tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20494061326871517892024-02-20T00:10:01.416-08:00Grasping NettlesTime to stop thinking and wishing. Time to start doing.Megan Hitchenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08361935100439511819noreply@blogger.comBlogger67125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2049406132687151789.post-46981974824979396912017-05-29T19:47:00.001-07:002017-05-29T19:47:48.920-07:00Setting the Right Tone<div style="text-align: justify;">
Yet again a long time between drinks.</div>
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A lot has been going on, most of which I won't blog about. Private matters that are not entirely down to me to disclose. Suffice it to say things have been hectic and quite stressful. I have, however, managed to keep drawing and painting throughout. Nothing of huge consequence, more to keep me sane than anything else.</div>
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I did get a week off (it was that or go under. I've never got to that point before so that was quite confronting), and went to my brother's farm at Murrumbateman. Took a stack of drawing pads, and also my paints, some canvases and a travel easel. I would have loved to have taken my big wooden easel I made, but it came down to that or clothes for the week, and common sense won out. Barely, but hey...</div>
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Some painting did get done, although nothing I am willing to show yet, as they are just underpaintings, and for non-figurative abstracts at that, so not terribly exciting to see at this early stage. There was a lot of drawing, quite a bit of Zentangle in the evenings when we all sat down to watch television - I am one of those people who cannot just sit. If I do you can bet I'm coming down with something. Otherwise, no, I have to be doing something. </div>
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It was great to get away on my own, to pootle into Canberra on the odd day to see friends, to hang around the farm, go for walks down to the sheep or out to the cows. Betsy had a calf while I was there. I missed the birth by about an hour. That's what I get for not being vigilant. Nellie, because it's an N year for naming. Unbelievably fluffy, even for a Belted Galloway calf, which are normal fluffy when they're young. A-Spot is due soon, but no movement on that front yet.</div>
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By the time I got back I was on a bit more of an even keel, and better able to be the support the family needs. Funnily enough (or not so funnily), as things have improved here, I have found it harder to cope. Not with everything that needs to be done, but with everything else. My presence online has become fleeting, because feeling like you have a huge weight on your chest because of some horrible piece of world news, or because someone has sent you an email or a message that needs a reply, it sort of takes any joy out of the whole exercise. I'm also not keen on socialising as I am finding that very difficult. I was never the most social of animals as it was. Parties are my idea of personal hell, social lunches are stressful, etc., (I love seeing friends, but I worry all the time about what to say and then beat myself up afterwards about what I did say. So... fun. Not) and right now it's much worse. So I've been keeping myself to myself socially, while making sure all the medical appointments are met and school meetings are done and everything else that is <i>required</i>.</div>
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I know I've missed birthdays and news and other people's lives, and I'm sorry. I'm especially sorry about missing a friend's 40th. I had a drawing planned and it's only half happened because yet another crisis hit while I was working on it. It will get done. It will just be very, <i>very</i> late.</div>
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So what the hell am I doing on the blog today? This will make you laugh, albeit wryly. After things going well for a while and me consequently freaking out, yesterday we spiralled back down into one of the deeper levels of hell. So here I am today, writing on a blog. I know, it's crazy. Yet, it is what it is.</div>
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Where's the art in this? Are you asking that? Is anyone even out there?</div>
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My eldest is in the final year of high school and has a number of major works for subjects, including art. She wants to do a series of portraits in graphite on paper, but wants to do something a bit special. I am introducing her to the wonderful world of coloured paper and graphite with white chalk. Add a bit of drama, do something most other high school students won't even have an inkling of. Old technique, but technique doesn't seem to be something taught anymore. What do I mean anymore? It wasn't taught when I was at high school, too, too long ago. Luckily I learnt later, and I'm getting my child onto it a darn sight earlier than I did.</div>
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I grabbed about half an hour on the weekend to sit in my work room (while everyone else was asleep) and do a quick pencil sketch in a grey sketchbook. The colour is a little warmer than I'd like. There are flecks of red fibres through the paper that just kick the temperature in the wrong direction, but as this was for demonstration purposes I wasn't too bothered (it is not one of my favourite books). It was <i>supposed</i> to be Evangeline Lily as Tauriel from The Hobbit, but the jaw and mouth aren't right. Some days a likeness just doesn't happen, but that wasn't the point of the exercise, so again I wasn't too bothered (well, I was a bit, but I put up with it).</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXGKFdkd0qeCfj56kfgqWGWbKSZRfOXo7sNzeTsq14F_UDaHAR24DKfl9rfBymx9uXuiCY1FAzQ1IsXbChX-i9MPsNusG-TSj02Y2eqBfc8h4kY9CwjzJXgLlpwDKK5pda-8bQTAfvJAM/s1600/tonal+study+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="754" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXGKFdkd0qeCfj56kfgqWGWbKSZRfOXo7sNzeTsq14F_UDaHAR24DKfl9rfBymx9uXuiCY1FAzQ1IsXbChX-i9MPsNusG-TSj02Y2eqBfc8h4kY9CwjzJXgLlpwDKK5pda-8bQTAfvJAM/s400/tonal+study+1.jpg" width="301" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tonal Study 1, Megan Hitchens, graphite on grey paper, 2017</td></tr>
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The colour isn't quite accurate, but you get the idea.</div>
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Once everyone was up and about and breakfasted, the eldest and I sat down together and I took to the drawing with a white chalk pencil while we talked about using the paper for your midtones, how very old and very young subjects should always be on cool colours while those in between are fine on warm and cool, and why that is (it's to do with body temperature. Draw a child on a warm paper and they look older than they should), what to do with darker mids (light application of graphite) and lighter mids (light application of chalk).</div>
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After a couple of minutes (the conversation took longer than the chalk did), we ended up with this:</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCkKolS7rkLs-UZEmJ1L6XPRHFL3dbFJxp2wmyxFOTTpA80u2BeAB18rekDtRkQOit_VnjAkoffVc2oSn1Utfc2n8Wk5NjhO4KsayfnUvy6BKtK7MxXN2NUjzjOHh2eFpLtn9btTE7wc0/s1600/tonal+study+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="702" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCkKolS7rkLs-UZEmJ1L6XPRHFL3dbFJxp2wmyxFOTTpA80u2BeAB18rekDtRkQOit_VnjAkoffVc2oSn1Utfc2n8Wk5NjhO4KsayfnUvy6BKtK7MxXN2NUjzjOHh2eFpLtn9btTE7wc0/s400/tonal+study+2.jpg" width="280" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tonal Study 2, Megan Hitchens, graphite, white chalk on grey paper, 2017</td></tr>
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The paper colour is pretty much right in this one. Same camera, same room, same desk, just later in the morning. Amazing the difference a few hours can make. And amazing the difference the chalk makes too. That really is the only difference between the two - this one has highlights in white chalk.</div>
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The offspring was suitably interested and now has a pile of coloured papers from my stash and one of my chalk pencils. I tend to use actual chalk sticks, but starting out with the pencil is probably a little more familiar.</div>
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By the way, the pencil used is a Blackwing. I love my Blackwing so much. I have a stack of pencils from 4H to 6B, but I tend to use the ultra hard ones for fine sharp lines and otherwise just go with the Blackwing. I can get line variations that match everything from an HB to a 6B with the one pencil, and it is heavenly to draw with. So all that tonal variation you can see in the graphite is the one pencil.</div>
