walking

I remember a short conversation between the Buddha and a philosopher of his time.


"I have heard that Buddhism is a doctrine of enlightenment. What is your method?"


"We walk, we eat, we wash ourselves, we sit down....."


What is so special about that? Everyone walks, eats, washes, sits down...."


"Sir, when we walk, we are aware that we are walking; when we eat, we are aware we are eating.... ...When others walk, eat, wash, or sit down, they are generally not aware of what they doing."


-Thich Nhat Hanh, Zen Keys

Ali Baba

This image I clipped out of an Art magazine here in Australia a few years ago. I had an immediate attraction to it then, and still do today. Its by an Australian artist named Ken Whisson. It was done in 1967. I see that it has infected something within me, for the good, I should add, and it has influenced me in some obscure but concrete way. I just stumbled across it today in the computer (Ali Baba's Digital Cave).

More to be revealed, as they say.

Tsunami

Triennial

TO the 6th Asian Pacific Triennial contemporary art exhibition in Brisbane, Queensland the other day. An interesting show of various artists from the pacific rim filled the cavernous new wing of the Queensland Museum. Somehow, I felt that many of the works on exhibit were far less pretentious than what I am used to seeing in Europe or especially America. I risk being dragged over the coals for uttering such a thing, I know,... (but you would have to catch me first)

Several thing left me speechless (for the better), some of these are shown in the small clip above.

The night before, to see an exquisite version of Hamlet at the Roundhouse theatre till March 14. Like everyone else we loved it.

I forgot that Shakespeare had come up with the line:

"Brevity is the Soul of Wit"

(from the ABC website)

David Berthold’s critically acclaimed contemporary reinvention of Hamlet must close 14 March. With a top-shelf cast that includes Cocoloco's Trevor Stuart, multi Matilda Award winners Eugene Gilfedder and Helen Howard, and the incomparable Toby Schmitz in the title role, Hamlet guarantees an exhilarating edge-of-your-seat drama.

This is the must-see theatrical event of 2010. Don’t miss it.

"From the opening seconds of David Berthold’s Hamlet, you know you’re in for a new experience. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve seen Hamlet in production, you won’t have seen a Hamlet quite like this one." - Katherine Lyall-Watson, ourbrisbane.com

"...the most downright gripping Shakespeare production seen in Brisbane for many a year... It's no exaggeration to call this production a triumph. You should see it." - James Harper, The Courier Mail

"As a critic I have probably seen more than my fair share of productions of Hamlet but never have I seen one as good as this...the effect is nothing short of electric... A Must See!" - Nigel Munro-Wallis, ABC Brisbane

"...the production, and Schmitz's portrayal, hit the mark for an audience that was regularly in peals of laughter." - Bree Hadley, The Australian

"Inventive and powerful…Berthold's first play with La Boite is a triumph." - Tonya Turner, The Courier Mail online

rain

Early morning rain,

The groan of gutters, and drips ,

Sound of drowning birds.

fragrance

51. As a beautiful flower that is full of hue but lacks fragrance, even so fruitless is the well-spoken word of one who does not practice it.

-The Dharmapada, in Walpola Rahulas's What the Buddha Taught

Mama Mia! Mama Mia!

verisimilitude

150 X 100 cm

Rather uneventful days, I am pushing into new images which are drawn from an age-old desire to work in an unusual way. I have always wanted to make completely non-objective paintings. This (above) is not finished but it isn't far from it. Can they resonate as do melodies from a Persian lute in the early afternoon?...... do they mimic the waves out at sea? Is this possible to create in an oil painting?

Matisse

I have been reading a biography of Henri Matisse by the British writer Hilary Spurling. I picked up the second of two volumes covering his life from 1909-1954 (from when he was 40 years of age to his death). Its such a great read and I highly recommend it to anyone who loves those years before and after the two world wars know as Modern Art. That admiration, I confess, to have come to it late in my life. I have always loved the work of the lesser known artists of the south of France: Charles Camoin, Albert Marquet, Henri manguin, Raoul Dufy, the early Derains of what was to be know as Les Fauves. But I was suspicious Matisse!
Mostly, I didn't like his stiff drawings which seemed academic and awkward after seeing so much lyricism in the drawings of Albert Marquet. So I come humbly to him with my paintbrush lodged between my arrogance  and my legs.

