Tweve Angry Men

It's interesting watching the characters emerging from rehearsals of a play I am in called 'Twelve Angry Men' which I think was written by Reginald Rose (it's difficult to pinpoint the original playwright because so many different versions have been produced and made into film). It's about a lone dissenting juror in a murder trial who gradually brings all the members to his way of thinking but it's also a play within a play about twelve real life men shut up in a room twice a week with egos and agendas.

Collage

Back to collaging. I like the way it fragments the image.

Confusion

Confusion reigns for me at the moment. Should I paint/collage/sculpt and can I? Should I earn a living/need to/want to. Am I worthy/despicable/ordinary. If I had one year left to live would I be angry/sad/indifferent/change anything.
In this state I tend to look outside myself for direction when all the time it is my motor that needs overhauling.
Go back to simple things and just do, I say to myself, without thought of approval/dollars/time.
I started writing this blog because I felt a need to express myself through words but I've met so many brilliant blogger friends that lately I feel I am trying to keep up with them and not doing what comes naturally.
Naughty boy. Denise is in Australia with her Da and Sam is at the mountain snowboarding so the house is my studio and I'll be messy and eat biscuits and collage to my hearts' content.
Yes I've made a decision!!

Change of pace

Of a sudden I notice the light is coming earlier and wonder if I am apace with the seasons. I feel I should be but fear I am not. It takes time to warm the sea and green the land and yet I exhort my silverbeet to stop sulking and provide my dinner.
Nature has spent her wintertime here smoothing the footfalls of man. A pretty shell is left unturned on a deserted beach, the rabbits are bolder and the fish, without an obstacle course of hooks and propellers, are closer to shore.
The change is imperceptible, but once noticed, becomes change itself at any pace

The Time of Year for Tax

Preparing my tax returns is like eating chilli, I'm so glad when the pain is over and the warm, fuzzy feeling pervades. Until I have to pay the tax and that's much worse! Imagine if there were no taxes and you paid for everything as you used it. Sounds like a fairer system. If you can't afford it, you can't have it. A tax is OK if it is distributed well but now it seems to be swallowed up in a bottomless pit and we still have to pay for health, education etc.
Our Prime Minister John Key (what is it about him that I can't take seriously, he looks like a small boy caught in the headlights) said for the first time yesterday that we are coming out of the recession. The only (among other things) thing is that he rose to the top as a financier and is likely to pursue similar bad ethics to aid our recovery.
We ain't gonna learn so maybe we should give money for driving a small car or being a lifeguard or fireman or living in the country or bringing up a handicapped child or making music or luvin one another.
Channel materialistic urges towards good.
Yeah I'm dreamin'

Flight of the daughter

We farewell our youngest daughter Sarah this morning. She has given up her GOOD JOB and is flying out to London for two years. Good on her, there is plenty of time for good jobs and mortgages and family. I hope she understands that if she goes belly up we will be here. It will make her braver to follow her dreams.

Edvard Munch dragged into the modern world by Pollicino

Anton Refregier

In the 1930s Anton Refregier one of the greatest social realist artists to have worked in America during that time made the following quote:

“In this middle period of the 20th century, we are faced with the dilemma of reconciling the profit motive and the cultural needs of the American people. There is no denying that the capitalist system has provided material abundance unknown in previous history. It has been less successful, however, in implicating the spiritual values which would make that abundance meaningful in terms of human satisfaction.
In consequence, we find ourselves in an anomalous position. The richer we get in possessions, the poorer we become in their enjoyment. The leisure we have earned by mass production is a source of worry and unease. We are not quite sure we know what to do with it. In short, the profit system is not capable of providing the fullest cultural development of the people.”

Pertinent today?

Life, film, life

What is it about films that they can move me enough to want to cry.I'm not a crying type of person. I remember when I owned my first dairy cow and went out twice a day to see if she had produced her first born. One morning I could see in the distance the little calf trying to struggle to it's feet which filled me with a sense of delight. However coming closer I realised why it was struggling. In her concern for the newborn the cow had accidently trodden on the calfs' leg and broken it which meant the poor little thing, fighting for life, had to be put down. I sat for a long time agonising about the unfairness of life before I found the courage to do what had to be done and my face was wet with tears.But its death was not in vain. It taught me to respect all life. In my job as a farmer I have since killed many animals from a pig for the table to an old, diseased dog wanting release (she had disappeared for three days to die but came back when it didn't happen and sat and looked at me) and have always paused and felt for the animal before the act.Anyway back to films. We saw The Reader last night and Kate Winsletts' performance brought me close to tears but there was an easy antidote, just watch Ralph Fiennes incredibly wooden performance. Does he ever change??