Insomnia sketch: Crow Knows

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*watercolour pencil on black paper*

Crows are fascinating creatures. They are intelligent, fearless, and hilarious. I rather adore them.

This wasn’t always the case, though. I used to find them… disconcerting. I remember one night, having a dream that a Crow was rushing towards me; trying to get into my house through my open door. I tried to close the door in time, but Crow got in, right at the last minute. I woke in terror.

My superstitious side worried about the implications of it getting in. It bothered me for weeks. What was it now doing- down in the dark recesses of my subconscious? What did it mean?

Over the years I’ve drawn my own conclusions  (and I won’t bore anybody with that here) , but the Crow dreams continued. Curiously, as the Crows became increasingly amusing and sweet in my dreams, I began warming to them In Real Life.  Now I’m at the point  where my Crow dreams put me at ease. I can’t help but smile when I see them in the waking world. They’re like old friends.

I’ll leave you with some footage of some crows playing in the snow. So bloody cute. Also, here’s a lovely little vid of a Crow snowboarding, just to illustrate one of the many reasons why I just can’t get enough of them.

P.s. For those of you interested in learning about how Crows think and behave, I highly recommend reading Gifts of the Crow by John Marzluff. I’m only about 1/3 of the way through it, but so far it gets an enthusiastic thumbs up from me!

P.p.s. For anyone who clicks that link to the book description, notice how before you click on “more”, the line “They mate for life and associate with relatives and neighbours for years.” has been shortened, so it initially reads: ” They mate for life and ass” .  I wonder if that was intentional……. Anyway, sorry. Immature giggly times. Carry on..

Tetrachromat sees (or hallucinates) a Mantis-shrimp strawberry

It wasn’t there before, and now it’s here- languishing in the fruitbowl, listening to Planet Caravan by Black Sabbath on repeat. Where did it come from?  Maybe it was there all along…:

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*watercolour pencils ( with water and brush, obviously)*

I’m not as happy with this as I could be, but it took me all evening, so I’m posting it.

Pee Ess: a quick thing

First Pee Ess:

Just thought I’d mention that I’ve now added a new page to me humble blawg. I mention it because you’ll never actually see it if you’re just following  my postikins on your reader. It consists of a slow release, imaginary surrealist mag named “Ordinary George”, and can be found HERE , here, or even HeRe, if you’re inclined to have a squizz. I’ll be linking subsequent additions to it in the future, where we all wear silver.

Some other useful links:

Second Pee Ess:

In case you needed actual proof that my blog is the antichrist, I posted my last post at 7:06. The devil’s hour.

Anyway, nightynight from the frantic Australian lady. Smoochies x

Obscurity is three-masted*

When I was studying to become an Art School drop-out, I discovered , one fateful day in the University library, a Surrealist Games kit. Intrigued, and already determined to begin  procrastinating on the essay we’d just been set, I borrowed it immediately.

From that day, I was hooked. Over the coming months, I seized every opportunity to coerce my fellow student friends into sitting around a table with me to partake of surrealist writing games (and the obligatory cheap booze).

Eventually I succeeded in becoming an Art School drop-out, but my obsession with the role of chance as an aid to the creative process has endured. ( as has my love of procrastination, but that’s another post for another time; I’ll get around to it at some stage.. )

Whether it be imaginary definitions, cut-up poetry technique, or the joys of google translate’s epic sentence mangling capabilities, my  enthusiasm for literary lottery borders on creepy. My fridge is covered in magnetic prose. My “dining” table is cluttered with notebooks and  Surreal Sentence Generators- in the form of homemade card games, cardboard  word wheels with badly attached spinners, and little bags full of cut-out words. Mixed in are my daughter’s drawings, which aptly cover subjects such as bee vomit, Olympic cubes, and chickens selling hand cream.

So I thought it was about time to incorporate more of that sort of thing into my blawg. I’ve been self censoring too much; trying to be too linear  and relatable in my bloggage, and it’s just not working . For my own sanity, I need this place to be less of a “how do I  WordPress properly” affair , and more of the uninhibited outlet it was originally intended to be. In short: things are gonna have to get weirder.

And with that, I’ll leave you now with some freshly frankensteined  cut-up poetry I done didded the other day.

(For those of you unfamiliar with the cut-up technique, here’s the basic idea: Take a block of text, such as a magazine article, or page of a book. Cut out every word of said text, and place them in a small bag or container of some sort. Shake them up. Remove words one by one, writing each down- or gluing them onto the page, as I did- in the order they come out. This forms your “poem”.)

Disclaimer: Admittedly, I did cheat a little by eliminating/ ignoring the more aesthetically boring, grammatically confusing combinations, such as: ” he which and are they  a were then as with”. But other than that, the direction of this poem was entirely dictated by the element of Chance. The original Surrealist idea is that whatever comes out is a representation of things hidden in your subconscious mind. Whilst the main attraction for me is the non-linear, twisty word rainbow of it all, I dig this Deep Darque Secret Mind Exploration idea in a Jungian way. Given that- and the fact that the text I used came from a randomly chosen page of a book I was reading months ago- I was amused and  a bit spooked  by the results!

 

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Above: Bonus ‘Not-Looking-At-Page’ drawing. “Poets hand Love hints in the dark”. Inspired by the last line. I wanted to draw Shakespeare ( for some reason. Do I need a reason?) , but then changed my mind and did a picture of Rowan Atkinson  as Lord Blackadder in Blackadder 2 instead.   

Conclusions:

It seems to be about ugly revelations, or hipsters with sailor tatts voting with irony for a laugh. Or about Art and love being a guiding light in darque thymes. Or about how Art perhaps inspires Love just as much as Love inspires art.

It’s stupidly deep and deeply stupid.

Bonus bonus: If anybody can correctly guess which famous novel I photocopied a page of and dismembered for this exercise, you will be correct in your guess.

YOU HAVE NOW REACHED THE LACY HEM OF THIS FULL LENGTH POST.

(the next one will be more of a mini, I promise)

*like a sparkling potato