Fuck infinity

My bartender is a heroin addict. Over the last year I have watched him deteriorate. He is more pale than he was and he has scabs on his arms, from the itching. He still makes excellent drinks though and he still asks me how I am, without fail, every time I see him. Which is often. First beer down. Party time, a clap of the hands. That guy has energy. Is ready for fun, has play on his mind and elsewhere. I scratch my balls. That's twice in the last fifteen minutes, perhaps I have lice? Sazerac. God I love this drink. I wish pussy tasted this good. Don't get me wrong, it does taste good, most of the time, but it doesn't taste like this. This is an adults version of alcoholic breast milk and this bar is a beautiful oasis. A beautiful, artificial oasis, and a godsend too. It's my favourite place outside of the studio. If this bar the and my studio were combined ? Well the consequences would be felt for moons and moons. Someone here smells like bad cigarettes. Bad smoke. All these bars are non smoking now, she/he must suck it hard. It's a blessing that no one smokes in these places, it'd make it more of of Waitsian/Bukowskian cliche than it already is. Lonely men, happy types, pretend party. This however is all bad tragic makeup. Fake scars. No real loss. Just easy indulgence. Breath deep and take another drink. Zero sum game. So, yeah, whatever. Goodnight.

Also awesome

Anyone else see a correlation between this and my paintings?

Awesome

Positive fuckwits

Fuckwits are amazed by everything. This is because they and their expectations of things are very fucking average. Massively average fuckwits, amazed by gilded fucking faeces/farces.

Mapping

Time and space and the interaction of things. Material things and energy things, separate and not separate. Same at once and different too.

The order of things

Words and images fail. Sounds fail too. The primacy of experience is dissolved by any language. There is an inherent distance between things. There is an inherent error in perceiving things. Everything is wrong and we are naturally incorrect.

I gave the coffee shop girl I have a crush on a painting

Half mast at the coffee shop. Cute waitress. Perhaps it was the two double shot coffees I had? It could've been an issue, no undies, but thought about some other shit and it went away. One large swig of cough syrup and the flu I've been carrying for the last week and a half takes a back seat. I like that, goodbye erection, goodbye influenza. Yep, its been a good year for getting rid of things. Erections and sickness kept to a minimum. Refined, streamlined, efficient. A life that works.

Success

Statement 30/11/2010

Combining opposites is the starting point for my practice. The art I am currently making combines elements of hard edge painting and gestural painting. I have found that this tactic allows me to expose the flaws and strengths of the two elements I use. The hybrids I create through this process hopefully say something of painting and something of myself.

Lofted on-drive for four

Ominous authoritarian international style disasters. Brasilia. Tainted success stories of new York and other world capitals. The architecture and the art of modern error and modern success. Idealism that has bred tales of calamity. Confused things . Unpurity. Liveable apocalypse. A totally average contradiction. Paradoxes that do not end the universe but simply make you scratch your head, or maybe your butt.

Coffee at Koko in Sydney

Note: you are an arsehole. Just because you feel good about yourself and the world doesn't mean the world likes you. In fact it is more probable that people don't think about you at all and at the very most are thinking, "one more prick in my way on the road to where I need to go".

Snakes on a motherfucking plane

In a plane, thinking about fucking. Something interior, smooth and hot. Tight. Something swollen of mine to fuck with. Some things to suck and feel. An arse to grab, to reach around and access... To listen to someone moan. Panting. Name calling. Hitting. Biting. Bruises and carpet burns.

Self portrait

Arsehole

You just have to accept that some people think you are an
arsehole.

Response

The other night a friend and I were discussing the idea of converting old hurts into positive life lessons. He wrote me a text the following day,

"Just give Compassion
and Love...
you will become Venusian..
and Magnetic!
LoveBig Hug"

He is right. Easier said than done. Still, I don't really want to be good, healthy, whatever. I want focus, rage, clarity, control. A razor, crystal expanse. Yeah, whatever.

Order

Everything is fucked because it fucks itself and everything is always as it should be. There is nothing real because there should be nothing real. There is nothing reliable because there should not be anything reliable. No such thing as friendship, no such thing as communication. Things are fucked, just as they should be. This broken shitty mess should be appreciated more, it is the correct order of things.

