Penis sheaths

OK, after huge demand and the sound of one hand clapping I have published one of my more embarrassing moments (story two posts ago). In case you are not sure, I'm the one on the left with the red face and our guide Jimmy is on the right

Erupting dugong in Vanuatu

But it didn't end there (from previous post).
We heard tell of a dugong that villagers summoned from the deep so travelled down in the back of a ute to see it. Called by slapping cupped hands on the surface of the water, it swam in after about 30 minutes and lolled about in the shallows, all 4 metres of it. Now I should have noticed that the villagers only went in ankle deep but I wanted a closer look so floated out above it unafraid because it has no teeth and no arms and spends its day peacefully grazing seagrass.
The damn thing grabbed me between its big floppy nose and chest and dived to the bottom of the ocean. Ok I was in a bit of shock but things crossed my mind. Am I wrong about the teeth? Does a dugong know how long a not very fit man can stay under water? Thankfully no teeth and he let me go before I ran out of breath so no harm done except lacerations to the chest from his short bristly hairs.
On the way back our guide suggested having a look at the volcano. Now that has teeth! We walked high amongst a moon scape with the guide showing us where 3 people had died last year from flying boulders and after depositing us at the edge of the crater didn't notice again that he sat 50 metres away. It's a wonder I'm still alive I learn so slow.
The crater was deep and in the centre the lava was rolling and gurgling away golden bright in the smoky darkness. Slowly it got smaller and smaller until we couldn't see anything. Then B-Boom like the end of the world and a huge shower of lava gets flung high in the air. Denise started running and didn't stop until she got to the carpark. I had the video camera running but it only shows my feet with a long drawn out expletive. It was an amazing experience. In fact an amazing day!

Visiting Samoa reminded me of a trip to Tanna the most southern island of Vanuatu a few years ago. We decided to see a remote village so on guide book instructions took some food to give to the chief. We arrived at the village and were introduced to the villagers, the ladies just in fashionable grass skirts but the men in magnificent penis sheaths of what looked to be dried grasses. Which I at once coveted. Don't ask me why! After much sign language I found the chief sitting on a stool behind a huge bunyan tree and giving him the food tried to ask if I could buy a penis sheath. He watched me for a long time then his face lit up in a big grin and he summoned some of his boys and they led me inside said huge tree where tucked in corners and crevices were a great many of said apparatii. It was like the supermarket of penis sheaths, where they came from I knew not. Hand me downs, slain warriors, outgrown, I didn't want to ask.
Next thing I am disrobed and they are asking me to slip one on for size. I try to protest but they are having so much fun I do what I am told and they tie a piece of string round the end and then around my waist so the damn thing sticks up proud as a peacock.
So imagine this porky white interloper being led out into the compound amongst forty magnificent very black warriors and Denise has the video camera running and the other five tourists are falling about laughing. Not my very best moment.
Later at a waterfall for a swim our two guides deposited their sheaths and in deference to the ladies tucked their johnnies between their legs but of course in diving in, there were their menhoods peeking out like surprised possums!
Do you think I could get mine off! The knot they had tied was impossible to undo.
Still brings tears to my eyes.

To smack or not to smack

Does anybody else have an anti smacking law in their country? And what does that say about us? I am ashamed but in our little slice of paradise we have an unacceptable level of abuse against children the most vunerable members of any society. Who knows why. Warrior race. Frustration. The way it is reported. Any excuse is not good enough. The opponents of the law say it criminalises parents who give their child a light tap on the bottom to correct bad behaviour but in reality no court is going to prosecute for that. I don't mind either way but if it addresses the problem of child abuse which is what it is designed for then it's a good law.
I've had the pleasure of bringing up seven children over 41 years and in hindsight I was a much stricter father at 19 than I am at 60 equating to more smacks to make sure the kids conformed because I was unsure of myself as a parent. Strange because I was very unconformist myself. Later kids got no smacks and they seem fine. In fact they all seem fine. It's amazing how resilient children are. But not to abuse which just seems to perpetuate itself

Spring has sprung

It seems while I was away sunning myself
Spring has sprung
The blossoms rum
And I go on ad nauseum
I don't feel I deserve it! Spring that is, not the going on. I know I do that. But I can't take part in conversations here. How's your winter been? Wet and cold. How's the fishing been? Couldn't launch the boat. Ran out of firewood. Grew webbed feet. Frostbitten. Blown over. You think I can tell them about an endless summer in a little red convertible! Don't think so.
So I tell them I've got no home, no job and we all sit around and have another gin and tonic and fall into deeper depression!
My dog understands though. He enjoys spring, chasing rare birds off their newly made nests and digging up the vege garden

