I have just picked up the brochures for the Surrey Arts Open Studios I am taking part in at the beginning of June. I am slightly worried that the image used to best represent my work is currently in New York, along with all similar work, and that visitors to the studio will instead get a wall of half-completed 99ers.
Deposits have begun to come in for some of the said 99. Some of which haven’t even been painted yet so suddenly I have pressure. I’d like to say I thrive on it but alas, when pressure mounts, I hit the PS3…
View from Pompidou is one of a few Paris pics I’ll be painting. This is because I haven’t by any means travelled… Not exactly: ‘Philip’s work is inspired by his extensive world travels; hostile yet beautiful destinations; extreme climates and new peoples…’ More likely sheds, camping and bendy buses.
Currently showing: http://www.aafnyc.com/
Open studios: http://www.surreyopenstudios.org.uk/
Living the dream; working from home in the purpose built studio; growing tomatoes and brewing our own beer. Life is not bad, but what even better way to live this dream than to grow our own eggs too! So, after a couple of weeks locked away in the lab I conjured this up for Natalie’s birthday. I like a project. Major brownie points dished out as we arrived at the farm to choose the birds. Much googling had revealed that two chickens could be easily accommodated in the grounds of our three-bed semi, and it wasn’t long before Velma and Daphne were out of the run and exploring their new home.
Chickens are amazing! After a few weeks they began to lay deliciously tasting, perfectly formed goodness. They are child friendly, tame and inquisitive. Some may even say intelligent.
But.
I can still hear the constant tapping on the window as I sat at the PC. The girls thought that was cute but they got time off at school. I still have peck scars on my ankles as I negotiated my way up the garden, spilling the coffee. We couldn’t leave the kitchen door open because they would wander in and shit in the dining room. They shit in the studio if I left that open. They shit on the path. I cleared that up three times a day. They shit on the grass, in the flowerbeds, and on the windowsills. Grass became dirt. Dirt became shit. We invested in a composter, (living the dream). Everyone knows that boy chickens, (cockerels), make big cock-a-doodle noises but no one said anything about girl chickens, (evil, dirty bitches), and their incessant squawking as they followed me everywhere.
In short, (and I have honestly tried to keep it short), the dream rapidly turned into one big shit-stained nightmare. We gave them away to some nutter who was like some mad cat lady only with chickens.
So if you’re thinking chickens… go to KFC and enjoy them the way God intended.
Bank holiday decorating tediousness, new windows, some gardening and putting my foot through rotten floorboards has left a blog-empty head. So this lazy one goes:
Weymouth. Windy. Thomas Hardy. No, the other one. Portland. Stone. Quarry. Puffin pilgrimage. Ice creams. No puffins. Patient children. Abbs Head this year…
Off to studio now to sit in warmth and perhaps do a spot of painting. Like one big head burying sand thing.
Hidden away in a small pub garden in the south of England is the elusive four leaf clover. Despite a thorough search by three small girls who make their own entertainment while parents sip cold beer, the whereabouts remains a mystery.
So it goes when you take children to a pub that doesn’t have a swing or something to climb on. Locally of course, a play area in the pub is often sought after on a Saturday afternoon as a recommended alternative to a real park. It suits all. In the absence of such, whoever it was that suggested the four leaf clover hunt was a genius.
Other fun games to play while out and about are: looking for money in the supermarket aisles and the quiet race, (my personal favourite in the car).
This comes from a series of night photos taken with different cameras/phones for varying results. This particular outing is on a bridge over the A31. Yes I know, exotic. I managed to slow the traffic as I pointed my tripod mounted camera down on the cars below. The end results though were somewhat predictable and entirely unoriginal.
Other favourite night locations are of course campsites, but sneaking around between silhouetted couples in tents trying not to let my flash off has left me with deep scars from name calling. And that’s just from the Mother-in-law…
