Hey Girl…

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So it’s been a while. Internet – I apologise. My film’s in post-production which has stirred up a whole lot of work. Work which I deemed necessary to practice severe levels of procrastination to avoid. I achieved this (with honours) by completely re-arranging my house. In doing so, and moving a very large wooden cabinet from the kitchen into my bedroom, I discovered the reason why it may have been put there in the first place. A gaping big hole of peeled paint.

Never one to resist a challenge, nor an opportunity to create a collage – particularly when that collage is of the great Barry Humphries (AKA Dame Edna Everage – Australian comedy royalty) – I rose to the occasion using a great shot I found in a 1970’s edition of Interview Magazine. As his new position was to be over our chopping block, I captioned it accordingly. How ‘come hither’!

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Close Encounters of the Canine

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Collage Me If You Can. Wait. No. Collagic Park? Of the 51 Director titles that Steven Spielberg has listed on IMDB, you’d think I could come up with a great wordplay for this collage. Wait – Nope. Nothing. Not even a dog-related pun. Wait – Close Encounters of the Canine. THERE IT IS. Changing the title of this post right now. See you later Collage Me If You Can…ine?

So – the collage. It’s a young Steven Spielberg circa 1978 with his dog Elmer. The story on there is about loneliness.  And you guessed it, it’s pigment and water, white acrylic paint and black ink pen. The imagery comes from the book ‘Romance and Chivalry’ (not sure of the author – I’ll look into it – that’s not a promise though), a bag from the Museum of Modern ArtInterview Magazine (edited by Andy Warhol) and The Beatles’ Yellow Submarine book by Max Wilk and Lee Minoff.

There was that day when mum was away in Adelaide and Tan picked me up from the hospital because I’d fallen down the stairs and broken my finger… I sat in the wheelchair because I had a bruised back and twisted ankle (and also for dramatic effect) using very colourful language when she came to the hospital. She dropped me home. The house was empty and I felt so alone. So I let all the animals inside. And I spooned the dog on the sofa.

Sometimes you’ve just got to get cuddling.

KarlLage

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And I didn’t even plan the title. I swear. KarlLage?! Are you kidding me here? It’s a collage featuring a young Karl Lagerfeld? It certainly does appear that all of my linguistic Christmases have come at once.

Anyway, the collage – Again it’s pigment and water, white acrylic paint and black ink pen. The imagery comes from Interview Magazine (edited by Andy Warhol)The Beatles’ Yellow Submarine book by Max Wilk and Lee Minoff and some wrapping paper from the 60’s that I found. It’s about having to be stern when you really just want to carry on like a pork chop. Karl’s got his standard expression with a sneaky Mona Lisa smirk creeping through while he lays down the law.

Be a sport.

Please stop being so wicked.

KarlLage. I mean really.

Collage-mahal – Ducks by the pool

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I can’t completely justify the title of this post aside from it being a witty play on the word ‘collage’ and I studied architecture for 7 years so the Taj Mahal holds some relevance for me personally…? Yeah I know it’s a stretch. There isn’t even anything remotely Indian in the above image. Sorry for not really being sorry and being rather pleased with myself instead.

Anyway, here’s a collage I made after heading out to the modern man’s Taj Mahal, aka Ikea, to buy more frames. Frames possibly made in India. And there’s that Taj Mahal creeping back in again.

Sorry. The collage. So it’s pigment and water, black ink and while acrylic paint. The images come from a magazine called ‘Interview’ from the 1970’s edited by the man himself, Andy Warhol. And they coaxed a little story out of me about the birds that hang around the house where I grew up.

How about dad when he used to chuck bungers at the sulphur crested cockys to stop them eating all the passion fruits?! Where did he even buy those? They were so noisy.

Yeah. The bungers and the cockys.

I don’t know how the ducks got away with leaving green poo around the pool all the time.

Way worse.

Mind you, passion fruits are pretty yum.

Duck 1: Ha! We get away with murder because we are so lovely.

Duck 2: I think it’s our appealing rounded bills. Duck bills.

Duck 3: We coined it and the platypus’ used it after that. They must be annoyed that we beat them to the punch.

Duck 4: Nah I heard that they’re ok with it.

Until my next eagerly anticipated collage word play.

Collage-nikov : Sausage Man

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Went to Ikea, bought a bed frame. Went back to Ikea, bought a picture frame and…BANG! (There’s that kalashnikov reference we were looking for) Made a collage.

The detail is pretty rubbishy online as it’s such a big image (about 80 x 60 cm) and I took a terrible photo on my iphone (I promise to get better at it), but its a collection of images from various sources (movie poster, Interview Magazine, Archetype Magazine, a Dictionary written from some guy’s personal experience) and some handy work of my own using loose pigment and water, white acrylic paint and black ink pen. It’s basically all about Peter Thompson (the local butcher from Mona Vale where I grew up – we called him Peter Thompson Sausage Man) moving to Tasmania. The story seemed to speak nicely to the images.

Oh! I almost forgot to tell you! Did you hear about Peter Thompson Sausage Man?

You mean the butcher in Mona vale who looks like this: [drawing of Peter Thompson with sausages and a cleaver]? And who makes those little tiny pork sausages that are so nice with a big family roast?

Yes! Peter Thompson who used to give us a free sausage in a bag when Mum went in to buy dinner!

Oh, I thought that was the butcher by Franklins and Peter Thompson is on Pittwater Road.

Oh. You might be right.

Maybe.

Anyway, I think he’s moving to Tasmania.

Hanging this thing up in my new SF room until I become such a highly sought-after artiste that thieves are literally breaking into my house to steal my stuff and sell it online for exorbitant amounts of ca$h money to art lovers who want to put them in shrines. That’s me – the art lover trying to buy my stuff back. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have made ‘art lovers’ and ‘shrines’ plural.