Persistent coincidences plague me. While I remain skeptical to avoid disappointment, at times I can't help but treat them as hints from fate or destiny. As circumstances present themselves with particular people again and again, how can they be dismissed as meaningless? Forces beyond the control of both parties must be at play here and I think it is very important to acknowledge them as 'happening for a reason'. I don't know what that reason is yet, but at least I'm one step closer to figuring it out.
Perfectly circular in it's unhappiness Woody Allen's 1985 film 'The Purple Rose of Cairo' is exactly what I needed tonight. Mia Farrow's face and fine features are ideal for this movie. She looks perfect with those wide eyes in the flickering light of a movie screen, as most people do.
It's been a whirlwind couple of days. As you may already know, this is my last year of art school and as third year comes to a close, spirits and anxieties are high. As a graduating class we organized the traditional end of year painting department picnic which was held in the Botanic gardens yesterday afternoon. It was incredible and I recall someone saying: "Coming to art school was like coming home" and yes, as corny as that is it's true true true, and that's how I felt looking out over the small huddled mass of my friends bathing in the sun drinking beer.
I already feel nostalgic for the past three years, nostalgic for the friendships and romantic encounters, the time we pushed a barbeque across the tram tracks (actually that was only yesterday) and all the other utterly ridiculous circumstances I shared with these people. I've said it a thousand times but you have to go to art school to understand it, and it is this reason that the bonds formed between people who you experience it with are so unique. Below are some drawings and the novelty award that I was given by my wonderful teachers.
Carole King's 'Tapestry' coloured my day as well as the other things I've posted above. The last picture of the beautiful painting is a work I bought off my friend at Uni. I absolutely love it. Yesterday, I was trawling Savers and came across the above typewriter. I already have a typewriter, but, as I saw this beauty in working order with rounded keys for only $20 I couldn't pass it up. After researching the model, the Olivetti 22 - I found out it was a lot older than I thought and was designed in 1949 and popular throughout the 1950s. It is the earlier make of my other typewriter, the Olivetti 32. Anyway I could ramble about its little nuances all day but I'll spare you.
Mum has been watching that show on TV that is about hoarders and is convinced that I am a hoarder. She does have a valid argument, I don't know why I didn't see the typewriter and think, well I already have one, I don't need another. I saw it and had to have it. I think the anxiety of a hoarder stems from an insecurity about the transitory nature of our existence or something. By holding on to things we create some sort of stationary environment. We have control over our surroundings so they cannot be pulled out from under us.
I'm not an extreme hoarder like on those shows though. I don't hoard rubbish, just books and records and CDs and clothes. Though, the term 'collector' is much more endearing, and keep in mind my room isn't a total pig sty, either.
The above pictures are of a groovy Wiccan woman named Maxine Sanders. She's a babein' witch from the 1960s and 1970s. I found a picture of her in a book I have called 'Magic and Superstition' which also has other pictures of voodoo stuff and shrunken heads. Right now I'm watching 'The Wizard of Oz', and I have witches on the brain. I love it when the Glenda the good witch says "Only wicked witches are ugly" which (HAHA) is actually a very poignant phrase because I always tend to think that someone's physical looks do reflect their inner motivations and convictions.
I think your thoughts sort of have a subtle effect on how you position your features, like narrowing your eyes or pursing your lips ever so slightly. I'm not talking about beauty verses ugliness, because those traits I think are predetermined - but, you can drastically alter your face depending on how you hold yourself. If you have open thoughts of kindness and love and stuff, I really believe people can see that in your face. If your thoughts are negative it definitely does come through physically and is able to be perceived by those around you, not that it is directly identifiable or recognized as such. I think this is why we find some people incredibly attractive when they're not particularly physically outstanding, and why we find some people incredibly unattractive when they are physically outstanding.
I just finished watching Godard's Rolling Stones 'docudrama' 'Sympathy for the Devil'. Pretty beautiful, I love the colour palette of 1970s dusted, muted oranges and browns against the occasional flash of an electric purple polyester shirt or something. Colour is a phenomenon I just can't get my head around.
I have neglected you all by not sharing intimate details of my life and stuff lately. Predictably, truth be told I've been writing an essay that's sucking sentences out of me like never before. I'd written all my words in my essay and had none left for here. I've also been busy with doing things like being a tambourinist, eating brownies, and (surprise surprise) listening to Leonard Cohen. I also occasionally chuck The Velvet Underground in there just to mix it up a little.
Anyway above is a very recent work I made which had been purchased and is soon to be going to a new home! How exciting. Yet another piece of my innards is free to exist alone in the world. I feel good.
In a mass of words extracted from an even bigger mass of words I wrote, here is a description of my week:
The smell of lipstick, an unexpected acknowledgment, realizing a series of small revelations, perfect delivery, satisfying sentences, certainty, snacks, the letter 's' as it slips between your tongue and your teeth, the 'mmm hmm' moment, textas that are running out of ink, freckles, running your hands over the cover of a book, the perfect plan I know "I AM, I AM, I AM"