Sun and sand in Samoa

Oa mai oe
Posting ain't easy here in Samoa, is that a good enough excuse! Lovely sun and sand and people, simple easy and relaxed, I'm almost asleep here at the computer! Stayed on Upolo and now on the bigger island of Saveii in a primitive fale on the beach, painting where I can and enjoying life.
Manwea leosa

House building

Can't find a place to rent so the pressure is mounting for me to build a house again. Started my first house in 1972 at the height of my hippy period. We spent all our money buying 50 hectares of undeveloped land with friends Paul and Smiley and no jobs so were dirt poor, eating from our large garden, the ocean and the occassional wild goat or big fat eel from the river. With wife, three kids and a woolley one eyed dog who I trained to nip the backsides of only women to make them work faster ( I lie, he trained himself!)we were living in a small shed and caravan with a woodstove, outside bath and sauna and a washing machine driven by the rotary hoe. So you understand the pressure. I designed a ten sided two storied pole house with dormer windows and half round log cladding. It did look simple on paper! It only took five years! For a start with no money I had to find work to buy materials and we had no power so it was down to chainsaw and hand tools and a few disasters like the bridge breaking under our truck full of metal for the driveway and smashing all the window panes over the back of my head in the car while chasing our runaway bull. But ultimately it was a success, it's still standing even if my marriage isn't. Perhaps I should get someone else to build the next one!

Samoa

Don't tell anyone but I'm off to Samoa tomorrow. I know I have only just arrived back from two months holiday but 'Her indoors' has had enough of the wet weather and wants 12 days in the sun. Can't blame her. Of course I'll take a roll of canvas and paints and won't go swimming or lie in the sun or eat pineapple under a coconut tree. Yeah right!! Maybe a cocktail after a hard days work.

Paint

Warmed the paints up with a couple of pictures above. It's good to be back at the easel.

Studio

Still cold and wet outside so to avoid sculpture I cleaned out the studio. Haven't painted for a couple of years and I don't look after my stuff. Brushes were crusty and had to dig into the paint tubes in the hope of moisture. Nice though. The space is high in the house reached by a rickety ladder and I'm left alone. Big with light from the four points of the compass it allows me to stop and dream. And then? To the pallet knife. Memories of days making concrete tanks with plaster over chicken wire. The oil paint thick and luscious the magenta somehow heroic the white is white. Is the result OK? I like to go up next day and surprise the painting. The sudden viewing quickly finds faults. Does it work or is it out to the sculpture again.
I think I'll become a rock star!!

My wonderful, tolerant hosts (put cursor on photo)

Wet and Wild

Wow home again after 30 hours of stumbling from plane to plane. Sometimes I wish we were closer to the other side of the world but most times I am glad of the distance.
Flaxmill Bay is still where I left it but very waterlogged. It has been a very wet and wild winter and friends and family have a glazed look that shows they are over it and it's time for the sun to shine. I tell them about the bad summer England has had and all they have to look forward to is winter, but I guess it's all relative.
So it's back to pick up the pieces (literally because my tall double figure sculpture lies in bits on the ground, victim of the high winds), demolish our little house on the hill, find somewhere to move to and prepare for Jason and Paul to take over the restaurant. And, of course, use all the inspiration I found on my trip to make art. It's a rollercoaster ride when I'm viewing art, sometimes when I see something that takes my breath away I say to myself who am I to make a mark, but a lot of the time I see ordinary art and it encourages me to keep going.
The rain is dancing a funeral march on the roof again, it's funny, if we were in the middle of a drought it would be dancing an Irish jig! It's only a state of mind!

Time for home

   I leave the Continent for England tonight and fly home in three days after tying up some loose ends. It's been a great trip but I'm looking forward to family and my own bed! I think my memoirs will be called '"The Floors I Have Slept On''They are going to have to pull me screaming from my little red car, she has been so much fun.

    Marty and I have been recording a song so perhaps the aging rock star on my CV will come true, look out for the CD in your nearest trash can! Met Hans another artist who paints every day and sells once a year so it seems the struggling artist is the same the world over. I know selling isn't the only criteria but all the artists I have met would like to sell and it would free them up from doing other jobs to make a living.

    Talk to you from HOME 

   Hey getting close to the end of my trip. Dropped Nik back to Lake Constance and had a last lunch with his lovely family then flew up (in cappaccino) through Germany to the Kroller Muller museum in Holland which I visited in 1984 and which has been my world favourite and gave me inspiration for the Egg. So I wondered if it could be as good 24 years later. It was better. Still has the free white bikes to cycle through the forest and the museum is set in a very large sculpture garden (forest) with works by Rodin, Arp, Maillol etc. and our very own Chris Booth who has done a very large stone sculpture (million dollar budget and a year to make) which holds up well against the international lineup. The museum houses a large collection of Van Goghs (marvellous) and important works by Tolouse la Trec?, Picasso, Cezzane, Pissaro etc and an artist I hadn't come across before but liked, Toorop. The whole experience is a great way to view art, relaxed and easy. 