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And finally, because I can never leave well enough alone, and because I love <i>trois crayons</i> (although technically this isn't because it's graphite rather than black chalk), I went back into my work room for a couple of minutes and whipped out the sanguine.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizcu9NTCsDI_Pwgg5tjiDMdcs7P0Es-UjV8glAZBrmt70xCJkoF4sE0m7fB2yCL4gHo0RUy1UUwN_ZJzLY9T5ywMC9dyNqfq2M0QsLFaabBmwpO6e9Q7RIQEnfMhUkhR3RE3pKAJMA9eM/s1600/tonal+study+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="666" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizcu9NTCsDI_Pwgg5tjiDMdcs7P0Es-UjV8glAZBrmt70xCJkoF4sE0m7fB2yCL4gHo0RUy1UUwN_ZJzLY9T5ywMC9dyNqfq2M0QsLFaabBmwpO6e9Q7RIQEnfMhUkhR3RE3pKAJMA9eM/s400/tonal+study+3.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tonal study 3, Megan Hitchens, graphite, white chalk, sanguine chalk on grey paper, 2017</td></tr>
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The hair really benefitted, but the face not so much. I'll try to do her again, because the lack of likeness <i>is</i> bothering me after all. And I'll do it on warmer paper. It will be interesting to compare the effect.</div>
Megan Hitchenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08361935100439511819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2049406132687151789.post-58626517203677102802017-02-26T00:40:00.002-08:002017-02-26T00:47:19.252-08:00Getting in a Bind<div style="text-align: justify;">
Not art, but art related. I have actually been getting some drawing done, but not nearly enough, so I embarked upon a clever plan to completely distract myself (I'm very good at those. I can stay off track for days).</div>
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Despite not drawing enough, I tend to run out of sketch books, particularly small ones. Large sketch pads I have a surfeit of, but small ones get used up quickly. And finding replacements can be tough. I am <i>very</i> particular. They're the wrong shape, or not small enough, or too small. I like hard covers - well, they are hideously expensive. So I have decided to solve the problem myself. I'm making them.</div>
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There are about eight at the moment all cut and folded, sorted into signatures, with sewing holes sawn. I made a make-shift book press some time ago and the books have been gradually put through it, sitting for a week or so to flatten the folds.</div>
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I was making do with my old tapestry frame and my woodwork table as a sewing frame, but frankly, this was a pain and it meant I had to do all my sewing in the garage, which with the hot weather hasn't been really viable.</div>
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As of yesterday I have this:</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibArlWeyhTOjbzGQWnW4bOMIsvu2pPDSs7OueIMWxY9uU7sfueCh4anIeJDSPF-8ce8B4C8Xk50fPhYnCBzSZNyu1-oA72Zn019MQmvN-DiV5kFbll5DcxcfRFT_DWj-ild65N_4UKGHk/s1600/frame+small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibArlWeyhTOjbzGQWnW4bOMIsvu2pPDSs7OueIMWxY9uU7sfueCh4anIeJDSPF-8ce8B4C8Xk50fPhYnCBzSZNyu1-oA72Zn019MQmvN-DiV5kFbll5DcxcfRFT_DWj-ild65N_4UKGHk/s400/frame+small.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My sewing frame. Joint effort. I love it even if it is just MDF</td></tr>
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It's a proper sewing frame. Not a deluxe wood one, with wooden threaded screws, etc. They are very hard to come by, often broken, and often quite pricey when one does turn up. It's only MDF and threaded rod with some hexagonal nuts and wing nuts, but it will do the job.</div>
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I had seen ones similar to this on the internet, so I went through my supplies to see what I had. That's why it's MDF. The rods were for another project about which I have changed my mind (more to come on that), same with the nuts. The wing nuts were the only supplies bought specially for this.</div>
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The whole thing was going to be assembled in an afternoon, but then I made the disappointing discovery that the drill bit I needed wouldn't fit in my little hand drill. The flange was about 1mm too thick. So I took the whole thing up to my father-in-law, who is an excellent carpenter with lots of equipment. I had intended to get advice and ask to use his equipment, but he got really interested in it all, and I get uncomfortable asking to use his tools, because I know how I feel about people using mine (even though mine are really crappy and I don't look after them well enough at all).</div>
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We ended up talking through the whole thing, me drawing plans and putting measurements on them, and then I left it with him.</div>
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The hot weather has delayed this. Working in a garage in the heat and humidity is not a good idea. But finally it has cooled down. Father got a piece of scrap MDF out of his supplies to make the top bar (I'd forgotten to take mine up, but it was thicker so this has worked out nicely). And he cut the slot with the router - I'd have had to hand drill holes and then used a handsaw. I could have done it, but it would have taken ages. It's because of the slot that I was happy with MDF rather than real timber as it's fairly soft. Plus, I had it to hand, so no extra expense.</div>
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Father brought all the pieces back yesterday and I assembled them, and then I spent yesterday afternoon making keys for the cords. Again, they're just out of MDF scraps I had lying around.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The keys. I am quite pleased with these.<br />
I thought they might not be strong enough, but so far so good.</td></tr>
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This afternoon I spent a pleasant few hours in the dining room, sewing in comfort. Hooray!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM3rtXLCSnlupdCEvtC3ORbUyyTrb1uCQ9ylDIcvsNPlu2hXXVTwbTB5WeY9P1QZDxKrfyLbpnlnB5uVTI6qxHwcmvxyK9YxQenKHM9VMNEPouc1ftzOJNIUhK9RgcxLWuJM5uquJmM40/s1600/sewn+small+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM3rtXLCSnlupdCEvtC3ORbUyyTrb1uCQ9ylDIcvsNPlu2hXXVTwbTB5WeY9P1QZDxKrfyLbpnlnB5uVTI6qxHwcmvxyK9YxQenKHM9VMNEPouc1ftzOJNIUhK9RgcxLWuJM5uquJmM40/s400/sewn+small+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This afternoon's efforts.</td></tr>
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Next up is a lying press. I have the blocks all made, and my father-in-law sanded them and got them all the same length and height for me. You buy timber from Bunnings (there was my mistake in the first place) and the planks are all supposed to be the same, yet there is a difference of about 2mm from one plank to the next. And I don't own a plane, which I should, so Father to the rescue again.</div>
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The press is on the French design rather than the English, so I am looking for a veneer press screw. Once I track one down, I'll send the blocks back up to Father to get the needed holes drilled and then, with backing boards and finishing plates I can do every aspect of the covers and spines.</div>
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Distraction done and starting to get drawing ideas again.</div>
Megan Hitchenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08361935100439511819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2049406132687151789.post-4499077914008981412017-01-16T22:39:00.000-08:002017-01-16T22:43:00.458-08:00Hard Endings<div style="text-align: justify;">
I first found Terry Pratchett about 1985, when I was 17. I picked up a copy of Strata from a newsagent because I thought it sounded interesting, and then had to hunt down Dark Side of the Sun (the newsagent near my work carried all sorts of books, including Tanith Lee. Not what one would expect). A year later I found The Colour of Magic and fell headlong into the world of the Disc.</div>
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The first two books were, by Mr Pratchett's own admission, an opportunity to tell lots of jokes, the story mainly serving as a platform for said jokes. But then it switched. From Equal Rites onwards the story was the focus and the jokes served it. Served it so well, but still served rather than ruled.</div>
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I have loved those stories. I would wait (sometimes not very patiently) for the next one to come out, and would disappear into the new book until it was read. My kids have grown up with Mum periodically doing everything while reading. Amazing how much of dinner can be prepared one-handed.</div>
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Each book was deeper than the one before, and in the meantime others would come along. The Johnny Maxwell books (Only You Can Save Mankind And If Not You Who Else, Johnny and the Dead, Johnny and the Bomb), The Unadulterated Cat (never was a truer book written about catkind), Truckers, Diggers, Wings. Good Omens with Neil Gaiman. And just recently the Long Earth Books with Stephen Baxter. But always there was the Disc, and Great A'Tuin and the Elephants. I have a copy of Where's My Cow? which I read to my youngest when he was younger, so by the time he was old enough last year to start entering the Discworld on his own he was well acquainted with Sam Vimes, and Lord Vetenari ("Please, don't let me detain you") and Foul Old Ron.</div>
