Thursday, May 11, 2006

PRIOR TO THE ADVENT OF BLOGGING...


Cute notebook manufacturers were assured a hearty trade courtesy of my requirements...




Then one day I decided I could cover 'em just as well myself.



Paper: from Muji origami set
e.e cummings quote reproduced on Keri Smith's website. Colouring in of letters by me aged 30 and nearly 2 months.

6 comments:

Anonymous said...

What was that book or title by somebody or other? Brave new world? Just now I am watering the garden and the puddle developing is nearly in the garage, while I was viewing origami.... Disruptive having to nip out and move the hose, but I get pains if the garden is too dry. Weird that. Brave new world is every day and sometimes several times a day I guess. Not a good state to feel, all those years ago when it was raining dead in my family. I don't recommend most famous people. They are rough going. Funny thing about life, it is a question of how one behaves. Not slavery, but not comfy, as one is forceably persueded to be good ,- or else! Funny, you get to behave or you dont get born. Then you usually dont behave for a while and when you dont they kill you off. One seeks to find compromise. The pivotal things are to be tolerant and if poss find love and joy in life. If one does, one usually finds a new 'slot' and being 'on call' is suddenly not very important any more. They probably had trouble with some badly behaved prematurely dead disaster victims for a while, - a thing easily solved if you behave like a good boy, drink water, prove you can stand agony without mentioning it, concentrate while being shaken in a noisy environment, while smiling sweetly if possible. That is where Origami becomes the art of sanity. They beat the shit out of the Asian people who dont behave (seems to be a predilection) and then they get them to cultivate delicate arts like paperfolding. Weird weird weird.... I am a reformee. By sheer hilarious coincidence I modified my unreasonable needs because I wanted to actually, (having spent 2 years making a 'stand' against being bullied). I hope this reads as hilariously as I think it is. Fact is I rather enjoy the outcome. I am intact and peaceful now, have been for years (it's hard to forget) ever since I gave up that being addicted to somebodies version of vices which I thought were ordinary little foibles like cigaretts (I stopped back in 99). Then I began a bit of a study of various enforced conditions around the globe and I discovered, the most important thing is love. Not origami, not possibly the world record in silent none thinking meditation, not any none existant physical condition, but simply trying to love those who for some assinine seeming reason relating to other peoples lousy jealous opinions of me at the time, thought they had to torment me. Mad though it sounds, exepting a few of them pertaining to watery path etc, loving the poor so and sos who tormented me because some barmy nana had a preconceaved idea of me and resented me like mad, which made them suffer as well, solved a very great many problems. The joy of life and the love of the just gets me there where it is calm. My problem is in any event that I am too affectionate. I love the Chinese paper arts which are exquisite, they exhibit for one day, and then they burn them again. A passing touch of dejavu and a melancholic moment. I love life. I always find myself going on to the next exquisite drop of water on a branch or blossom. J.C.s secret was, he loved life. I took a leaf out of his book too. This I describe as the art of being tought how to be human. Don't use dirty words, toe the line, love thy tormentors when these are just and we might just all live longer and get the chance to experience emotions which are our true heritage and freedom which is unbridled. The price is good behavior and that seems reasonable in the end. Hurrah Tomorrow I live another precious day! I love Joy.

Bombay Beauty said...

Well done! I didn't doubt that you had it in you...

In the days before blogs, I used to have my
refrigerator.

Cheers,

BB

Lola is Beauty said...

BB your refrigerator is world famous - I have chanced upon it more than once in the googlesphere! Usually when trying to find out if D's book has been translated into English so I can read it instead of pretending to be able to read it! And up comes 'my damned monocle' on your fridge.

Anonymous said...

What a colourful fridge. Potsdam was one of these places of dragons and statues of artists fond of leg lacking illustrations. Not to mention the Greek theme here and there. Rafael copies in the Orangerie and a displaced Bath which could have been from Nero's villa once. OK I guess if one likes whispering trees....... Certain piquant associations on that fridge, charming I am sure. :)

gracia said...

Glad to have found your little blog world... from a fellow fan of coloured in letters.

sophie said...

Sometimes Fridges, especially world famous ones, remind me of things I thought long forgotten. Sleeping under the curtains on a cold winters night in an artists studio, a few bars of the Camina Burana, skinny dipping in the old danube arm of a summers day, visiting some guy who rebuilt a ruin on the Kahlenberg into a glass fronted building instead of a robbing knights rough pad, roasting potatos in an open fire, smuggled russian antiquities, tiny little theatres in unexpected places, roses and roses and roses strung out through a city beside itself with palaces and pomp and people too blunt to realise chewing gum does not really belong in the mouth of somebody staring at a nice Duerer Altarpiece in a palace museum. The streets there were full of these purply coloured sausage type carpet length worms hanging out of doorways twisting the visitors around and around until quite giddy and queasy. Once a month the Jesuit priest visit their entombed bones in the church while their own bones are thin desperately dependent on prayers and the greed still goes on. Maybe in 3000 years it may stop? The gardens which are woven through the city full of glorious faked buildings after the war sport gashes of graves and coffee stains the size of puddles and the earth quakes were they just shot people. Hysterically the Waltzes go on with faces who's grins are as fixed as the Venetian masks and they drip with the pomp of newfound guilding and brocades. The Augustinii who's founder was or wasn't in Hippo, did or didn't confess had a song different to the Bedraengnismesse by Haydn, oh Du lieber Augustin alles ist hin hin hin.... And the young who grow up there among the newly restored shiny white palaces who sport different exhibitions every month, to keep the insatiable sated with art and the bored travelling to see see see more gold, more crushed lapiz more coffee klatsch and culture like the macabre city of the forgotten soul who wilts seeking moisture in the music which still fills churches and halls. I ran and ran and ran, what there was, faded, though newly restored and most of the rich are wearing incontinence pads because they still don;t admit its greed for gold and stones which makes the ones who cannot cry anymore. I dont go back anymore. The last time was a funeral.