Selvedge snob

Now I am vain I admit it, I have at various times adorned myself with jewelry and piercings (nose, eyebrow, lip, ears) but have always moved on, bored with that particular caprice (am just left with my 12mm ear plugs and tattoos) but I have never been the worlds worst fashion victim. However I have been doing my research and realised that I am a denim snob, not the £200 + kind but if it aint selvedge I don't want it, so unaware was I of this affliction that whilst I knew the term never really thought about it. However on Friday I picked up a pair of Lee 101B Dry in a sale and got that total sense of consumer satisfaction, it was an itch that needed to be scratched, I have also read that I shouldn't wash them but wear them until they get a distinct patina which can take up to 6 months, can't wait.

On another note, I wonder how many people out there enjoy the decadent pleasure of oatcakes with stilton and baked beans? I was introduced to this delicacy many moons ago whilst at art college and had forgotten it's sublime taste and texture until just the other day when it popped into my head, so simple , so exquisite, try it.

Rockkkkkk!

Now am not really a rocker but I do like a guitar solo, and I listened to this track for the first time in ages - possibly a year even - and oh wtf, it almost brought a tear to my eye. The solo on 'Oh, Sweet Nuthin' totally rules (I am doing the sign of the horns as say that out loud), top banana!

Heavens End

I think it's the apocalyptic Kali Yuga side of me that looks forward to the world disappearing into a black hole (actually I would settle for France) after they crank up the uber cool Large Hadron Collider (LHC) next month. Nestled under the Franco-Swiss border, eggheads will fuck shit up egghead style recreating the building blocks of the universe, how cool is that? I can't wait to see the stars going out one by one and imagining some geezer in a white lab coat mumbling "oh bugger" as it all goes black, watch this space....

Soundtrack: Fix to Fall - Loop

On the perception of time...

We are constantly reminded of what an accelerated culture we live in, of how fast our lives are. Days, weeks and months seem to breeze past without a trace leaving many of us with a feeling of anxiety that somehow we are missing out. Constantly bombarded by media images we are told we should be off somewhere exploring the world or our inner selves, we should be meditating with saddhus in India or riding rapids in North America or following the Inca trail, soaking up experience for experience sake. But surely we need a context to our travails, without this we are just chasing our own tails. With this in mind, I had the last week off work (just need to use up some leave time). I had nothing planned, no schedule, nothing to run around for, and for a short time actually slowed down. There was no feeling of constant motion, of acceleration, mainly just peace and quiet, it was only the five days but it felt like two weeks. I guess what I'm trying to say is that from time to time we should all (where possible) take time to do nothing, there that's it.

Untitled (Red Cross) 2008

Well, I always figured one of the main reasons for my current incarnation was to learn patience, I am naturally very impatient and struggle constantly with my need for thought to be translated instantly into results, but today I have finished my most recent artistic endeavour not too soon nor too late and I am entirely satisfied both with the result and the manner of it's creation.

For me painting is a journey, this is what separates it most from the graphic arts; when you start the end point is less certain than if you were designing a poster or a magazine cover -- not that I am any kind of designer -- but the process is as important as the end product, something which I am slowly but surely trying to apply to the rest of my life and try to remember 'Life is a marathon, not a sprint'.

Today I buried a pigeon

Still warm, I placed it's broken, melancholy form into the freshly dug hole as the rain fell from the grey skies of a typical English summers day. Was it suicide or was it an accident? The unfortunate bird had struck the window in my mothers house with such force that it was thrown back five feet, landing in a crumpled heap and leaving an eerie ghost-like impression on the glass.

Up to that point it had been an unremarkable day, I had gone round to my mums as I hadn't seen her in weeks and was showing her some family photos on Facebook in another room when we heard the sickening thud, at first it was a mystery we couldn't see what had happened but my mum soon noticed the a strange mark on the window, and it was only then that I looked outside to see the recently deceased avian.

We couldn't just dump it in the bin and we couldn't leave it -- the cats would play with it -- so interment was the only option; a shallow grave, a couple of bricks to (hopefully) stop the foxes and voila!

Then it was back inside for a coffee and biscuits, and a discussion on how the poor little blighter had met it's end, which was inconclusive.

My painting is coming on nicely, my tattoo is itching, there is a pack of oreos which is calling my name.

Better late than never, right?

Well I guess it's about time I got rid of some the junk that nestles in the silt of my brain and what better way to do so than with a blog, I can spew forth my inane ramblings and occasionally shrewd observations into the blogosphere for all to see, read etc.

So what's on the agenda? Well strangely today not all that much: my latest tattoo -- pictured -- is healing nicely, no I'm not a Communist, well not a real one, but I do like a red star!