Interlude - Something cheery before bed....

Two weeks ago I found myself carrying a pigs head home in a thin plastic carrier bag. I had started on my final major project and I had been looking at flesh. Through some cosmic luck, I was granted my dream of being able to photograph inside a butchers fridge upon asking one of the market traders if I could take some quick shots of the meat on display. (The guy who took me down to the freezers was stoned and totally unphased by some freak wanting to take pictures of his.. ahem.. hung meat.)

He opened one freezer and pulled out a frozen pigs head and slammed it down on the counter. Now, I'm vegetarian and while the look or feel of dead animal doesn't really bother me, the way it was handled..., just no. And so after thinking about it for two days, I decided I would buy the head and take some photographs of it and see where that took me. So I'm there, on the bus, holding this pigs head like its made of glass. I don't know, its just some weird respect thing. I cant just throw it around and have it bang around or roll across the floor. Would you do that with a human body? No.

But then there I was taking photos of it and now it (a.k.a 'Piglet') sits in my back yard, rotting away (I'll continue to photograph it as it decomposes and see how long it takes to get down to the skull. I was told by the butcher that if I wanted the skull I could just boil it. IT STILL CONTAINS BRAINS AND EYEBALLS. The smell of boiling chicken giblets from my childhood when my mum would cook them for the dog, still makes me want to wretch) and I'm almost conflicted over what I'm doing, all in the name of art. I feel in some ways disrespectful to it, like I shouldn't be getting any kind of glory out of a process, an industry that I'm against. On the other hand, the deed was already done and I'm using it to create something good or productive? I don't know.. am I being hypocritical? selective in my judgements? Its weird, I'm not sure what to make of it. Or myself.

Anyway, two weeks gone and I checked on it yesterday. The smell is hideous (I'm hoping my neighbour has a barbecue or an outside get-together soon!) and its only confirmed that I want to be cremated, no argument.

Ill hopefully post pictures of wok I develop from this, but for now, some before and afters. And warning, the afters aren't pretty but then neither is life, so deal with it.

two weeks later.....

(just to note: some of these pictures have been colour enhanced, some not. Once I get round to doing them all I will replace the unedited ones)

Ah the classics, sex and death (when sex IS death and death was sexy)

A few more from the vaults..

Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels...

Today there was an article in the tabloid the Daily Mirror, accompanied by two pictures. One picture of Kate Moss and the other picture, a young girl smiling. The girl was wearing a t-shirt with the slogan 'Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels'. Just one of the more insightful, wise, and profound soundbites to come from Moss' mouth in recent times. But lets not commend her originality, on coming up with such a nugget of wisdom, its been around for ever and most regularly found on pro-ana and 'mia' websites. I'm all for the freedom of speech, and I don't necessarily agree with the train of thought where a 'celebrity' should tread carefully or be squeaky clean to be a role model. To either adults OR children because no ones perfect and real life isn't that disney-fied. Kate Moss can say anything she wants. She could read Baudelaire backwards and shed still have the intelligence of a house brick. I don't want to get into the whole issue of media, children's youth being whittled down day by day (its disgusting enough and it spells doom) or what is right and wrong in the grand scheme of morality. The company makes the shirts, in children's sizes. Its disgusting, its out there, its happening. I cant change that.

Note in the last thumbnail, the girl is holding a stuffed toy...

The slogan itself used to be MY mantra, as ridiculous as it is. A good while back now I suffered with, at first bulimia, and then when throwing up became a chore I went down the anorexia route. I wont get into the whys and wherefores but it happened and its a hard thing to shake off. Even now I hate to look 'fat' or eat too much or be, in my mind, overweight. And yeah, when I woke up each day and weighed myself and I was thinner and lighter, it did have a drug like quality and it was an achievement! 

By nature, I'm quite self critical and self deprecating and I think Ive carried that from being bullied and verbally abused from primary school to present day (what is it about people that makes them think they can comment on/at you out in public? I still don't get it. Unsatisfied with their own lives? Just naturally inbred and unintelligent? who knows!) and I think its a defence mechanism where if I say or think it first then Ive just burst your bubble, Ive beaten you to it. Through being like that I'd say I was pretty lame at the whole rexia thing. Even now I think I could of been thinner, I could of worked harder at it. But its tiring and its soul destroying and theres alot of thinking and theory behind it that doesn't need to be online for everyone to read. How I stopped being like that I don't know. I think even stopping it, or allowing myself to eat more was probably another aspect of self sabotage.

