Cyclops in Melbourne

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Cyclops in Melbourne, acrylic on canvas, 1000 x 1200
Last week I visited Melbourne. My nephew Jeremy Bakker was showing his work done for the finals of his Master of Arts at RMIT (Royal Melbourne Institute of Technology).

Strange as it may sound and some people at the exposition hearing me might have thought me rude/stupid and insensitive, was, that I didn't understand his work. But it more than intrigued me.

He had a small bottle filled with all the 'fullstops' cutout from a Stephen Hawking, d.o.b 8/Jan/1942 book.

In the middle of the room stood a pillar and around it and crawling up the pillar were hundreds of his own thumb-prints in wax. Every morning he'd dip his thumb in a bowl of wax and keep the imprint. Or is that an out-print?

I shocked a young couple when I asked them if they could eat one. Why did I ask that? Because it was so terribly personal and edible.

Another work looked like a very 'normal' modern work of art. As I commented in my blog some time ago (I do so hope Jeremy understands I am coming from a corner of admiration)( I am sure he does) and where it has been reproduced.

It is a work with lines. Blackish, grayish and lighter grayish lines. Cool. Modern. New York at its best. But, there is a But. As you walk closer and closer and even closer and I needed my glasses for sure, you saw the lines were not just lines but lines of thousand and thousand times the hand written word 'now'. In three different thicknesses. Like three different pens were used. Or rapidographs. It took him many months. At his age a large part of his life.

The whole show was very minimal and full of lovely nice people. Including his parents, my brother and sister-in-law Norman and Sally and an aunt Jane from the U.K. And for the first time I met his lovely and beautiful Angela.

How wonderful to look at works of art one cannot simply understand as a visual statement. To understand it a little you will have to understand Jeremy, the creator.

But hell, I am no psychologist. I simply sleep under the bed of our mutual Creator with all the other artists, eunuchs, transvestites and freed slaves. Another work was done with again many cut outs of belly buttons, out of magazines for heaven's sake. I wish I had a photo to show you.

After that I stayed at a friend's I have known for nearly forty years and I felt she had had enough of her stay on this world. It was a little sad. But that is selfish of me as one surely has the right to think: enough is enough. Tomorrow is tomorrow and after tomorrow it is again tomorrow. I still have a few paintings to do. Ordered from above.

I got home in Far Northern Queensland and Clemens and the dog were both happy to see me. Both were wagging their tails, so to speak and I immediately painted what I felt. A one eyed man, a Cyclops maybe, with wings. Why?

Like with Jeremy's work I have absolutely no idea but wanted to get a certain madness out of my head. So I do understand. Maybe I am trying to sound sophisticated. Melbourne had been a little overwhelming. Here I live a rather secluded and slightly isolated life. A life that suits me to the bone. Melbourne on the other hand was busy, sophisticated and bedazzling for me. Loved it but it was too much for me. Hate to admit to it but I felt old.

Anyway, I loved being there and meeting my nephew's Angela, his better half as one says in polite company.

Now I have finished the one eyed man I might look for his second eye. I'll get our dog Angelo to help me. Better not coming to think of it as he might gobble it up and then what does one do?

phb