     So to Groningen the northern most city in Holland to visit Gerben and Mirjam who stayed and worked with us at the Egg last year. They have a spacious flat within walking distance of the city centre and they welcomed me into their house and life (I am a rich man indeed!). Spent the next day in the far north amongst canals and windmills and dairy farms with huge houses and barns and fresian cows happy on good grass in the 32C heat. We have 4 million people in NZ on a land 8 times the size of Holland which has 17 million but in the north it feels like there is plenty of room.

     Did the city next day, a little run down round the edges but has a bustling centre with many cafes and a well designed museum (Mantini?) which is set in water and as you go down levels you get different views from the windows. A Chinese exhibition was showing with some way out stuff from when they broke out of the cultural dark times. Home to cook for my hosts and enjoyed meeting their friends for Gerbens birthday party

     Farewells next morning then meandered down the coast and across the big dyke built during the depression in 1932. Very windy and the sea brown so didn't take a plunge (haven't swum in the sea yet on my journey) and ended up at Martys place in south Holland. He is an artist and part of the Rolling Stones tribute band The Rollicks who I met when they toured NZ. He lives by himself and his house is typically Marty, shambolic, with guitars and sound systems and paintings and drawings all over the place. His 13yr old son stayed over so I took them to the Kroller Muller which is only an hour away and they hadnt heard of it!

      Played poker till 5am at a friends place so excuse the grammer im (I still cant find the apostrophe!) not at my best.

         Talk soon  

Alpine Herders

Stayed in Berlin another couple of days having curryworst at the famous diner under the railway bridge and pig knuckle on mash with saurcraut? Saw the modern art museum but nothing exceptional apart from some Kiefers. However at another exhibition saw some very good bronzes by Louise Christine Thiele'
So again very fond farewells and back on the road. I'm composing a song called the 'autobahn blues' about the big black air conditioned missiles that blow past at 200kph and upset my little red car but I've got good music on a good stereo and wind in my hair and carbon monoxide in my lungs!!
And the winner of my next visit was.... Magdalena the alpine cow herder extraordinaire. Started climbing (in the car) after Chur in Switzerland and reached the end of the road high in the alps and then had another 30min walk straight up to the ski resort (in winter) of Alp Dado where M and Ricarda and Marie milk 106 cows for cheese made in the valley below. The house is at 2100m but the girls have to climb another 300m in altitude to bring the big boned brown swiss cows home for evening milking. Stunning views of the mts still with some snow and the valleys below and silent apart from the cow bells in the distance. Nik (Lake Constance) and Anne (France) turned up so it was quite a reunion. Cooked venison fillet and pork for 15 and we guitared and grappaed late into the night. Don't want to talk about how I felt the next day!
It must be the thin air and the exercise but I have never seen three girls eat so much, they live and dream about what is coming out of the oven next! Great thunderstorm striding around the mountains gave the impression we were close to whoever is up there and there is just a big feeling of peace so far away from the bustling world.
So with three proposals of marriage for my cooking not my body it was with regret my little car made it's way down to the real world.

Berlin

So a short trip up to Kesswil a nice little town on Lake Constance near the German border with no address for Nik, walked around town and then found him unexpectedly on the road home. He is a journeyman stone cutter a system that has been in place since the middle ages. They are trained by a master craftsman and then have to leave their village and not return home for a number of years, travelling by foot working in their speciality. Nik had been away for 4 years and was returning home with other journeymen to ceremoniously shed his clothes and become part of 'normal society' again so it was party time with his lovely family and friends and a night time throwing him in the lake with old songs and much joy.
Spent two days with him and then a long autobahn (11 hours) journey to Berlin to see Rainer and Petra who came to the Egg as customers but have become special friends. Rainer from West Berlin worked in East Berlin before the wall fell as head of Depts at Humboldt University and was involved in the repatriation of prisoners from the Stasi time and Petra from East Berlin works as events manager at the same university. Rainer has a small apartment in the centre of the city and loves to walk the streets so I have had my own personal guide for history and culture and I can see why Petra has a love of travel after being imprisoned for so long in her own country.
Berlin is a city of contradictions with the old and the new the ugly and the beautiful and to me it has a great feeling with wide avenues and many parks. Again if you are in the mood for the city (and have a good guide) it helps so much towards the enjoyment, not to plan to see everything but to discover it like a Chinese scroll, weaving in and out of the past and the present.
Had a wonderful morning with Ruth Tesmar head of the Arts Dept. A great artist herself she has places for students but also studios of her own high in the roof of the Uni full of objects and printing presses and installation projects and has such a passion for art that my mind opened like a flower to her and when I finally stumbled outside it was like into another world.
So maybe a few more walks then who knows, milking cows in the Alps with Magdalena, Denmark to see Jens and Margit, Netherlands to see Marty and Gerben and Mirjam, so many options and only 16 days left.
I've loved the trip so far, no pressure, taking it day by day and reconnecting with good friends.