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From 2000 the stories became darker, well before his 2007 diagnosis of early onset Alzheimer's, and ,in my opinion at least, the darkness made them even better. <i>Most</i>, but not all, of my favourites date from this time on.</div>
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I was lucky enough to meet Mr Pratchett several times over the years and always found a generous man willing to talk to fans and play in games (see? It pays to be a con nerd) and to share his love of language and observing people. The last time I met him (many years ago now), he remembered me, which still fills me with wonder to this day.</div>
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And the books kept coming, and the Disc was part of my life.</div>
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And then, about eighteen months ago (so long?), Terry Pratchett died. He had so many stories still to tell, at least 20 years' worth. We were robbed, but not so much as his family were, for whom the loss must have been devestating.</div>
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I got a special edition of the final novel, the Shepherd's Crown, in a slip case. I got it out once, to look at it and then put it back on the shelf. When the paperback came out I got a copy of that, but it has only been in the last few days that I have screwed up the will to read it, and could at first only read it in small doses. Once that was done, there would be no more.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRiy6vquk0RXkyDRYgYI3Kp7yc4XO1vwXiIRpBgCiR9zUl36Rk5cSt4aYdsFmlStLXxvq-wov7hiaNnOlArro3As0Ui9a_C7Tec5YO5vnA4oGMAYSzPykW_3MsBzJeWKkABehLvR1g0mQ/s1600/The_Shepherd%2527s_Crown_by_Terry_Pratchett%252C_drawn_by_Paul_Kidby.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRiy6vquk0RXkyDRYgYI3Kp7yc4XO1vwXiIRpBgCiR9zUl36Rk5cSt4aYdsFmlStLXxvq-wov7hiaNnOlArro3As0Ui9a_C7Tec5YO5vnA4oGMAYSzPykW_3MsBzJeWKkABehLvR1g0mQ/s320/The_Shepherd%2527s_Crown_by_Terry_Pratchett%252C_drawn_by_Paul_Kidby.jpeg" width="207" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paul Kidby, cover of The Shepherd's Crown by Terry Pratchett, 2015, Doubleday</td></tr>
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There had been a few unfavourable reviews "you can tell he was going downhill", "the weakest novel", "lacking", etc. Gods, people can be shits. When Mr Pratchett wrote, he wrote in pieces and then put it together, and then polished, and then wrote extra links, and then went back and reworked parts, and then added new notes, and then wrote some more. And finally was forced to give a book to the publisher even though he felt there was still more to do. And admittedly, there are a couple of passages in the Shepherd's Crown where there was a little bit of polish missing. But other than that, there is no difference in quality, and certainly not in the story-telling. Tiffany Aching is one of my favourite characters, and Granny Weatherwax another. And he did not disappoint me with either of them.</div>
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I have to admit, I cried a lot in this book. At the beginning, because I was starting the last book, and then near the beginning because it was deeply moving. Then at several places in the book because it too was moving. On the train this afternoon, coming home from a day in Sydney, the woman beside me must have thought I was a nut because I was in floods. The end of the book was beautiful and sad and uplifting. And then it was the end of the book. And truth be told I took off my glasses, put my head in my hands and tried very hard not to sob. That was it. Done. The end of it all. And a good end. A good one to bow out on. But he was made to bow out. And when you look at the shits in this world who go on and on and on, it is wrong and unfair that people like Terry Pratchett are gone. Douglas Adams too. The week Adams died, some stupid security guy saved George W. Bush from choking on a peanut. Could we not have swapped that?</div>
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I had one longstanding gripe with the Discworld books, and that was the covers. A friend of mine was commissioned to do some book covers some time ago, so I know how it works. The artist is given a brief and has to do their best to interpret it. Sometimes, if they are lucky, they have read the book, but usually not. I <i>never</i> liked Josh Kirby's covers. They were sexist and overloaded. Granny particularly pissed me off. In Wyrd Sisters, Granny was very well described. She was not a haggard old crone with a hooked nose and crooked back, and there was not a wart to be seen. Yet, how did Kirby draw her? You guessed it. Complete witch stereotype. What was the publisher thinking? Since Paul Kidby took over, the covers have been much more satisfying. Folklore of the Discworld has a much better version of Granny adorning its cover. Kidby clearly read and loved the books and the amount of collaberation he did with Pratchett speaks volumes about how the author felt regarding the new interpretations.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3d6QzMiQtNUspB0RBahQ-EZnIz-Q2YFgwvVxOErCQ4ZYNelPi9yIZPUgRgEHk4q-MfY8AsZgOMNwLZi6I-10hmb2tA74cfZ8qlaZlWNVD3Zp-9rKgn-By8QD-M63NhXN4kovc6DSEV4o/s1600/Kirby+Granny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3d6QzMiQtNUspB0RBahQ-EZnIz-Q2YFgwvVxOErCQ4ZYNelPi9yIZPUgRgEHk4q-MfY8AsZgOMNwLZi6I-10hmb2tA74cfZ8qlaZlWNVD3Zp-9rKgn-By8QD-M63NhXN4kovc6DSEV4o/s320/Kirby+Granny.jpg" width="296" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Josh Kirby, cover of Wyrd Sisters by Terry Pratchett, 2008, Gollancz books. Had he actually read the description of Granny? I can't believe so</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDceOHEAwatIs-of4hkqIqhjy7-21_UPxJDNVRYa7ULAgIG2RR1Bjx7ncIZGRLUtbMJjU5CkPv0TWNoFhT3IBOqPogXCk6XExq0i3EVZzC3GzKDCXkP9TP4XTlYw49QJmddiHmRwmlBFY/s1600/Kidby+Granny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDceOHEAwatIs-of4hkqIqhjy7-21_UPxJDNVRYa7ULAgIG2RR1Bjx7ncIZGRLUtbMJjU5CkPv0TWNoFhT3IBOqPogXCk6XExq0i3EVZzC3GzKDCXkP9TP4XTlYw49QJmddiHmRwmlBFY/s320/Kidby+Granny.jpg" width="263" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paul Kidby, Granny Weatherwax from Maskerade:Patron of the Opera by Terry Pratchett, 2012. While the clothes are atypical (there are reasons for that. Read the book), this is otherwise Granny through and through. A man who knows the Discworld characters. Granny would bridle if I added "intimately", and Nanny would leer.</td></tr>
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I think The Art of Discworld is the one thing I am now missing. Don't know how that happened. Time to pick it up.</div>
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There are drawings of Great A'Tuin upstairs somewhere, done over the years. But I shan't share them. They were drawn by me, for me, not as fan art. And anyway, Mr Kidby has done the definitive paintings of the Star Turtle, so that's that.</div>
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I wish I could say thank you to Mr Pratchett for thirty two years of wonderful stories. I really wish I could say thank you to him for many many more. As usual, Tiffany Aching helps to take the pain away. Time to go back to the beginning.</div>
Megan Hitchenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08361935100439511819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2049406132687151789.post-71370079074285038492016-11-16T07:51:00.001-08:002016-11-16T07:51:33.789-08:00An Apple A Day<div style="text-align: justify;">
As I said in my last post, which was, I admit, a bit miserable, I have enrolled in a taster course in Natural History and Scientific Illustration. Seeing what I think about it. It's online, so not as onerous as it could be or perhaps should be. But a lot is expected of us and it is really sorting out those who are seriously interested and those who thought it would be a fun way to "learn to draw" (god help them).</div>
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I missed one homework assignment due to home stuff, but fortunately it was one of the voluntary extras. I am working on finishing it, but the submission date is been and gone.</div>
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The first few weeks were: playing with pencils, how to keep a field journal and basic observational drawing. I should have done some gesture drawings this week. I'll get round to them. Thank the gods there are no marks associated with that bit. I <i>will</i> get round to them.</div>
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Anyway, I've decided to share a couple of things I have done and actually submitted, because I rather like them. They are a bit amateurish, but I'm getting there. Time to practice is essential, and a bit thin on the ground.</div>
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We were asked to do an observational drawing of several objects from nature. I chose the apple blossoms from my garden. I love my heritage apples, but I don't take anywhere near enough care of them. They didn't get pruned <i>again</i> this winter gone. And the time to net them was a couple of days ago. If I do them NOW I may be apple to avoid fruit fly. Maybe.</div>
