More destruction from Maidstone

I particularly like the Mills and Boon style font on this one...

...and the scope of the services offered here...

'...I'm hot for you'- oh, please... what cheese!

From the Archives...

What I particualrly enjoyed with this piece was the conceptual nature, the humour and the low-fi approach. The exhibition theme was loosely based on compulsion for death or pain, or libido mortido. Tart cards advertising roadkill id something you just don't see enough of, well nor round here anyway. They probably do in Maidstone...

From the Archives

GRRRR

...on a more REAL note

Can't find my fucking PSP charger anywhere. House is a mess, and I really fancy a game of Pro Evo Soccer. I could really have enough of fucking new houses in Derbyshire.

Fourth Plinth

Adrian Searle captivates me, somewhat unwillingly, somewhat mesmerically, but he has a knack of sounding convincing to mine ears to the point of belief and conviction that I find hard to resist. I take the case in point of the fourth plinth. Perhaps it is just that his opinion of the most suitable candidate sounds convincing in his argument, and the physical impregnation upon us of that choice is perhap the most pleasing/least offensive, but is that reason to fall for a blunt-cultured hack? His arguments are convincing, or atleast his reason for liking his choice seem sound, or rather seemed to chime with my own sensibilities...  the subtlety of Elmgreen/Dragset's proposition- the slightly oblique and quiet approach that tries not to be clever nor bask in simplistic irony- seems as Searle points out, to be a far more sophisticated option than anything so crass as the organ piping a monotone everytime you withdraw, sloppily, from a used ATM, or the obtuse map of england that works from no effective vantage point. No, AS's words have struck a chord for me, and much like the Christian who applauds the sermon with eager glances to fellow clergy, I feel I am endorsing something everyone already is on board with... OK so its a gold boy on a model horse- but heck, its utterly simple thus allowing critics to lavish reasoning and critique with equal measure as they see fit (or indeed need to, to demonstrate their intellectuo-steroid induced critical acumen to their editor) and also allowing Joe Public to lament the obvious simplicity, the 'its just a golden horse- I don't get it' mentality. And therein, I think, lies the nub. It is just a horse- and no- you DO get it- accept it- read it- what are little boys on wooden horses doing after all? The beauty lies in the honesty. It's something that I struggle desperately with. Alway I am seeking the clever irony, the sarcastic sucker punch, the 'oh I see what he's doing here' .... if an art-punter says that, then its all got a bit too Agatha Christie... it's all become a bit 'oh I knew it was the vistorian posturing, even though it looked like the post-modern iront did it all along'. The simplicity has it, the honesty, the purity. It's a lesson I'm always going to find hard, a bit like maths. Im looking forward to the day when - as we all did - I leave school and just use a calculator instead... artistico-metaphysically speaking anyway!

Back to front Jumper

I notice as I clean my teeth that my jumper is on the wrong way around. It's a really nice maroon and grey stripe number I picked up at a charity shop a few weeks ago, and the thriftyness appeals to me, in line with this new austerity . I am impressed by the zen-like purity of just appreciating the garment as it is, not how some preconception makes me think it should be (my father's favourite zen lesson is the matchbox to hat tale about a monk who changes the object according to how he uses it). This however is of little general interest to the wider public, I think. I'm sure, in fact. However having spent weeks in therapy, I have established that it's not self important or selfish to languish in self declaration, and so I go over the jumper situation in my head a few more times. As an artist, I constantly struggle with the belief in oneself, against the egoist notion of self importance that is essential to any success in a field of solo artistry. I don't like selfish people, can't stand people going on about their plight, yet isn't that exactly what an artist does for a living?

I finally comfort myself with the notion that many years from now, should a digital archaeologist unearth the musings contained herein, whilst studying the canon of my work and its relevance to early 21st Century society (resist the urge to confine my output to irrelevance and have the faith that yes my output is not just relevant but essential) might find the context that these 'self important' give. Think Samuel Pepys, I keep telling myself. And here we are, jumpers on back to front and all.

Dusty

As I notice two dusty old cans of carlsberg nestling at the bottom of an almost extinguished box set, I am touched by their archaeological appearance. The constant renovations in the house have made a thick layer of dust a permanent feature, and for a moment a thought of myself as howard johnson unearthing a can of carlsberg brought a smile to my mind- I thought to note it here. Then I got to the point on that internal discussion in my head where I take every permutation of a decision through to its final conclusion, where I noticed that to endless talk about how much you are drinking becomes absolute tedium.  Bit like those annoying people at raves who only ever went on about how fucked they were, like their camel jaw didnt tell us anyway...

I digress. Point is, it's funny how analytical one becomes about their thoughts when sharing them, (and then they become blog bores, going on and on about how funny it is to think how boring they sound, when they talk endlessly about what to write... :))

Such grand ideas

One of the last things I bought in Shanghai was  beautiful little collection of discarded photographs- a whole bunch of random photographic examples from professional portraits to family snaps, all (by the look of them) upwards of 20 years old. Some looked more like 40. I plan to scan and give away these gems as downloads, as soon as I get a decent scanner installed. Promises promises...

For starters

Gardening

The days have slipped by in liquid fashion like the languid sloth if the greasy limpopo river. One would think that this would be the finest of lifestyles to adopt upon return to this fair and pleasant land, but just recently the pace has begun to grate. Restlesness, niggling temper, irritable dad syndrome- all have begun to plague the house. So was with great relief to my family that I discovered the therapeutic merits of turning over grass clods in late afternoon sun, pitch fork as sword in noble battle against feral garden. Tonight I am refreshed.