Dr Sketchy

Dr Sketchy has come to Byron Bay. It was started by a New York stripper, and artist, a few years ago who was tired of straight academic drawing classes. The idea was to create drawing sessions around the theme of Burlesque; slow strips and wild lingerie poses. Needless to say, I was looking forward to it. The event itself was in fact rather tame and somewhat boring. It was immediately apparent that it was more entertainment than serious drawing from a model, clad, any which way. (peu import) I don't know if its because it has obviously been franchised out and hence watered down from the original but it was not a success in my eyes. However, I did manage to get a few drawings out of it.

Sidney Nolan

Yesterday with Cheryl to see paintings by Sidney Nolan of his "Galipoli series" at the Tweed Gallery in New South Wales. Most of the work was done during the fifties and seventies in London where he had settled. Of all the work there we were very taken with these portraits. 

They are quite large (about 100 cm X 60 cm)

Meanwhile it rains often these days.

xxx

tools

The Sufi's have a saying,


"Praise Allah, and tie your camel to the post"


This brings together both parts practice: pray yes, but also make sure you do what is necessary in the world. Have a life of meditation and genuine spiritual experience and, at the same time, discover how to manifest that here and now.


-Jack Kornfield, Seeking the Heart of Wisdom

practice

Spiritual practice is difficult in the beginning. You wonder how on earth you can ever do it. But as you get used to it, the practice gradually becomes easier. Do not be too stubborn or push yourself too hard. If you practice in accord with your individual capacity, little by little you will find more pleasure and joy in it. As you gain inner strength, your positive actions will gain in profundity and scope.

-The Dalai Lama, Flash of Lighting in the Dark of Night

Valentine

December 30 2004                            for C 

Your fireworks smile,

Wish to steal from the black sky,

Lock in my glass heart.

cloud and sea

breath

Most of the time we go through the day, through our activities, our work, our relationships, our conversations, and rarely do we ground ourselves in an awareness of our bodies, We are lost in our thoughts, our feelings, our emotions, our stories, our plans.

A very simple guide or check on this state of being lost is to pay attention to those times when you feel like you are rushing. Rushing does not have to do with speed. You can rush moving slowly, and you can rush moving quickly. We are rushing when we feel as if we are toppling forward. Our minds run ahead of ourselves; they are out there where we want to get to, instead of being settled back in our bodies. The feeling of rushing is good feedback. Whenever we are not present, right then, in that situation, we should stop and take a few deep breaths. Settle into the body again. Feel yourself sitting. Feel the step of a walk. Be in your body.

The Buddha made a very powerful statement about this:

"Mindfulnes of the body leads to nivana." Such awareness is not a superficial practice. Mindfulness of the body keeps us present.

-Joseph Goldstein, Transforming the Mind, Healing the World

Terry Riley

lorikeet (martini)

memory of Greece

Mann

Thomas Mann has said:

"One may not possess. Yearning is giant power, possession unmans"

Rufus and Cheryl

risk

The artist's dilemma and the meditator's are, in a deep sense, equivalent. Both are repeatedly willing to confront or control. Both are disciplined in skills that allow them to remain focused on their task and to express their response in a way that will illustrate the dilemma they share with others.

And both are liable to similar outcomes. The artist's work is prone to be derivative, a variation on the style of a great master or established school. The meditator's response might tend to be dogmatic, a variation on the words of a hallowed tradition or revered teacher. There is nothing wrong with such responses. But we recognize their secondary nature, their failure to reach the peaks of primary imaginative creation. Great Art and Great Dharma both rise to something that has never quite been imagined before. Artist and meditator alike ultimately aspire to an original creative act.

--from Stephen Batchelor, Tricycle Review, Vol. 4. #2

rain

Summer rain has come.

Lime green moss painting the cracks,

What will the ants think?

timeless

Gazing with no thought,

Timeless under cherry tree,

Pit clocks my bald head!

(Regard dans la vide,

Cerisier; intemporel,

Noyau cogne la tête!)

July 13  2004  #3                                

Dieulefit

slippers

After a rain storm,

Along the brown waterline.

Slippers of sea slime.