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They were all in bloom when the assignment came up so I got out and cut off blossoms from the four of them. Okay, so Granny Smiths are not heritage apples, but the other three are. Being a bear of small brain, and a somewhat turbulent one at the moment, I didn't think to put them in water, so the drawings became a race against time. And looking at them now, I realise I got them mixed up. The Calville Blanche d'Hiver is actually the Tydeman's Early (my variety is a russet, with a lovely honey flavour). The Peasgood Nonsuch is actually the Calville Blanche d'Hiver. And the Tydeman's Early is really the Peasgood (the flowers died before I got to them). So I got them completely mixed up. But on the bright side, my drawings were good enough that I could work out exactly which was which.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiySJ9bciZewIAlTsKIHTzWFd8q50oQ8-DAMC0LBxO1hbeP13UpPk0TAYrh6iWXtyK0V1k_G6ztB9-EdTMEI-IA-xW2B5OOZDNu3OE9NNHdS6Mh5Se5hBGsvxYFiEoyIVPrhylze8fkzCs/s1600/apple+blossoms+final.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="347" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiySJ9bciZewIAlTsKIHTzWFd8q50oQ8-DAMC0LBxO1hbeP13UpPk0TAYrh6iWXtyK0V1k_G6ztB9-EdTMEI-IA-xW2B5OOZDNu3OE9NNHdS6Mh5Se5hBGsvxYFiEoyIVPrhylze8fkzCs/s640/apple+blossoms+final.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Apple Blossoms, Megan Hitchens, graphite on white paper, 2016</td></tr>
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As to the apples themselves, once found how could I NOT grow an apple called Peasgood Nonsuch? Plus, it's delicious. The Tydeman's is a cider apple that you can eat as is, and if you know anything about Caravaggio then you have seen a Calville Blanche d'Hiver. He painted them a few times. I'd been on the look out for it for some time, and then had the opportunity to buy a tree. Quite a bumpy apple, but lovely flavour.</div>
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This past week we had to start keeping a field journal. It's different drawing out in the "wild". The wind comes up, it rains, the sun comes out, or goes behind a cloud. Insects hover and buzz and love the white page. Where has my brush gone? A familiar refrain but now I am looking for it in unfamiliar places. We had to pick our best page and post it. I got it onto the site a day late, but I'm glad I waited for this last one to be finished, as it is my best one.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRX3oYLCWJhKYzOuYLc1HomusBNDmHSWAoR5Bm2bL35HFpz6LxwD3blfEUoEZUl2bss2xoALeb4HW1Qw1PrQlSCBwzm4CjJbEGTWGQVb6twwp-07RwZk2fXWdoSbq9HmjPcsR9qRiw25o/s1600/field+journal+smaller.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRX3oYLCWJhKYzOuYLc1HomusBNDmHSWAoR5Bm2bL35HFpz6LxwD3blfEUoEZUl2bss2xoALeb4HW1Qw1PrQlSCBwzm4CjJbEGTWGQVb6twwp-07RwZk2fXWdoSbq9HmjPcsR9qRiw25o/s400/field+journal+smaller.jpg" width="292" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Japanese Black Pine, Megan Hitchens, graphite, water colour pencils and white ink on Bristol Board, 2016</td></tr>
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We had to do sketches and then indicate colour, rather than colour the whole thing. And include field notes. No idea if I am on the right track. I do know that I have labelled the male strobili as anthers. I'll get there.</div>
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Anyway, that's what I have been up to, in amongst the chaos.</div>
Megan Hitchenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08361935100439511819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2049406132687151789.post-1732614994135100012016-11-15T22:38:00.002-08:002016-11-15T22:38:56.633-08:00On The Futility of Always Going Last<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTRw6XyrtshO3jOGgiaAeFYuQabsEzqaQQ7Ibbi8uJkfAESa1XeQEGRyHCSlCMrKHYByQAo71zKV40kiGU4m4VydatQh3MMQUYskj0DP_7i6VwNhkErfm_8LvNZGeRQWadRubeCLpPeU0/s1600/quote-helmer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTRw6XyrtshO3jOGgiaAeFYuQabsEzqaQQ7Ibbi8uJkfAESa1XeQEGRyHCSlCMrKHYByQAo71zKV40kiGU4m4VydatQh3MMQUYskj0DP_7i6VwNhkErfm_8LvNZGeRQWadRubeCLpPeU0/s400/quote-helmer.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I saw an interview with Margaret Olley about twenty years ago. She was talking about her life as an artist, and what she said struck me then and has stayed with me every since. "If you are a woman and you want to be an artist, don't marry and don't have children".</div>
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I have had several male artist friends tell me in scoffing tones that this is not true, "not now", that Olley was talking about her experiences from another time. But by hell, it is true. You can be a woman and an artist (or a farmer, or whatever) but it is a LOT harder if you have a spouse and/or kids.</div>
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Part of this is my fault. I fall for the conditioned feelings of guilt and martyrdom that are ingrained in most women. We must put everyone else first, to do otherwise is somehow selfish and wrong. And everyone else's desires and careers are somehow intrinsically more important. Anything goes wrong in the home or needs extra attention, I'm the one who has to deal with it. Which is fair enough, given I don't have a wage coming in and I work from home. Except I see female friends who are working for a wage still being the ones to deal with all the home-front stuff, having to take time off or juggle doctor's appointments and school issues and what have you. Never their male partners. And we don't push back, or at least not very hard, because that is somehow wrong, or ungrateful, or something. I fight against this, but the feelings are strong, the conditioning deep. There are times when I really hate this society.</div>
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There has been a lot of crap going on here, just day to day, I have children crap. I also started doing some courses to see if I could keep everything going and consider going back to finish the PhD. I have somehow (and sporadically) kept drawing and painting throughout, although the blogging has pretty much gone (something had to, and it's the least vital). Recently I enrolled in an online taster course in Natural History and Scientific Illustration, just as everything here went into light-speed overdrive and became absolutely crazy. At a time when I have also started questioning a whole lot of things (not least of which is "just what am I doing?"). Everyone has needed me, all the time. And everyone's needs have been genuine. But it's been all at once. A bit like buses. You wait ages with nothing and then three turn up at once. Well, that's how it has worked out, only I wish it was just three.</div>
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By the time I get through my day, and get everyone else through their days, and hold the fort and do all the normal house duties crap that never bloody stops, and finally get a little time for myself, I am too wasted, emotionally and physically, to even <i>think</i> about the drawings I need to do for my course. The requirements aren't onerous, but at the moment they are too much. I'm getting my homework in, but today it was a day late. And it's because everything else comes first.</div>
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It's not just me. I am, by no means saying it is. And a lot of women have it a whole LOT harder than I do. I'm just really sick of it at the moment. No, I'm sick of it for good. I am really, really tired of it. And not just for me, for all us.</div>
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I have a friend who is a goat farmer. She is a strong, independent woman who knows her own mind and pursues her own goals. She's also a teacher and a mentor to others. I admire her greatly. Lives on her own. Why? Because when she tries living with a man, his wants come before her needs. She ended up throwing the last guy out because he really thought his wants were more important. It wasn't stated or asserted or anything, it was just demonstrated on a daily basis with the way he lived and with the way he expected her to live. She was to be there <i>for him. </i>Not the other way round, not even as a two-way street (apparently he talked a good two-way street). Her life was to be built around him. On her own farm. Which she owned. So she threw him out.</div>
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I'm not advocating we all start throwing out our partners. But I think I really need to start saying "this is what I need", "this is what I am doing". It's done often enough the other way, with no assertions or demands for a fair go, just as the way life works. Men do what they want, women fit in. Because there seems little concept in the world of taking turns when it comes to married women, and particularly married women with children.</div>
