I read about Quentiin Crisp... the next day i met him.

East London - Saturday 17th May 2009

Quentin Crisp.... and then I met this man. I have to film him next week for Rankin and i thought today that id call to his home and chat and spend sometime with him before the day of filming itself, just to make easier for both of us. I took some shots of his home that i needed to get an idea for shots during filming and i also just took a few of him as we spoke... it wasn't really something i expected to get an image from but this one just stuck out abit. He is such a refined particular, peculiar man. That individuality and the evident elegance i found charming seems present here.

It was nice to venture on my own to shoot in a location i had no idea how to find.  Its late, I got a new job, and I'm also spending time working with Rankin Photography... so I'm lacking in eloquence but bursting with something. I hope to make up for this with images over the next months. Words are useless at the minute.

time for 40winks.

Tori Amos London this evening...

@Savoy Theatre

Some people are just powerful in a soft way.

July

me and mum

"When God was handing out souls, all i got was a wig and some toothpaste..."

Like beautiful robots

So its late... i saw mannequins and took a picture. They summed up something Im seeing over and over.

Im sleepy.

no money, 

not much food... Time to make those decisions i need to make and then something nice happens. Someone said ' ive never seen you so fragile ' after i night i had where i was excited and enjoying myself. 

define  "fragility"

 What is the definition of fragility:  the quality or state of being easily broken or destroyed

 I am not easily broken and i am certainly not about to be destroyed. 

It has a grave and urbane air about it now. All of life is putting on some kind of act or another & now I'm beginning to find it near impossible to anything other than myself. Rush to define it if you like. But i wouldn't . It all seems to trigger some kind of sadness that pervades the streets and faces i see in everyday life... like I'm sort of just witnessing it all as a voyeur never truly apart of it. 

Like the couple on the bus home.. drunk and curled up... one crying and one with a deadness in his eyes. They seemed to comfort each other but it looked empty to me, he was bored.. she was crying.. it was like watching a bad soap opera. Dull soulless dancing. I recognised i have played both those roles.

 I don't intend for  this to sound so depressing.. I'm actually truly quite invigorated but this aspect of life, and it  should be acknowledged.But There is strength in sadness and there is music in privacy. Sleep calls. 

BEYOND BELEIF 4 - Written by Chris Sutton ©

Inspired by the works of EVA-MARIA RASCHPICHLER / HAROON MIRZA. Exhibited @ Backlit Gallery.

20:13 20-04-09 –---------------------------------------------------

‘Have a nice night, you liar, you fucking hypocrite!’

it  hissed as it left the bar. I didn’t really care for people like him.

just enough time to think this before a man in a tight t-shirt just sat down and tried to show me with his eyes that he loved me for being so honest so fast and so late. i was going to explain to him that it wasn’t a performance, but a year ago it would have been, so i just let it go.

Confident/Loud/Forceful: the performance that was old. I recognized this in him.

The cracks seemed obvious, and the bulimic talking just Greys my heart/Blued my hands and/Red my face.

Breathe. Bite nails. Breathe. Pumping chest.

20:32 20-04-09 –------------------------------------------------------

It shouldn’t have but it did. The Loud false confidence and one-upmanship was suppressing my natural state. Overbearing loudness hid any subtlety of kindness I wanted to find in his eyes. Isnt’ that the way?

Today it was a Monday.

I saw myself as more of a sincere well placed water colour, transparent and not as rapey. I started to remember that he left, so I began to tap tap tap tappy out a text. Click. Im already beginning to try and appease his black and heavy weight. But the words felt damp and impotent. I kept tapping away, trying not to get wet.

00:46 20-04-09 –------------------------------------------------------

I stopped playing. Why does his angry heart define mine. Why couldn’t the harsh and the thoughtful exist in the same vein without the chance of heart disease.

So I sit in the white room silently thinking of the people around us. Who will want the obvious and who will want to look at him first before me. After 20 minutes they would always end up with free wine and wanting me more. So here is my warning, which is also my bragging promise

“the truth is: though you see the difference and the friction. We are silently making peace”

02:15 21-04-09 –-----------------------------------------------------

 the night bus home is alwaysthe wrost part. I set down may phone and I smell of sweatandbeer. The light is bleak and I want to be somewhere else and I realize. He might think he’s won. I smile. Breathe. But from where I stand I can muse in comfort on the lovely dead of yesterday, today and tomorrow. 

Illustration Courtesy of Howard Hardiman @cutebutsad.co.uk 

We've Only Just Begun...

Thursday May 7, 2009..

So.. I've been meaning to start a blog for over a year, so this is that first tipping my toe in the cold water of what the fuck will i saw on my blog. I have a personal pet hate for artists who get scared of an empty canvas.

So this is my : ' Fuck you, im starting even if i have nothing to say tonight ' 

...welcome to me...