Brunswick Heads N.S.W. January 2010

G'day

Its been almost a month since leaving civilization  I have (gone troppo) as they say in here in Australia, (gone bush) as they also say. I have left my senses in Europe! In truth, I have been spending too much time in cafes meeting different friends here and there, speaking of this and that.....re-learning the Australian language, usually that. In fact, I should really become more serious; (more conchy), if I want to return back to France with some decent work to show this summer. I have been filming my friend John Foss (aka Giacomo Fosscatti) who designs and builds motorized bicycles. He wants to put a small film clip to his web site of the new Billinudgel Bullet Flyer cruising through the Eucalyptus forests. Into the turns, knee extended out like a motorcycle racer from the fifties, he is flat out (like a lizard drinking).

But at the end of most afternoons I put on my bathing suit (budgie smugglers) and jump into the sea. There are often lots of surfers so one has to be careful, especially to avoid the novices (shark biscuits), a young boy of thirteen had his poor head cracked open last week here in Byron by a (shark biscuit) with a pointed surfboard. This raised the intellectual discussion around here of whether or not one really needs a pointed surfboard anyway?....

Two days ago was Australia Day, a day for national celebration, kind of like Bastille day, but without the Bastille (or anything to do with any of kind of revolution, as this is still a Monarchy, in theory anyway) A day of family picnics and fun. Also a day of drinking, excessive often, when mobs of hooligans (yobbos) dress up in Union Jack to go out and harass dark-skinned people. Its a kind of a National shame for everyone else, civilized or not. This happens even in the best and most open cultures, helas!

So, last night I stopped in a pub and had something cold before going home. Curious to see who was winning the Tennis match in Melbourne between the Frenchman and the the Serb. The pub was mostly empty, but of the two or three clients at the bar, I knew one of them who works in the local hardware store. A nice guy (bloke) wanted to buy me a beer (shout me) but as I don't drink I accepted a lime and bitters. He and his buddy were both a little drunk but in a friendly sort of way. They asked me what I got up to for Australia Day. Being a bit of a prankster (larrikin) I replied that I put dark shoe polish on my face, went out, and kicked some Aussie ass all day!! They nearly fell off their barstools. Fortunately though, they didn't know quite what to make of me so they laughed. In another kind of town I might not have made it out the door alive.


Ha Ha.... G'day!

river

There's a Zen story in which a man is enjoying himself on a river at dusk. He sees another boat coming down the river toward him. At first it seems so nice to him that someone else is also enjoying the river on a nice summer evening. Then he realizes that the boat is coming right toward him, faster and faster. He begins to get upset and starts to yell,

"Hey, hey watch out! For Pete's sake, turn aside!" 

But the boat just comes faster and faster, right toward him. By this time he's standing up in his boat, screaming and shaking his fist, and then the boat smashes right into him. He sees that its an empty boat.

This is the classic story of our whole life situation.

-from Pema Chödrön, Start Where You Are

At Robert's

Two days ago my friend John F. took me over to Robert B.'s home near Byron Bay, a magnificent home finished only last year. He lives there with his wife and children surrounded by an even more magnificent collection of Artwork from all over the world with lots of Aboriginal work; bark paintings old and new, as well as paintings. I am rarely impressed by homes but am always surprised by a great collection of Art. Robert created Sotheby's in Sydney sometime back in the seventies, he welcomed us barefoot, wearing the ubiquitous cargo pants and tee shirt. This is how one dresses around here (de rigeur). He knows Aboriginal Art inside out and I marveled at listening to his explanations in front of them. His house goes on for kilometers, large wall-like windows with views of Cape Byron; and the sea, a long band of ultramarine blue stretching across the horizon. WoW! (Sacré Bleu!) These people know how to live down here!

My dear friend John and myself went for a swim afterwards, 'to crack a wave' as he puts it down here. I have been 'doing fuck all', also an Aussie expression meaning to 'do absolutely nothing' (que dalle).

I have set up an impromptu painting studio between two roofs. Weather has been very hot these last few days; little wind and ones sinks into lethargy just watching the clouds overhead.

(que faire!)

kookaburra

Cricky!

The Australian landscape is intense here on the North Coast, as it is known. 800 killometers north of Sydney and a 2 hour drive south of Brisbane, this is rural country: farm country, cows and things. But also, lots of surprises for a visitor from the northern hemisphere to keep one always on edge. The celebrated snakes, spiders and sharks linger in one's imagination here in Australia.