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And here's the really stupid thing. I am in two minds about letting this post stand. I feel like I am being unfair, having a moan, being stupid. But I'm not. My art <i>is</i> important. It may not pay at the moment, but if it always comes second, or even third (which is more usual), then it will NEVER pay. And I will go my grave thinking, "Shit, how did I let this happen?" And it is not the fault of my kids. They need me right now, both of them, and I can't desert them. And good parents do put their kids first and sacrifice to get them through and keep them going. But not all the time. Not everything. And it's not selfish when you say "what I am doing is important too". Or to say, "I'm sorry, but you need to step up this time". To not always put what you want or need last after everyone else. Or to spend so much energy keeping everyone else afloat that you don't notice you are the one sinking.</div>
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Every time you don't say "No" or "me" or "my time", it makes it harder to say it the next time, and the next. If you have young women in your life, be they daughters, granddaughters, nieces, friends, whatever, tell them their wishes for their life, their desires for career, their pursuits, are <i>just as important</i> as their brothers' or fathers' or cousins' or friends' or partner's desires and wishes. They have just as much right as the men in the world and don't have to step back or follow quietly because "he already has a job" or "he wants to study" or whatever it is that is being put forward. <i>Just as much right and her pursuits are just as important.</i> Make sure they know and support them in their decisions and desires.</div>
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But Margaret Olley was right. If you want to be an artist, and you are a woman, don't get married and don't have kids.</div>
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Megan Hitchenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08361935100439511819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2049406132687151789.post-44653265304648033132016-02-17T16:45:00.003-08:002016-02-17T16:58:23.116-08:00Show Yourself Out, Goat...<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">You sucked.</span>*</div>
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I'll try to not make this post a bit of a whinge. Although I won't succeed, because it is, by nature, a bit of a whinge. But what it is <i>meant</i> to be is a bit of self-berating to get myself back on track.</div>
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2015, the Year of the Goat, sucked. It didn't suck as badly for me as it did for others, but it wasn't good.</div>
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Two exhibitions, neither of which sold a thing (admittedly one was very small, but still...). Lots of family stuff that needed my full attention, and seemed to never end. Lots of other stuff that you don't need to hear (I'm burdening you enough already). Ill. My god, ill. Every little thing going and quite a few big things too. Pneumonia is not fun, may I add.</div>
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The bloody Black Dog made his presence more than felt. I have a deep desire to chain him on the porch, but the damned thing keeps slipping his lead, getting inside and howling like the hellhound that he is. Or just sitting there, in the dark, a demon from the depths. And the wretched creature whispers. All the time.</div>
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I made a terrible mistake that hurts someone else, and it runs round and round my head. All the scenarios, all the opportunities at which point I could have chosen to do some small thing differently and avoided catastrophe. But didn't. In the end I became immobilised. Unable to do my family history, unable to paint or draw, or blog, feeling unworthy of anything that brings joy or peace or satisfaction. I have to accept that mistakes get made and constantly beating myself for every single one, and shredding myself for this one, won't change a thing. Won't help anyone. So, hard as it is, I have to let it go and make what paltry amends I can and just get on with things. Even if I don't deserve it. Because everyone else doesn't deserve to live with me like this.</div>
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And the children had a rough year. I fought for them, as any mother does, and things have improved a lot for my son, but my daughter continues to struggle. We'll sort something out, find a solution, keep it all going. Can I say I hate the one-size-fits-some education system? Her school is very supportive, but the curriculum is crap, and BOSTES needs... I don't know what it needs, but it needs it. Deliberately disadvantaging kids with reading difficulties because the head "doesn't believe" in the solution is beyond words. Well into the range of tearing fury. What would happen if she didn't believe in reading glasses? Or hearing aids? Or braille?</div>
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And the spouse has had a hard time at work this year. Lots of pressure, long hours. He hasn't been home much, and when he is, he's still caught up in it all. So, from a selfish point of view, I have had to manage the kids pretty much on my own. Which is mean to say, but hey, that's the way it has had to be. I probably haven't supported him as much as I should, but he's gotten whatever I have had left.</div>
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So maybe I should be proud that I got two exhibitions in last year (even if one was small). Because guess what I jettisoned first, in all the crap that was the Year of the Goat. It seems ever thus.</div>
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Margaret Olley said if you are female and want to be an artist, don't get married and don't have children. There are many days, and a lot of them fell in 2015, when I know she was right.</div>
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I had a long talk to my daughter yesterday afternoon, about her and what she is going through, about her future and what she wants. She is so incredibly gifted, in so many areas, but just lately her artistic streak has come roaring to the fore. She is astounding. If we can sort out Years 11 and 12, or TAFE, or something, get her through this, she is going to do some astonishing things.</div>
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It is a great comfort to me to say to her what I was never told. That if she loves something and goes for it, she will find a way to make a living from it, and be much happier in the long run. There will be no sense of disappointment from her parents if she isn't "earning" (since when is money the mark of a person's worth or ability?), or "achieving" (which always has such a narrow definition, anyway). We are there for her no matter what. And whatever she wants to do, we will help her work out how to do it, should she want that help. There are always ways.</div>
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At the end of a very long discussion, do you know what my beautiful girl did? She turned and said, "What about you, Mum? What do you want?"</div>
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I have to admit, I was a bit low because of all the school stuff yesterday (calls from support workers, while trying to help find solutions, can turn one's day on its head. Still, better to know), so my answers, while stating what I wanted, were filled with reasons why not. And my girl told me what I needed to do, gave <i>me</i> a plan of action, just as I had been devising action plans for her. And told me how much she believes in me and reminded me that I always say to the kids "It's never too late" ("unless," she clarified, "you've just been given six weeks to live or something. Then you'd have to say it's too late." She's quite direct). And she gave me a list of things to <i>not</i> focus on.</div>
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And at about three this morning, for the first time in a long time, I woke with an idea, instead of waking with worries. I've spent time this morning thinking about it, doing some preliminary sketches. Actually feeling like I can create something. Of course, after such a hiatus I am rusty, so the next few days will largely be warm up exercises, and doing other stuff like grounds and things, just to make sure I am back in the game and not drifting off again.</div>
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This year is the Year of the Monkey. More than that, it's the Year of the Fire Monkey. So maybe it will be ragingly better. That or it will burn everything to the ground. Fingers crossed for the former.</div>
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For the record, I always thought I was a Monkey (Earth Monkey to be precise). I now find out I am actually at the tail end of the Sheep (or Goat, either way a fibre animal. Go figure), and a Fire Sheep to boot. So maybe this is the year that this dag end of a Sheep finally gets back on track.</div>
