Over the Edge, touching clouds...

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And this marks the moment when 3rd year drifts in time, to memory and reflection. Like the ripples in a still pool, churning currents on the embankments. Build me a river, so that I may travel, not to anywhere, but to travel is in the reward unto itself.

I made my presentation. I didn't say a lot of things that I intended on saying, mainly down to nerves. It is true what is said about presenting. There are 3 presentations exist in the ether for every one you are tasked to make. The one you prepare for, all the images and the texts and the thoughts you have beforehand. The presentation which actually occurs, the minefield that it is. And the one which haunts you with hindsight.

"Haunted by Hindsight." or "Hunted by Hindsight" Things to think on.

And now the real test begins, time to pour out of my mind all the things which have been trapped. Time to unveil the thoughts and images which lurk. Time for time, to take and use. Please don't let me waste this summer.

I have to go to Glasgow today for an exhibition for my works with Sian Lidgate. Hope this opens up some doors or something. Work would be nice, especially the kind attached to moneys. Leaving at 3pm... long day.

Aci~

Presentating, Much a Making of a Fool

Having to present yourself, means you think you're worth presenting. This occurring in coincidence with you realising you've been sleep walking through life, and have finally now realised you're at the end of a period of time you can't reclaim. Makes you really question wtf it is you've been doing....

Here's the brief for what I have to do, for Jamie.

Dual of Worthy Note

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Here's another progress shot of the Frogboy/Insediddle painting. Figured it would be worth showing my process... not that I have one. Less of a green sky now, I want to craft it so it adds to the drama... can anyone suggest how I might push the fish more into the background?

Aci~

Time, Thoughts and Hoover Holocausts

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It took me several tries to get a fitting title, even when I thought I had it, I went back to re-edit it. What is the worth in the beginning of things? I seem to see a lot of it, but the energy gives way or the attention shifts.

Here's a WIP I'm currently painting of the Frogboy. Trying to work in a little redesign and thought into his character, as it has been evolving over the time of his being 'made-up'. Any thoughts and comments would be appreciated yo.

I'm rather crafted in interesting beginnings, but once the development begins, I sort of wane. Terribly wane. Okay I just suck particularly badly at finishing things. This is a recurrent fault of mine, like a fault line across my mind and soul. Or some such.

Considering the limitations of one mind and one pair of hands, I need to come to the terms of what I will be willing AND able to keep going daily. I think I'm going to collate all of the efforts I'm currently working on and see which are working and which are not. Which are worth pursuing and which will kick the bucket, at least for now. So that my time is more focused and therefore I hope more valuable/constructive. The results of this I shall probably post in time to come...

A BIG SHOUT OUT HERE FOR ANYONE WISHING TO BOTH LINK TO AND LINK FROM THIS BLOG. Happy to do so, I'll be checking out fellow art bloggers and seeing which I find fascinating. Perhaps a shout out to them each post, just as a means of being communal.

Also I think this needs to go down in some manner of documentation. Nasal hell was unleashed a couple days ago within the enclosed confines of my room. Dormant there for who knows how long, has been a festering reek fest in the hallway. It's alias, The Hoover. The moment the switch was pressed, both mine and Violet's eyes widened questioningly. 'What the hell?' The smell was a combination of wet mould, ash, dust and weed. What a legacy to have left behind. -shudders- So we emptied, dissenfected, ousted and frebreezed the jebus out of the damn thing and hoped for the best...

Aci out~

Metaphor

I recently bought a book. Many books. The different kinds of books come in. Some are full of words, and are for the filling of my head. Some are empty of everything but blank canvas pages, and a longing to be filled by my head. And one of these is Metaphor.

A Metaphor is a metaphor for, is for fondling ideas, carressing them into existence. It is for taking the 2 dimensions of print, and arranging them as portals in a page turning world. Linking images together by feeling, or colour, or intensity or just whatever feels right at the time.

It is for scrawling notes, and words and meanings all for myself.. to horde and savour until the taste makes me dizzy. It is for snippets of otherworldly matters, stuck in adhesively by glue sticks and spit, and sweat, tears and the odd pint of blood.

Metaphor is a journey, and the journey is life. It's 4am dammit.

Reservoir Flood Gates

What I do, and where I write is something not even I'm completely aware of. I don't switch places in an attempt to hide. I don't know what works for me. I'm never completely sure when I begin. I'm willing to try something out, perhaps even when it is half hearted.

I know I have a problem with finishing what I begin. It is not that I find the old things boring, it is not that I feel them inadequate. It is down to circumstances changing, it is about where my head is at the time. If I could do everything I set out to do, I'd have to first work out how to create more hours of every day.

I'm not good with time manangement. Never, ever have been.

I showed you when I was ready to show you. And yet you react like i've done something wrong. Maybe I have, who knows, but it's like you're judging me. Why are you judging me on this? What do I have to do? That's what I'm trying to find out. I'm making the mistakes I need to make.

Busy doing Nothing.

Why am I procastinating, am I nervous. Yes. Am I stessed? I think so. Is there any alleviation from these things? Yes, avoidance. What is the purpose of these words? To fulfil those evasive actions was content, matter, meaning.

I wish I held the reigns of my creative energies more firmly.

Ears, the Anti-Doorbells. And How!

Write something here you mugula snoot!

It appears as though the past version of myself wishes me to attend to his wishes. You see I opened this posting page in my browser the night before, so that when I returned to the laptop, it was waiting for me. A clever device and trap for myself to continue writing on here. It also reveals some level of my thinking at 3 in the morning.

As such though, this journal is more likely to be pre-events of the day, rather than an account of it. Unless of course I make two entries per day. This is all dependant on time though.

I've started posting things on Deviantart again. Seems like something to do. I'm a little less hesitant about putting up things from what I'm working on, even the strongest ideas and so forth. Because well, they're a vital part of my collective works, y'know?

So I now move onto the matter of who or what Mugula Snoot is.. well I imagine from the essence of the sounds inherent in the name that the chracter is left handed. He would shift from one foot to the other often, to distribute the energies spent by each limb. Is a research scientist or inventor of some manner, specialising in the elements and existential variables involved in metaphoral organ transplantation.

Due to metaphors being made of their own very essences, any part of them would contain themselves. This makes transplanting a volatile and unpredictable endeavour. Since the after shock and consequences of grafting 'fragments' into other beings are so unstable, many have fled from the very notion of it. Ridiculing Mugula for his persistence in a damned field. Mugula took this to heart, to the very idea of a heart, and began his lifetime study of it.

Perhaps he was endeavouring to reverse the deaths of metaphors? But this stumbles into theoretical territory now. And contradicts my notion that dead metaphors still function within the world. This is leading somewhere you know. My ears are still blocked and ringing, furk furk furk. I hope they're amended by the time I have to make my presentation.