The 'Aussies' love to pour it on of course (tirer la langue). The first weeks of my visit here 11 years ago had me frantically checking the insides of my shoes each morning for redback spiders. Eventually I began wearing rubber flipflops like everyone else around here. Stepping outside under the inky black sky is a real treat, for the southern sky seems so subtly similiar, yet it is naturally different. Being far from a city, the sky, in between the multitude of stars, spread out like fairy dust, is like the black found in a Chinese ink drawing. In the middle of the night one steps out onto a wooden deck in the darkness and feels something net-like enveloping one's face. Recoiling quickly, one turns the light on to see an enormous spider web made of nylon stretching across the deck. In it, sits the biggest, ugliest looking spider outside of Disney studios. Ouch! (Cricky!) (Putain!) The Aussie experiance has begun!

One quickly hears of the ferocious Brown snake (aggressive, not to be cuddled), the venomous but timid Black snakes; yellow and red bellied (they sunbath across the black tar roads under the noontime sun), The infamous Tiger snakes which come out at night and pack a nasty bite. I have a friend, an elderly woman who went out to her compost one night in the suburbs, by the time she had gotten back to her kitchen door she was already hyperventilating. She spent 7 days in hospital and months afterward recovering. Yikes!

Happily they aren't a lot of funnel-web spiders around here. They are mostly down south in Sydney. These critters don't like being stepped on (who does?) They are big ugly things which bite the exposed soles of feet, then, lean over to watch their victims hop around in pain. If the poor souls don't make it to the hospital within the hour, they forfeit their right, forever, of visiting a shoe store again. This is a wild place and not for the fainthearted by any means.

In any event I have settled in. I have set up a small space to paint out of doors but under a roof so I am curious to see what comes out for the next 3 months. My Hard Drive broke down so my computer was out of action for more than a week. It seems to be OK now. Hoping it lasts (pourvu que ca dure!)

à bientôt

A380-800

Paris by scooter

Two nights in Paris which was great and where I stayed with friend Anne near Nation. First night to dinner at Clementine's, who, with her boyfriend Gérard D. (actor, and bonvivant extraordinaire) prepared an amazing risotto and fish dinner. Also there, Clem's mother Daisy, an old friend from New York who now lives in New Orleans. A great feast and tall tales.

Next morning to the Louvre where I had wanted to see the Tintoretto and Titians but the place was mobbed and I gave up and went back to Clem's on the rue de Lille. Gérard took me for a spin on his bike and showed me around the 6th and 7th arrondissments and to a Hotel he is creating. He doesn't understand what red lights are for apparently. The weather was quite cold and he doesn't wear gloves! Sacré bleu! Sacré Français!

I Met Anne in the early evening and we tried to wait in line to see James Thieree's new piece at Chatelet but were discouraged by the line and 2 hour wait. Instead we went for a long walk around the Isle St Louis and back up through le quartier Latin where we saw Le Ruban Blanc which was good but oppressive. Home late, and me, up early to catch a flight to Australia straight through.

Here near Byron Bay it is humid and hot, large mountains of grey cloud cross over the green landscape. I need a week to settle in as one's sleeping is disjointed after such a journey. Staying with Rolf, who is Swiss, and has a large house overlooking an open green valley full of many different birds.

new year

cold

In a very cold Paris on the 1st of January.

surprise

I managed to get everything done today. This is a new size, an open plate, rather japanese in feel. It suits the drawing.

Weather, unduly warm. Outside, cutting back roses and butterfly bushes. To Valreas in the late afternoon, the days are feeling longer just so subtly. Exquisite landscape! If only I had my wits about me to begin working outdoors again! The hills are a magnificent violet, interlaced cool and warm, blue greys and warm yellows like in a persian rug,... Corot and Pissarro everywhere!

In the New Yorker was an article by Peter Schjeldahl concerning the retrospective at MOMA for Gabriel Orozco, of whom I knew little. He is tough on it in a delicate way. I have noticed a hardening of the Critic's arteries of late. This is a good thing as  artists have had a free pass for all too long in my opinion. Why does one often feel like the victim of a Corporate sell in so many of these shows? It reminds me of the theme of Venice Biennale few years back: 


Think with your Heart, Feel with your Mind


duh!....