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I was looking for an image for this blog, and I wasn't satisfied with my own drawings of monkeys or goats. They just didn't fit the bill for one reason or another. And the Black Dog gets enough of a look-in, so no drawings of that, thank you. In the end I googled Durer, because I like his monkey and goat drawings (actually, let's just change that to "I love Albrecht Durer"). I found this and it made me laugh. Perfect. Every drawing of the Virgin and Child should have a monkey in it. Go, Albrecht.+</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSv_iyE_Dj3MtK3l7GTo-tgsZ16HwY8W0Ot5cHoEhO9EQBfVoDFV_iaHykOO7kVcIu28ytqsiuYJgsEltgwWOj0mOWji998-3RGbsp7qSlNC1CiIZBPDuB8guTqjTLBW204gsPFfUeBwU/s1600/Albrecht_D%25C3%25BCrer_-_The_Virgin_and_Child_with_the_Monkey_%2528NGA_1949.1.20%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSv_iyE_Dj3MtK3l7GTo-tgsZ16HwY8W0Ot5cHoEhO9EQBfVoDFV_iaHykOO7kVcIu28ytqsiuYJgsEltgwWOj0mOWji998-3RGbsp7qSlNC1CiIZBPDuB8guTqjTLBW204gsPFfUeBwU/s400/Albrecht_D%25C3%25BCrer_-_The_Virgin_and_Child_with_the_Monkey_%2528NGA_1949.1.20%2529.jpg" width="258" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Virgin and Child with Monkey, Albrecht Durer, 1498, engraving, National Gallery of Art, Washington DC, USA</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">*The title and first sentence is courtesy of Robert Brown. He pretty much summed up 2015.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">+Mark Calderwood, what's the symbolism of monkeys in this context?</span></div>
Megan Hitchenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08361935100439511819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2049406132687151789.post-61872548531121558122015-07-09T19:16:00.001-07:002016-11-16T02:48:09.816-08:00Back In Black<div style="text-align: justify;">
And even longer between buses.</div>
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Finally I am back in the saddle again. Each winter I say "Wow, I have never been so sick" and each winter I seem to top the winter before.</div>
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And every time I have a hiatus with my art production I end up gripped by an irrational fear - that I have lost the ability to create. Which isn't true. Sure, skills get rusty if you don't use them. It takes a little bit to get back in the swing of things. But the ability is still there. It just needs a push. And pushing something that's rusty needs a bit more effort than if it is running smoothly.</div>
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So I tell my brain that the fear is irrational and I push myself.</div>
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This time the push came in the form of drawing on black.</div>
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Back in May I started a drawing of my favourite guitarist, Josh Goering. But then the coughing and the shakes and the headaches and the wildly swinging temperatures started. Which makes it a little difficult to draw.</div>
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As you may have realised by now, I am rather entranced by the <i>trois crayons</i> technique - three colours of chalk on paper, namely white, black and sanguine. You can get a staggering array of colours with just those three, depending on the colour of the paper you use. A ground closest to a vellum tone gives the best range, but changing what you're working on produces interesting effects. And then there are temperature shifts. Working on blue or cool grey, as opposed to reds, yellows and warm greys. There seems to be endless choices to explore.</div>
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And what better way to explore than on black? I was excited when I started back in May, which is just as well, because having something exciting to plunge back in with made overcoming irrational fears a little easier. It took surprisingly little to get it finished. It's not perfect. The likeness isn't as close as I would like. It's more like Pirate Jesus or Blackbeard playing the guitar than Josh, but the technique stands up well on the dark paper. Although photographing it has been a nightmare. I ended up in three different lights, with a tripod, and lots of deletions and muttering. And then there is the endless fiddling in the photo software to try to get the photo to look like the original drawing.</div>
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At any rate, here's what I ended up with. Two versions, because of different lighting. I like each but for different reasons.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZNJq-PwFtm9nFlclNl_iTF5Ln3-dVnxK6ACzS2YKhrJ6ISBCdMqLV3PPd6hYRp0vWPV5vsdytdS2Jq_grbXR6WalpPbeeBCvfOMvo0aZfL65L8iosc-KB2cw6JLVQl5ln3ySn0VrhiZ4/s1600/Josh1+small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZNJq-PwFtm9nFlclNl_iTF5Ln3-dVnxK6ACzS2YKhrJ6ISBCdMqLV3PPd6hYRp0vWPV5vsdytdS2Jq_grbXR6WalpPbeeBCvfOMvo0aZfL65L8iosc-KB2cw6JLVQl5ln3ySn0VrhiZ4/s400/Josh1+small.jpg" width="283" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Josh Goering 2</i>, Megan Hitchens, 2015, trois crayons on black paper</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinwuacrvpSc0j9IxawnXE3oPgWBkZKX4QYPIWpAFBHeYs71Hk-VdIbHrwiu78P6rhmgQUuF8gKofdvKcmuOvL-AgJpnAQT3mTk99slkwd40AGlOt-Xmsp5HdJc62-oLziCYPCH_-Q0w38/s1600/Josh2+small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinwuacrvpSc0j9IxawnXE3oPgWBkZKX4QYPIWpAFBHeYs71Hk-VdIbHrwiu78P6rhmgQUuF8gKofdvKcmuOvL-AgJpnAQT3mTk99slkwd40AGlOt-Xmsp5HdJc62-oLziCYPCH_-Q0w38/s400/Josh2+small.jpg" width="306" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Josh Goering</i>, Megan Hitchens, 2015 trois crayons on black paper</td></tr>
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The lower light one hasn't as much clarity and the colours are more subdued, but I do like it. The colours in the lighter one are more accurate, but the paper looks grey rather than black. C'est la vie.<br />
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Not to stop there. I like Zentangle, and I love the official supplies. The paper is particularly beautiful - Italian, 100% cotton, luscious. They have black paper too, which is exactly the same, but died black. The dye has a curious effect. It makes the paper velvety to the touch. A little more challenging to use, but so lovely. I do use it for Zentangle, but I also use it for basic drawing.<br />
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Being ill meant I missed a few birthdays for people. Often I just send a Boynton card (who doesn't love Sally Boynton? The woman is a genius), but I also like to do a drawing when I can. Which really didn't happen at all. So I have decided that at the beginning of each year I will draw a couple of images, scan them and then send them for all the birthdays that year. Well, that's the plan, but as I have said before, the best laid plans of mice and Megans. We'll see what happens.<br />
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That said, I drew a birthday image, or three actually, which I can use for the remainder of this year. For those I have missed, sorry, you'll get a copy of this in the next few days, hopefully. For those with it coming up, sorry, I've spoilt the surprise.<br />
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These are drawn on the black Zentangle paper, in white pencil, white gel pen and soap stone. So a rather different technique to the drawings above.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHWLQM-vQnrk05VIDMcpRzzVfa2YhjiPF1Juei9xGYgeN2SB_q7n1r_blpB8_CUi42DBbVKN3g5NNNrBU_fszC9Czr1T3k2PYrmjorpQeE1ARVSnB3qHlbxNv69alVzRmELmFdfJHS9bY/s1600/balloon+flowers+1+small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHWLQM-vQnrk05VIDMcpRzzVfa2YhjiPF1Juei9xGYgeN2SB_q7n1r_blpB8_CUi42DBbVKN3g5NNNrBU_fszC9Czr1T3k2PYrmjorpQeE1ARVSnB3qHlbxNv69alVzRmELmFdfJHS9bY/s640/balloon+flowers+1+small.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Balloon Flowers</i>, Megan Hitchens, 2015, white pencil, white gel pen, soap stone on black 100% cotton paper</td></tr>
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I love balloon flowers. They are traditionally blue. Watching them open never gets dull. My aunt gave me a plant years ago (it has since died, as has she, I'm sorry to say, although she was in her mid 90s when she went. Amazing woman. I'll have to tell you about her some time). I drew these listening to Abney Park's cover of "O Holy Night" (I firmly believe in Christmas in July), and for some reason got an image of glowing balloon flowers blooming in dark alleys of Victorian London. Don't ask why. I have no idea. They peel open, the light intensifies and then softens to a gentle glow. Given the dark mire of the modern world, how many of us are trying to bloom in the dark?<br />
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It is <i>meant</i> as encouragement.<br />
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Anyway, that's me and probably the product of all the high temperatures. I'm sure my brain has been a bit more cooked than usual.</div>
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Megan Hitchenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08361935100439511819noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2049406132687151789.post-32716628231838384562015-05-09T19:47:00.002-07:002015-05-09T19:48:03.927-07:00Out Standing in his Field<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY5kcYACdkOgYhwG1CpGr2vWjoFiythgwow2fKa1CxhovP2y3h1pzdFSi56-X3KOjuwB1Ba8RCi_wKglkF-8rhJQWkvG4jCbW_KODjQHJHAmMrK_tZEkybzsDQ_B0ObnaOOZ-VkxGYrVU/s1600/sheep.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY5kcYACdkOgYhwG1CpGr2vWjoFiythgwow2fKa1CxhovP2y3h1pzdFSi56-X3KOjuwB1Ba8RCi_wKglkF-8rhJQWkvG4jCbW_KODjQHJHAmMrK_tZEkybzsDQ_B0ObnaOOZ-VkxGYrVU/s400/sheep.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Still not about art (there may be something later today. Depends how the flu makes me feel. Yes, my cold has become flu. Lovely). Instead, the pressing issue of pseudonyms.</div>
