AUTO RESPONSE

Morning of leaving and going through the motions purely because I have to!

Completely alone, heart pounding, sick to the pit of my stomach, I’m sitting staring at an empty suitcase to my left and to my right a pile of clothes clearly too big to fit the bloody thing but essential if I’m to have enough with me to warrant calling it a mobile home... And I’m simply wishing I wasn’t here or anywhere else.

'AND I FIND IT KIND OF FUNNY…

.

… I find it kind of sad… The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had'…

And this kind of sums up the shambles I seem to have made of the last three or more years pursuing both dreams and of course Dominika alike!

A friend emailed me last night and said that the way I say goodbye is very thespian of me, done in a manner that suggests I’ll never be returning.

Unfortunately however, the facts bare this out. Most goodbyes have been no less than uncontrollable, I mean, simply brutal. Like, you just know, as the years flash before your eyes, it’s most unlikely you’ll ever see this person again – well, not for ‘real’ anyway!

I’ve spent the best part of my adult life saying goodbye to people. I find myself having to say it all the time. I can’t remember staying put for much longer than a three year stretch at best since I said my first farewells to my family way back when this once young boy’s face had yet to show its wear and tear. And, it appears that finally saying hello for keeps this time was no more than the same old interlude before heading off to life’s departure lounge yet again.

Well, it’s exactly a year ago to the day when I clearly sensed something wasn’t quite right with my current lot, and whoever it was that put the bloody hex on the last 366 days, it’s over now ok… The sun is shining, you got all you wanted of me and left the bliss of the time before the last twelve months in tatters. So let it be, I’ve finally learnt my lesson – right!

So, here’s to new bloody beginnings and hopefully this time onwards and upwards to where the true adventures lie! Certainly what remains here is dying quicker than a kick with a tick, and perhaps the one important lesson I’ve learnt this time round, after the initial horror of a spell broken, is to forget (put to the sword that which once brought you joy) when it’s time to move on…

Another friend I was saying goodbye to the other day insisted we use the Polish ‘na razie’ as she reckons ‘farewell’ is such an ugly word… I agree, but there are some things you just have to draw a line through whether you want to or not! Sometimes the choice is not yours to make anymore!

So.., for some it's forever, farewell and goodbye, while for those where there remains hope and truth the connection cannot ever be broken - na razie!

And, before I go, for Dominika, well, nothing she hasn't heard before, but, never-the-less an old favourite HERE - a track I didn't ever really take much notice of myself until one particularly wonderful afternoon by the banks of Czarna Hancza over a beer and dinner... "Remember; perhaps not"..?

FOR ALL THOSE WHO CONTINUE TO BELIEVE IN DREAMS

This oldie from an ancient disc I managed to dig up while sorting stuff for packing and or chucking… Haven’t seen it myself for years, completed in ’86 when I was but a young’n and as green as I seem to remain to this day [shocked]..,

Paul Brewster - In want of the Wind . Oil on Canvas . 80X70cm . 1986

.., and because the ‘Romantic’ still shines within me from time to time, a little favourite of mine:

THE host is riding from Knocknarea
And over the grave of Clooth-na-Bare;
Caoilte tossing his burning hair,
And Niamh calling: Away, come away:
Empty your heart of its mortal dream.
The winds awaken, the leaves whirl round,
Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound,
Our breasts are heaving, our eyes are agleam,
Our arms are waving, our lips are apart;
And if any gaze on our rushing band,
We come between him and the deed of his hand,
We come between him and the hope of his heart.
The host is rushing 'twixt night and day,
Caoilte tossing his burning hair,
And Niamh calling: Away, come away…

‘The Hosting of the Sidhe’ - W. B. Yeats

And me, well, without my Niamh skipping along hand in hand, to continue to run as if Caoilte is now like chewing toffee with toothache, but hey, there's always something you can do with toothache!

NEW WORK – REMAINING WORK TO COME

Unfortunately because of my current circumstances the first and possibly the last three works for the foreseeable future to be completed for the ‘Titled’ series can be seen below…

‘Titled’ was planned to be an exploration of how the individual is perceived through a kind of national narrative here in Poland and how, very much like in most ‘xenophobic’ states, this denies the notion of the individual and or uniqueness…

‘Liberty’, as seen through western eyes, continues to be little more than a pipe dream for the average citizen in Poland, but more especially for those who ‘practice’ anything which is seen as abnormal by the church, state and family alike (see previous blog regarding the case of Dorota Nieznalska), for woe betide those who happen to be gay, wayward, poor or women!

Initially drawing on stereotypical poses, catholic kitsch, far-right solutions and the ghosts of communism, the work hopefully grows to reveal an underlying tenderness, humour and cynicism which is found within the soul of the individual but ‘contained’ by the majority.

Titled . Acrylic on Canvas . 100X120 cm . 2008

Titled . Acrylic on Canvas . 100X120 cm . 2008

Titled . Acrylic on Canvas . 100X120 . 2008