop was called “Go Go Nymphettes” I knew it wasn’t going to be any smutty thrusting or pole dancing. She told me that Gwen had done it once before and loved it.

To be honest I didn’t really know what to expect of “Go-Go Nymphettes”, I was thinking Dee-Lite or Kylie in gold hotpants or something cute and a bit “kitten” if you catch my drift.

It was all planned, then I got a call from Fi at work right before I was about to leave to meet them. She said Gwen had told her a bit more about it, and that she didn’t think she was up for it as she was a bit tired (she may have even told me she had a headache), but Gwen would still meet me as planned.

I found a lady who matched Gwen’s description, introduced myself and together we went to find this “dance” workshop. (Note at this point I start to implement sarcastic quotation marks around the word “dance”).

It was in a big hall, only 5 of us plus the teacher, all women. I was the only one who hadn’t done it before. They all looked like nice prim and proper office workers. We got changed into our “dance” gear, I had track pants and a t-shirt, the others didn’t. One wore pantyhose over her undies and a bra, and nothing else. A little perplexed, I just thought she must have left her gold hotpants at home accidentally… at first.

Oh, I don’t even know how to describe what when on next, other than to say I couldn’t believe it lasted for TWO AND A HALF HOURS, and I still to this day don’t know why I didn’t walk out or how I managed to contain the uncontrollable laughter that I had to purse my lips hard to constrict.

If I did have to describe it to someone I guess my synopsis would be something like:
Eyes Wide Shut Orgy meets “Interpretive Dance” for those who are loooong overdue for a damn good shag, and spend waaaaaay too much time alone and horny.

The bits I do remember were such wonderful moments as:

1 - One at a time having to “move” from one end of the room to the other expressing the music through “movement”, (from memory because I was new they wanted me to go first to give me a chance to “express” cleanly). I did a safe but snappy step touch, step touch click jazzy kinda thing (thinking you can’t go wrong with a step touch). The bits I clearly missed were completely ignoring the beat, having my eyes closed, rubbing my hands all over myself while moving like a jellyfish being washed up on the shore and moaning, loudly. (I was already mentally preparing myself to make a run for it when the candid camera crew burst out from behind a curtain. It never happened.)

2 - Having to pair up, one gal lying on her back with her eyes closed, the other gal taking hold of her ankles, pushing them up towards her body and then away from it over and over, rocking the reclining gal up and down as though she’s being shagged. Oh, and more moaning, eyes closed of course. (KILL ME NOW!) I remember when I was the rocker having the teacher tell me to put more “thrust” into it, and when I was being rocked I lip-synced the sound parts, all Milli Vanilli like.

3 - The one I found most unforgettable was an extension of this. When it was my turn, laying on my back with my eyes shut as tight as I could, they were now apparently trying to connect with my body through sound and movement. The teacher prompted them to connect with the outer layer of my body; they played with my hair, blew on my skin and rubbed their hands over me.
Then the teacher prompted them to connect with my muscles and tendons; they massaged, someone twisted their finger between each of my toes, and they rolled on me, all at once. But it got worse. The teacher, now getting in there with them prompted them to connect with my bones and organs. I WAS TERRIFIED. They pulled my arms and legs, and twisted my head and kept on rolling on me until the whole group was a giant ball of slow squirmy worms and had manipulated it’s way (with me inside) all around the room. The teacher in there too whispering into my legs and hips “Bone Bone Bitty Bitty Bone” AARRRRRHHHHH


I can’t believe I’m telling you this, I’m freaking out just writing it! No wonder I have personal space issues – I’m injured people. Damaged by those freaky succubus’s.

Then just when I thought the hell had come to an end we had to sit in a circle and “CRITIQUE” THE WHOLE FREAKY EXPERIENCE, FOR ANOTHER HALF HOUR.

This is when the “teacher” chose to tell us that she was actually an academic writing a thesis on the ways women explore their own sensuality and pleasure zones without the influence of men.

Was she experimenting on us!????

By the end I was wishing there HAD been a pole! (I think I may have said that out loud too).

Don't get the wrong idea (if that's possible), it wasn't actually an orgy or even smutty, it was actually all just way too "earth mother goddess" for my liking. Ladies who like to connect with their inner Gaia and all that.

Afterwards Gwen and I walked home, silently and awkwardly. I was in shock and she could tell I was contemplating dashing to a tabloid to sell my exposé for a wad of cash.

We got home. Fi had been at my place reading a good book and chatting to Mr You. As soon as we came inside she could see the despair in my eye, and I could see the guilt in hers. Nothing was said. I showered for a very long time.

The very moment they left the next morning I burst out laughing. I laughed and laughed uncontrollably for what would have been at least 20 mins. I was in pain from laughing so much. I leaked a bucket load of tears all while Mr You now laughing along but not knowing why, watched on. All I could mutter to him through my hysteria was “Bitty Bitty Bone!”

well behaved children of the corn

An elderly lady, who is an old family friend of Mr You’s, gave me a couple of rolls of old transparency films that were taken by her 1st husband in the 1940’s. He was a QC in the war trials in Japan after the 2nd World War. He had lots of photo’s from this time, but apparently he had one very rare one of the Japanese Emperor at the time, Emperor Tojo, whom I’m told it was forbidden to photograph.

I love old photographs, and have a small collection and loads of books. These were a real treat. I didn’t see the Emperor, but there are lots of wonderful photos of their experience in what was obviously a very unfamiliar land.

Taking a holiday in a foreign land (or having a baby I’m told) always reignites the photographer in people. Snapping shots of buildings, shops, merchandise, clothing, food, etc, that are all strange and new to what we know as commonplace.

I remember my sister and I being terrified as young children being surrounded by a busload of snap-happy Japanese tourists. We both had very fair skin and very light blonde hair, not to mention my little sister was the cutest little thing you’ve ever seen. They accosted us (in a friendly excited way) at a lookout and took turns having their photo taken with us. Our Dad had to calm us down and explain why they were so interested in us. (It made sense to us, our Mum would often point out people of other nationalities and say “Look, aren’t they beautiful!”).

I learnt a few things that day. I learnt I could never be a celebrity, and I learnt how lovely it is that different cultures think of one another as beautiful.
I’m aware this isn’t always the case, but it should be.

Anyway, these photos are so interesting. Not only are they a snapshot of another culture and the wonder of someone experiencing it for the first time, but also of a time gone by. There are more to look at here.