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We are all warned about the dangers of the internet and particularly about the dangers of the internet with regard to our children. The problem as a parent is that parents LOVE to talk about their kids, and love to show them off, because we LOVE our kids and they are a big part of our lives. Plus, my children inform my art production, not just in terms of time and access (I think that's hamper rather than inform) but also sometimes what I produce and how, ideas, inspiration, blunt <i>blunt</i> criticism (brutal may be a better word, but gosh it is so useful). And then there are the things they get up to, and say, and introduce me to.</div>
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My daughter loves Deviant Art and uses it to interact with her friends (it's a web forum for the arts, don't panic), and sends me links to really interesting things I probably wouldn't see otherwise (I send her links to Colossal articles in return, so it is a two-way street).</div>
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So they pop up from time to time, here and on Facebook and wherever.</div>
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I don't post photos of them (or if I do they are heavily restricted). I thought about should I post drawings of them and decided that yes, I'm okay with that. I don't reveal their names. You can call me paranoid if you want, but these are my choices regarding my children, so suck it up.</div>
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So I use pseudonyms for my children (and for my spouse, but that's just continuity). My daughter was easy. The Steamgoth fits her perfectly, it is apt and precise, and she rather likes it (which is a miracle). My son was much more difficult. He has been The Son for some time because I couldn't think of anything else. The Pokemonster? What if he finally grows out of that obsession? (I live in hope, vain though that feels) The Early Riser went out the window when he started to sleep in (ie, still asleep at 6.45 when I wake him for school).</div>
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But we have hit upon it. Actually, the Spouse hit upon it.</div>
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The White Sheep.</div>
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I have always encouraged my children to be themselves, to not worry about other people's opinions on how they dress, what they like, what they do (within reason. Manners are important, as are being polite and respectful). We are a family of strongly opinionated people, with well-formed ideas and notions. Three of us dress in black. The Spouse is and always will be a goth, with coffin rings and pentagrams and Mick Mercer's radio show constantly playing on his ipad. The Steamgoth is a steampunk goth, or a goth steampunk. I'm not sure which. I was a goth, but I want to go full-on steampunk. I'll get there.</div>
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In the midst is my boy, who fits us with a lot of things, like music and reading and film and tv tastes (Pokemon aside). We love science fiction and fantasy and science and art (we are all nerdy, go us), but he has his own dress sense. Not for him black or brown or gears or crosses (to use blatant stereotypes). Track pants, camouflage gear, pop culture t-shirts. He wants to be comfortable above all else and he likes colours, bless him. And he does it. Which is a bit mainstream. And makes me very proud. He stands against us all and is his own self.</div>
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So, given that we are a family of eccentric black sheep (I don't know what my siblings think of us) and he likes "normal" clothes, the White Sheep seems an obvious choice.</div>
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I explained what Black Sheep meant and how I am using White Sheep, and he is actually quite pleased with it. After all, this is the boy who chose the Abney Park dog tag "Expendable Crew" because he thought it would be a hoot. I was pretty sure I was on firm ground with this.</div>
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Although I have put down one restriction on his clothing choices. He may not EVER wear sandals with track pants. There has to be a limit, if only for the sake of sartorial decency. Some rules are there for a good reason. Look mainstream casual by all means, but look good while doing it.</div>
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Megan Hitchenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08361935100439511819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2049406132687151789.post-50530212138976178532015-05-08T23:07:00.002-07:002015-05-09T06:27:38.325-07:00Children and Animals: Mad Max 3 Beyond Thunderdome<div style="text-align: justify;">
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So here we are at the third, and easily the best, Mad Max film. It's cheesy and odd, and a triumph of modern cinema compared to its two predecessors. It has an extensive story line with well thought out themes, a fun cast, big stunts (although none of them quite come up to the tanker chase of Mad Max 2), reasonable music score and a satisfying end.</div>
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It also has, to its detriment, more ridiculous costumes and a saxophonist.</div>
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The film doesn't start with a car chase. Petrol is gone. There has actually been an apocalypse of a nuclear nature over the fuel shortage, so alternative means of propulsion have to be sought. For Max that now means camels. A chase involving a plane, some camels and a man on foot doesn't have quite the same possibilities as cars and motor bikes, even in the middle of nowhere.</div>
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And this film is shot in the real middle of nowhere. The mid north area of South Australia, around Cooper Pedy. It is arid, without even the scrubby vegetation of Broken Hill (the Tribe;s gorge is in the Blue Mountains, but needs must). It's hot and dry and far from anywhere. People really do die out there. Max needs his camels.</div>
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Which, along with his pet monkey, have been stolen by the Gyrocaptain, Bruce Spence reviving his role, albeit much reduced. He now has a plane (for later story purposes), an actual name (Jedediah) and a child, although his girlfriend/wife seems to have disappeared - no doubt the result of a terrible accident involving her hair and a naked flame (she came from the big haired oil refiners).<br />
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In pursuing his camels Max comes across Barter Town, an armpit of a place where trading is the name of the game. Frank Thring presides over registration in the way that only Frank Thring can. He was an insitution in Australian acting circles and for good reason. Granted he only ever played the one part (there is little difference between The Collector and Pontius Pilate) but he did it so well. He <i>understood </i>how to make menace work and how to properly play understatement, and when to go over the top. Him sitting in the dirt, quietly despairing, when it all goes wrong, is perfect.<br />
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Barter Town is the climax of Miller's vision of apocalypse futures. It is dirty and gritty and decrepit. There is nothing shiny or clean. Everything is make-do and cobbled together. There is nothing new, nothing untarnished. No one wears white, at least nothing that has remained white. Greys and browns are the order of the day, along with lots and lots of black leather. And studs. If Barter Town has a uniform it definitely has leather and studs involved. Dust covers everything.<br />
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As has been pointed out in an article in the <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/film/2015/may/08/mad-max-rewatched-gas-fuelled-action-pic-or-just-plain-weird?CMP=soc_567">Guardian</a>, this is in marked contrast to other post-Apocalypse visions. I was thinking about Logan's Run (both the film and TV series), where the "civilised" lived in a shiny dome and wore white clothes and everything was ordered and those who lived beyond in the wastes were supposed to be decayed but there was never a spec of dust on their garments and their vehicles gleamed. Makeup and hair always immaculate. Even if the idea was grunge the execution was not. Real dirt and obvious decay have always been part of the Mad Max world, right from the beginning (unless you were an oil refiner. Given most standard cleaning products are made from petrochemicals maybe that's justified).<br />