Anxiety and drink

After work I drink. It's not the first thing I do but the other things I do are simply to delay the drinking. The focus is the drink. Hopefully hard liquor or perhaps a cocktail. My current favorites are the Black Rose and the Sazerac. Both are potent and act swiftly, without hesitation. They work, they affect that thing I need them to effect, they are effective. I enjoy being affected. I don't know. Discipline, effort, consolidation. Consumption, laziness, indulgence....

I'm in a restaurant now. It's empty, I'm the only one in the room, I'm still waiting on my main. What the fuck sort of life am I leading? It borders on the silent, the unmoving, the fucking dead. Things lack impact. The general quiet and repetition of a good life with more than I need. Like everyone, I only want those things that I cannot have.

It's a different night now and and I'm out again and I'm listening to the conversations around me. There are two beautiful young women next to me. They're discussing uni, work, men. Boys actually. There is no such thing as men. What they have to say is quite boring, I guess I'm only eavesdropping because they are lovely so my attention returns to my drink. Booze, like art, answers a question for me. That question is the one of anxiety. Anxiety. An expanse of weight and open time. The anxiety flows. A series of moments, a torrent of seconds, time feels rancid, rancid honeyed concrete, marking change, progress.

On a bus, going to a party. It's a thirtieth. I wish I could say that going to this party was about meeting new people. It's not. It's about the drinking and, maybe a catch up with an old friend. A socially acceptable excuse to drink. Another friend gives me some drug. Two pills of drug. It makes me crave. I only want things I can't or don't have. There is a beautiful woman here at this party. Something I can't have. Perfect skin and wonderfully long dark hair. She would never have me. She said yes to a drink once, then said no. I've thought about asking her again but I won't. Perhaps if I was something I'm not, well, whatever. If I didn't have this drink problem, this social anxiety thing then maybe I could get the things the I want.

Well, I'll add to this post over time. I'm trying to figure this thing out. I need to fix this thing. I need to solve this problem of drink and anxiety.

Wisdom

Dead on arrival

Fuck yes!!!!!

Song of the day by a very handsome man

Some recent small drawings

Art

I want to bow and give the finger to those artists I love. I want history and fuck you to get along, or not. At least I want them in the same room.

Location:Gotha St,Fortitude Valley,Australia

Hate

I hate Betty Draper.
I really do.

Colossal and jagged

I am hopeful for a better future.

I believe in perpetual apocalypse.

Awesome T-shirt, me and my paintings, in Sydney

Revisit

Revisiting the Smashing Pumpkins. I still love you Billy Corgan :)

Batch 3 of 3

Bonus Prize

Sore shoulder.
Fox Mulder.
Bone folder.
Large boulder.
Gun holder.
Fresh solder.

Location:Ann St,Fortitude Valley,Australia

Smoking Man

Regret is an inevitable  consequence of life.

Painting

Hard edge painting is like starships. Gestural painting is like space. I like starships, space and painting. Starship-space paintings.

Thanks to Arryn Snowball for helping me figure this out.

Hungover

I'm a bit hungover today. So I've decided to keep drinking. It feels good. I get massively paranoid when I'm a little hungover. It's quite uncomfortable. The drink fixes this. It's something I can trust.

Location:Boundary St,West End,Australia

Crapper

I have a book of poetry by Bukowski next to my toilet.
This seems appropriate.
Not because he writes crap though.
But simply because it is just appropriate to read Bukowski on the crapper.

Because I'm in love...

Car park painting photo

Bored at work

me:  BORED SHITLESS

 Sent at 15:13 on Tuesday

 Daniel:  hurf durf

 me:  smurf?

maybe not

 Daniel:  nope

When hurf durf is seen, it is understood that whatever has been quoted  and labeled as hurf durf is completely and utterly unreasonable and  impossible of being taken seriously. Generally used when quoting  someone, especially (but certainly not limited to) in the context of an  internet game forum.

 me:  figured

 Daniel:  Hurf durf occurs when someone goes on a long-winded tangent about  something that is universally insignificant but is present in the  original poster's mind and is EXTREMELY important to that person.

 me:  hurf durf

its a lttle like 'what ever'

 Sent at 15:21 on Tuesday

 Daniel:  yes

 Sent at 15:25 on Tuesday

 me:  blah blah blah im a wanker artist

balh blah

hurf durf

 Daniel:  lols

 Sent at 15:31 on Tuesday

 me:  my new artist statement

hurf durf

 Daniel:  They see me hurfin they durfing

 me:  blah blah im a fucking artist look at my poopy wall hanging fucktard paintings blah blah

 Daniel:  :O

 me:  im an arts student no one understands me everyoine is fucked blah blah

 Daniel:  dude.. you need to get out of there

 me:  go back to liquor retail

another kind of fucktard

 Daniel:  welp

BSG Majella

we have killed so many
and we will go on killing
till you are all gone
dead, un-moving
because it feels good
because it's what men do

Statement

The warhead doesn’t exist. That’s what my art is about. Warheads that don’t exist.