It smells of Madison Avenue,,, an ad for Mercedes or Jaguar. To top it off the artistic philosophy of Gabriel Orozco seems to be summed up in the following remark:


"People forget that I want to disappoint!"


Isn't that just another post-modern slogan from Madison Avenue? 


What DOES he really mean by this ?? 
and actually, 
What happened to the notion of surprise anyway?

dazed

Finally, to the poterie studio where I have put off too much work before I leave for Australia on friday. Yikes! But I'll get it done.

Its easy work but I need to be inspired and I can easily burn out after three hours

I end up feeling like these teddy bears look, dazed and confused. 

funny

                                             40 X 50 cm 2008

I have been reading about writers the past week, notably, a book entitled The Agony and the Ego. In it are portraits drawn up by two dozen writers themselves. I have read it several times before but always go back to it when I am looking for inspiration. The following from Lorrie Moore which I found most interesting:

What constitutes tragedy and what constitutes comedy may be a fuzzy matter. The comedienne Joan Rivers has said that there isn't any suffering that's one's own that isn't also potentially very funny. Delmore Schwartz claimed that the only way anyone could understand Hamlet was to assume right from the start that all the characters were roaring drunk. I often think of an acquaintance of mine who is also a writer and whom I ran into once in a bookstore. We exchanged hellos, and when I asked her what she was working on these days, she said, "Well, I was working on a long comic novel, but then in the middle of the summer my husband had a terrible accident with an electric saw and lost three of his fingers. It left us so sad and shaken that when I returned to writing, my comic novel kept getting droopier, darker and sadder and depressing. So I scrapped it, and started writing a novel about a man who loses three fingers in an accident with a saw, and that,' she said, 'that's turning out to be really funny.'

pudeur

                                                50 X 40 cm 1995

The Christmas season can be unsettling. I have felt, like so many other adults, a sense of anxious deja vu, but each year I remember and recognize it for what it is. I was invited to my friends at Le Parol. The dear couple and their grown up sons (Les Baches from Lyon) welcomed me for a leisurely lunch of salmon and salad, quite civilized really. We began speaking of number of different things which eventually led us to books and films which is where most conversations usually take people around a dinner table. I had just watched The Reader which the mother Marie had read, and which Bazille, the eldest son had also seen. She loved the book while he didn't appreciate the film very much. As I had liked it, on the other hand, I was curious why it had displeased him so. I think he felt that the character was ill-defined but nonetheless, it guided our conversation over to the delicate landscape where good and evil co-exist in human lives. I don't remember how, but I began speaking of my own "mean streak" which I hide deep within me and which comes out periodically. When it does I am always shocked, but at the same time quite amazed (étonné). I am also amazed at my own ability to broach such intimate subjects, but then this is somewhat new, my lack of pudeur, as it were. I confessed (to my even greater surprise as the French are distinctly reserved) that I assassinate my friends in the most discrete manner which afterwards leaves me disgusted with myself. I finished my Christmas confession by saying that it is a behavior which I urgently need to change. Gossip is a dreadful habit of the tongue.


And so this was Christmas.

Mantegna, Christmas day

boulangerie

Town was crowded. At the Boulangerie, a line had formed and snaked out into the street. The weather is warm, oddly so, after such Cold of the proceeding weeks. It took 5 minutes to get through the door where the line of wearied shoppers continued up to the caisse. At the head of the line, an older woman with a cane was being waited on by Anne, the owner. This is the time of year when everyone has ordered their special treats, most notably the famous Bûches de Noel, essentially, a long tube of sweetened butter. Dieters beware! (attention: ce qui soit au regime!)

In front of me was Claude Martin whose brother runs the movie theatre, and, like brother Pierre, he was born with an impish sense of humor. "Alors Nini... tu nous embête! Dépêche-toi!" to which she turned around each time raising her cane with a menacing air of mock anger. This went on for 10 minutes. I am always amazed at the sudden intimacy between people under such normally austere situations. "Nini!...Qu'est-ce-que tu nous fais la!!!"...... the exquisitely brief nicknames bandied about in a small town.

I picked up 5 large loaves to take to Grenoble this afternoon for dinner with Reidunn and her family. She is preparing a dîner pour douze personnes. A Norwegian Christmas Eve in Grenoble pour les fêtes, en fait.

This night, I dreamt that I was working two jobs, cleaning the pots and pans in two different restaurant kitchens! la Plongeur, quoi!