Switzerland

Hi again, with friends Felix and Anna in Dattwil near Zurich. Lovely countryside but the architecture a little too square and conservative. Lots of sculpture though and I met Martin a dynamic sculptor in stone, metal and wood and with Felix translating understood a little about life as a sculptor in Switzerland.
Enjoyed Basel with the fantastic Beyler Museum. Beyler is an art dealer who bought paintings personally from Picasso and has one of the finest collections I have seen. Not only famous artists but some of their finest paintings. Also saw the Tanguly Museum but after a while the machines became too much.
Felix, also an artist, hates computers so I am helping him by creating a catalogue of his works so he can more easily sell himself which he also hates to do (dont we all!).
Finished my stay in France at Salesta near Strausborg and enjoyed time with Frank a stone sculptor who is living in and helping to renovate an old castle. Passionate but poor (sound familiar) he doesnt know how long he can continue without more work. He is organising a two day exhibition with his mate Jim where Frank will provide percussion with hammer and chisel on a sculpture while Jim plays incredible music (he gave us a recital) on his 24 string guitar from India. Such talent. He showed us through the castle late at night with only a candle which only illuminated small parts at a time so was full of surprises. It was on the medieval salt trail and travellers could only pass through if they left some salt.
Tomorrow I am off to Kesswil on Lake Constance to see if I can find Nikalaccio a stone cutter who spent some time sculpting at the Egg in the summer.
I hate to tell you but I am in love with my little red car!
Ahhhh the things we do!

In France and stuggling with the French keyboard! Loved the cultural scene in St Ives but time to move on and took the boat from Plymouth to Roscoff and to Annes cousin in Avranches through the lovely calm French countryside. Nice to have a French lady with me to translate the language and the landscape. Then on to her parents place in St Germain du Pert near Caraten in Normandy where the Americans came ashore during D Day. They were disappointed that I didnt want to see the monuments but I enjoyed helping Aubere with the renovations of his old farmhouse.
Its hard Im running out of computer time .
Au Revoir

St Ives

Climbed high above the town normal and quiet to find French Anne and a bed on her hard floor. Saw Tate nice but not inspiring but Barbara Hepworth museum and garden fantastic I spent two hours in the garden in contemplation. Met wonderful old irascible woman on the street and bought her a drink and met more cornishmen and now I have a local to have a warm flat beer in!

You looked and away
And growled
Give me your money
And laughed
When I gave you
The time of day and
A bloody mary
To hear your story
Of husbands gone
And dead sons
And if you were
Twenty years younger
You'ld pinch my arse!

Awake with broken back and bones then on the street again. Much more to the town than first impressions. Peel back the veneer of the tourist promenade and there is some damn good art. Met Bob in his gallery and treated to his life, his poetry, his friends and his paintings. He closed the gallery doors to recite and talked for two hours with him about life and art. Shambolic, learned with a good soul he only shows paintings away from the mainstream so doesn't sell a lot, more it's a place for his artist friends to drop by.


Rip, rip, rip, rip it up Bob
Your pink, pinkprint for living
Will leave you destitute
Your friends will be artists
And you will ask the people you meet
For their souls to burnish
And to Hepworth their gardens

So I hope it's not left to me
Neither wordsmith nor
Minstral enough to sing
Your sweet song
But will take the vision given
And J, J, J, Appleseed it
In rows of fertile minds

It's the first time I have been in a place where I have had the time luxury of saying I will leave some art for tomorrow!

Down to St Ives

Fond farewells to Billie and John. She is a great artist but it's hard to convince her and others of it. Her sense of balance and colour is totally instinctive and I wish I had half of it.
Went out to the Cornwall coast and travelled small roads down to Padstow to sample Rick Steins' food but the town was packed presumably because it was Sunday and I couldn't even get into the carparks. So down to St Ives, houses plain. The stone houses I remember must be further south, coast wild with occassional sandy beaches cramped with cars and people.
St Ives no exception, you have to park well out of town but the harbour surrounded by the town is exceptional. I can see why it has attracted so many artists, they say there are 146 galleries! Everything is focussed on the jewel of the harbour from house windows to the shops to the people and the little streets tumble together cobbled and uneven, little doorways flower pots and big angry gulls swooping down to snatch you food. People mainly English day trippers, refined older couples with nothing to say or large (in stature) younger families noshing on fish and chips and icecreams. Inspired young singers voice rolling out over the harbour, cornish pasty and bed with the Euro final.