The harpoon that slaughtered Moby Dick. That is what my art is. Harpoons that slaughter.

Ill never be a captain of a starship. That’s what my art is about. Not being a starship captain.

Lost people

The thing that makes me most sad about my relationships with people is losing the clear, crystal sharp knowing of them. It happens with our parents, our grandparents, lovers and friends. It is heartbreaking to see others vividly for brief moments and then lose them in a fog.

List

1. Hudson Bay Bourbon
2. Where the fuckiz ma dribk?
3. Special circumstances
4. Been over soon
5. I'm really going grey
6. Still watching X-Files
7. Cross in cleavage
8. Drowning
9. Disapproval
10. Hous Bein Farteen

More new work

New work 3/8/2010

List

1. On the bus again with balding emo fucktard
2. Emo fucktard losing his hair
3. Pirate
4. Vampire
5. EBE
6. You are the sungodess
7. Scully
8. Hot shower
9. Cassandra
10. Scully

List

1. Balding emo
2. Masterpiece of death
3. Regimented life option
4. Michael Dudikoff
5. Secret ninja not so secret
6. Balding pirate emo fucktard
7. Lists of ten
8. Meshuggah
9. Day Job Orchestra
10. Ninth symphony

Closer to an authentic, personalised meaninglessness

If my artistic language has been compromised to the point where personal expression is nothing but the manipulation of enforced information, agendas and hierarchies, then fuck it, I'll paint what I want!!! Bring on the motherfucking giant robots, spaceships and solar systems. Every prescribed notion of good and bad, authority and hope is now mine to do with as I see fit!!! All the pieces of art history I love will be crammed in there!!! If we have all been robbed of the ability to speak then attempt to anyway, attempt as loudly as you can. Even if what seems to be a scream is actually a whimper. Do it regardless. For if you don't, you will regret it as long as you live.

New work 23/7/2010

List

1. Common denominator
2. Minties
3. Type II phaser
4. Long list of dates
5. Shit on hand **
6. Nesting
7. Dinosaurs as basis for abstract paintings
8. Social awkwardness
9. Grudge match
10. Glamorama

List

1. Drinks
2.+1 mace
3. On time service
4. Absentee vote
5. Array of hats
6. Lot 12
7.
8. Skiing holiday
9. Utility
10. Contemporary fragrance

Work 21/7/2010

List

1. Make a plan
2. Connect everything
3. Eat well
4. Secondary objectives
5. Nah man, it's cool
6. Multiple copies
7. Beards
8. Double nested pig
9. Ease and success
10. Bonus prize

Margate

Go out to Redcliffe to look at the space for the show in September. The space is good. Walk a bit. Find a barber. Get a haircut. The woman who cuts my hair is pleasant. Call a cab to get back to Sandgate. Wait for the cab that never comes. Walk to Margate and wait for a bus. Girl walks past smoking. She keeps pace with her bloke who is smoking as well but is riding a bike. He wears shorts, thongs (flip flops), a wife beater and a black hoodie. He also wears a bike helmet. The helmet has three hand drawn Nazi symbols on the back. Can't say I'm shocked but public displays of evil are always worth mentioning.

Afternoon

In bed

In bed with electrical cable.

Wants

The General Lee
Someone to make a new TV show that will replace 'the X Files' for me
A case of George T. Stagg
Dana Scully
Voltus V, for real
A Rembrandt, a Titian, a Van Dyck
Sound rest
Peace

Destiny: A sculpture @ HASSELL architects December 2009 - Feburary 2010

Writing

Now that I'm back I find I have less to say than before I departed.
I wait for things of importance to make themselves known.
They don't.
Well, they haven't so far.
The things I value are hidden to myself.
I'm sure they'll be obvious eventually.
So for the time being I'll stick to the plan.

Say less.
Do more. 

Trucks in San Fran

Mission

Maverick

San Francisco