?

carousal

In Aix there is the carousal at the Rotunde. Before Christmas children everywhere are full of cheerful expectation, even the horses.

Francois de Asis

A long day in Aix. I am filming the painter Francois De Asis in his studio in town over the course of the year. Here is a small sample. He is such a remarkable man that I would need to write a book to even begin to describe what he is about. As I am not a writer, I have decided to visit him every so often and simply turn on the camera. John and Michele Gasparach accompanied me on this trip. These sessions last about three or four hours.I simply shoot while he speaks about a number of things relating to Art and Life. He has a lot to say, but also, more importantly, the logic to back his convictions. I already have about 15 hours and hope that we can continue. More about him soon.

Aix was quiet, I think that the economic crisis has softened everyone's enthusiasm over this holiday period. The Cours Mirabeau which is normally a bustling carnival was almost empty. It was raining though, quite hard (il tombait les cords) which didn't even manage to bring out the umbrella (parapluie) salespeople.

I drove home late.

solstice and santa

Yesterday, sat in a market (marché) all day like a sad dog where the crowd was rather thick, in every sense of the word... a Christmas crowd parsimonious, and even indifferent. It was a long grind and I realized that my time would better be spent looking for small stores for these ceramic pieces which I make. But on the other hand, it is also humbling, and this is always a good thing.

In town this morning I witnessed these Santas who had arrived from Die and swept through the small streets here.

Early this morning the white marbled sky seemed to extend all the way down into the snowy fields in the valley below. Helas, now, the warmer wind from the south has almost erased any trace winter.

birthday

Mistral has brought chilly nights, inky black and full of stars. This morning, pair of baby boars (sanglier) were foraging voraciously in the fields next to the house. Impossible (inutile) to distract them from their feeding frenzy. They were sitting ducks for a passing hunter. If I were carnivore, Christmas dinner would have been a rich one this year.

It was Melanie's birthday today, she is now 38. I called to wish her a bonne anniversaire. Poor thing, I think she gets lonely in Paris.

I moved this painting downstairs the other day.

150 X 150 cm

Cy Twombly!

It snowed all yesterday. I was supposed to go to Aix but because of the icy (verglas) roads I stayed in and watched the birds (mésanges) jump in and out of the pile of sunflower seeds outside the window. Funny little creatures making small Cy Twombly drawings in the snow.

This afternoon I shall brave my studio which is glacial.

skating on thin ice

Snow this morning, everywhere a white rug! (tapis) Apropos, I was just speaking with my Dutch friend Joyce about the snow, ice and other winter things when she  asked me out of the blue if I had ever ice-skated (patiné sur glace)? I replied that I used to play ice-hockey when in school. "Oh really" she said "why am I not surprised, you seem to do everything". I laughed, and suddenly remembered a story of me going to visit an old girlfriend (copine) in Amsterdam which I then recounted to her over the telephone. 

"It was winter, (I began) and we had planned to go ice-skating. She wanted to present me to one of her dearest friends at an outside rink. She had asked me well in advance did I know how to ice-skate? I assured her this was no problemo. Ha Ha. On the day in question, I cannot remember why, but we had been quarreling when we arrived at the rink and watched the Dutch skate swimmingly around the large oval. A devious inspiration manifested in my childish brain. I nudged my girlfriend over to me to indicate that there was a small problem. She looked at me as if expecting a complaint of a blister on my foot, or something equally as inane but I lowered my head appropriately to discretely inform her that I had lied, that in fact,... I did not know how to skate after all! Naturally (naturellement), she became annoyed with me, I could tell she was angry at the deception. "How could you lie to me?" she cried out loud.... it was the lie which upset her more than the fact that I would now embarrass her in front her old friend acting like a spastic. Shaking her head, she took off to begin circling the oval while I lumbered around the sides making myself ridiculous, Charlie Chaplin being in my mind. She looked over from time to time with exasperation as I fumbled around making a fool (imbecile) of myself. This went on for about ten minutes until I decided that I had gotten my revenge as silly as it was..... Poor girl, I wasn't an easy boyfriend. When I think about it now, I realize that to be in a couple, is to be in a state of war always. Usually though, its operating at the most subtle of layers (niveaux). 


Hell, Its no wonder I'm a bachelor.