When i was having a 'fat day'. I am of course, taking the piss.

But as is the general rule, out of darkness comes light, from bad comes good and as most artists know, terrible things can be the starting point for great art. And while I don't proclaim the following is good art by any means, as it was never imagined, or intended to be art, the following is all i got from that dirty and dark time.

4.55am tired and aching but i want to carry on working...

Dear Diary....

So, as I mentioned, even though education had given way to full time employment, I did still have an interest in the visual. Id kept diaries or journals since around 14/15 which y'know is kind of a gothy Winona Ryder in Beetlejuice but with a penis thing to do. Being that age, what the hell did I have to say about anything. Maybe who'd bullied me that week, who i liked that week, what cd I'd bought. Yawn. I think i even had one of those with a lock on at some point, the type you could probably crack open with a safety pin. I remember when shit hit the fan with parents around the later stages of 15 I ripped up a full diary and threw it away as I drank cider and walked through the park with my one other fucked up friend. I doubt it was a big loss.

I didnt start writing again untill 17/18 when my parents were fighting and I was drinking all day instead of attending college. I had a posse by that stage and we were pretty much all the result of disfunctional families. We drank and were punk rock cool. Or atleast that was what we were aiming for. And even though I had people around me, and for the most part, good people, there was still things that didnt need to be spoken outside of my head. So i wrote.

From there it progressed and I would stick in pictures or fliers, gig tickets, clippings out of magazines etc and somehow it led to me finding some kind of art form in it. The picture below is the cover of one of my journals from around 2002-3 when I was living in London but it took a breakdown, some harsh lessons learnt and returning home to get to some of the other pieces I will post over the next few days/weeks/whatever. None of what I made was intended to be seen, it was for me and no one else, but through the persuasion and encouragement of a person who has supported me from the moment we met, the work I'll post was a main part of my portfolio that got me accepted into college for my foundation course.

Sadly I've not done anything in terms of writing, journals or collage in a long while. Having work to do for college has kind of tied me up in terms of time and energy and having to focus on actual assigned work. I still have boxes full of clippings and photos and stuff i want to create pages with and hopefully once my final major project is completed I will have the summer to try and indulge myself in my own personal art. 

um, hi..

So its about time that I stopped trying to perfect the page layout and started posting I guess... Im currently studying art and design level four foundation diploma in Cheshire, England. I returned to college over ten years since being in formal education, Id left school hating art thanks to a certain art teacher who told me what i was doing was 'wrong'. Not sick puppy messed up wrong but 'technically' wrong. GOD SAVE THE YOUTH WITH TEACHERS WHO CAN CONSIDER ANY KIND OF ART WRONG! CAUSE DAMMIT JANET, WHAT IS RIGHT?

Over the years working in various jobs, from shovelling dog shit at a kennels (the animals a bring love that no human can : PAUL FACT!) to selling copies of 'double penetration in Dallas' to seedy businessmen and advising the unfortunate on the best budget blow up dolls to the time old favourite - call centre HELL, I remained visually interested in what I called, or knew to be art. Typical man, a visual whore. Id kept diaries and journals since my life started getting fucked up and over time I discovered that what I couldnt write in words, I could convey through pictures and images. Thank god I did. When art is presented to you at an early age, its the usual, the classics, the masters, the stuff that you cant imagine ever getting close to. Maybe the art syllabus in secondary education is different now, I dont know but art is everywhere and in where you choose or are drawn to see it. For that, and to have that outlook or realisation Im greatful to who or whatever is up above or in the cosmos, whatever.

Anyway, hopefully this blog will be place for me to dump some of my own stuff, past and present and to also show you whats visually 'getting me off' at the moment. Its always a little daunting putting yourself and your work out there, especially when there are so many artists who just make my hands clench and give me talent envy. But hey, a LOT of people art recognised as good untill after theyve peaced out so I guess I have some time to try and get 'good'..

I'll stf up now but this blog is dedicated to my old art teacher and all high school art teachers who DESTROY and not NOURISH peoples talents, outlooks and interests. F**k you Mrs. Davies, F**K YOU.