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There are two layers to Barter Town, the top part ruled by Aunty and her thugs, the bottom part, Underworld, dominated by Master and Blaster, a dwarf and his own behemoth thug. Underworld is a giant piggery (probably where the actors in the previous two films trained), kept for methane production to power the entire complex, above and below. Not a bad idea. They even refine the methane for motor fuel. Naturally enough, there is a power struggle between Aunty and Master, and naturally enough Max is dragged into it. Max is not as disaffected as he was in Road Warrior, but he's still not fully engaged. I'm not a Mel Gibson fan, but I really liked his performance in Beyond Thunderdome. Balanced, nuanced. Not stellar but solid. I could believe the way he was manipulated and his reactions to the various fates that befell him. Nice.<br />
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As to the various thugs, the standout for me was George Spartels as Blackfinger. He drew the short straw in the costume stakes, with a studded leather posing pouch and shiny colander helmet, but it didn't phase him. <i>Play School</i> was always going to be the natural progression from there.<br />
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The part of Aunty was played by Tina Turner. I hope she had fun She looks like she had fun. Great casting choice. And her outfit (chain mail with HUGE shoulder pads and high heels) was stunning. Not shiny, but somehow right. Oh, and of course big hair. I remember going to see this film when it first came out (the only one of the three I saw at the cinema. No sex and look-away violence meant a friendlier rating and more general release) and being sceptical of Turner's inclusion (her music is not my thing). And I remember being pleasantly surprised. There are plenty of musicians who have a go at acting, with mixed results. Some you think "please, do not give up the day job. Don't do this again". Tina Turner did a good job. She played it for what it was worth and turned in a believable performance.<br />
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And her character has a level of interest, altering her behaviour to suit her needs, and ruling Barter Town with a combination of muscled standover tactics and three-word slogans, getting everyone to chant along with her. Which sounds like the political tactics of the Liberal Party. I suppose Tony Abbott had to get his strategy from somewhere. Pity he has neither Aunty's intellect nor her appeal.<br />
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There is another group in this story, the Tribe. This is a group of kids living in a verdant gorge in the middle of the desert (well, in the middle of the Blue Mountains, but anyway...). They annoyed the crap out of me when I saw this as a teenager. I just wanted to ditch the lot of them. Coming to it now, three decades later, I think they are a great inclusion, a really interesting idea that for once is explored. Costume wise, they are clearly friends with the Feral Kid of Road Warrior, or at least shop at the same kangaroo skin outlet.<br />
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Grammar aside, the writing for the Tribe is quite something, with the representation of an oral culture that is turning record keeping into mythology. And there is a good but not laboured contrast between the hope and health of the children compared to the adult misery of Barter Town.<br />
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Max ends up being stumbled upon by these children. His presence as an adult brings on a crisis that splits the formerly cohesive unit into two, with half staying in the little paradise continuing to wait and the other half striking out across the desert in search of "Tomorrowmorrowland". While initially appearing to be a foolish move, this proves an important turning point in the story and gives Max a chance to become a person again rather than an aimless wanderer. Through their action he will find his way out of his own private wasteland.<br />
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The film's big stunt sequence is the train chase. It's impressive, but not as good as the tanker chase of Road Warrior, probably because a lot of it feels the same. It also has more comic elements, such as Scrooloose driving the truck while upside down, and Angry Andersen avoiding obstacles while hanging from a pipe on the train. There are no brutal deaths so we are spared the bulging-eyed corpses. And Max gets his moment, when he chooses to sacrifice himself in order to let the others fly to safety. He becomes the hero by choice, not by default or out of a sense of anger or revenge, as he did in The Road Warrior.<br />
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The last part of the film is strangely moving, at least for me. Entering a giant dust cloud (wave goodbye to more topsoil, Australia), they fly to the ruins of Sydney, the remains of the Harbour Bridge reaching over a dried seabed. It was gratifying to see the Opera House still standing (go, Jorn Utzon), and weird to recognise other buildings - Australia Square, the AMP Building, Chifley Square and so on. We are so used to seeing other parts of the world on the screen that it is always a little odd to be presented with places we know, even if they are crumbling ruins.<br />
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This grim reality of a world destroyed is lifted by the reactions of the children, with another fine bit of writing (grammar aside. Why the bad grammar?). And once more Max wanders off, although this time there feels like there is a purpose to it.<br />
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Mad Max 3: Beyond Thunderdome is a cheesey film, it does have quite a bit of silliness, and if I am going to watch something in this type of setting I'll go for Salute of the Jugger first, thanks (don't tell me this too is cheesey. I know. But it has Rutger Hauer, and dog skulls). But I do acknowledge that Salute of the Jugger probably would not have been possible without the Max films. They have been quite the influence on many film-makers. And Thunderdome has some depths, and interesting explorations of the notions of home and heroes and family.</div>
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I really did enjoy Beyond Thunderdome, although that could be because I had sat through the other two and this came as something of a relief. Would I like it as much if I caught it on its own? I don't know, but I am actually looking forward to watching this one with the Steamgoth and her father. I'll see what they think.<br />
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And sorry, no, I couldn't resist putting this clip here. Suck it up.<br />
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Megan Hitchenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08361935100439511819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2049406132687151789.post-63381709221607090892015-05-08T07:01:00.002-07:002017-06-14T19:19:33.310-07:00The Only Way Is Up: Mad Max 2 The Road Warrior<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was with no trepidation at all that I put the next disc in the player, There was just no way that Mad Max 2 could be as bad as Mad Max. And I was right. I LOVED this film - for the simple reason that the narration totally negates ANY need to watch Mad Max. In the first two minutes you get all the salient points (there weren't many) and then more story than number 1 could have dreamt of. No one need ever watch Mad Max ever again. Ever. Again.</div>
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And then it's business as usual with a car chase, crashes and mayhem. So it goes.</div>
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There was clearly more money spent on this film (the budget was $4 million, rather than $350 000). They hired more real actors for starters, and had actual sets and costumes, and hair dressers. Lots and lots of hair dressers. They also spent more time on the story, as in there are probably three lines of plot, rather than a mere loose description. And stunt men. How much of that $4 million was spent on stunt men, stunt choreographers and vehicles?</div>
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As was pointed out in my review of Mad Max 1 (you can read it <a href="http://nettlessting.blogspot.com.au/2015/05/committing-cultural-suicide-aka-i-hate.html">here</a>) this was all before CGI. All the stunts were real. They had to actually be done by real people and real vehicles. This includes the rolling of Max's V8 Interceptor, the chase and rolling of the tanker and, of course, the motorcycle rider hitting the buggy and hurtling 20 metres through the air. Why are we at all impressed by action films these days? They can't compare.</div>
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Road Warrior has some of the problems of the first film. The bad guys still seem to come from the piggery school of acting, or an amateur dramatic society led by a mad declaimer. And the writing, though much improved, is still clunky, But the musical score is better and everyone seems to be making a genuine effort. And the stunts are spectacular.</div>
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Miller has learnt about pacing. The film is 96 minutes long but unlike the first it feels shorter than its time. The action drives the story (one could say it is a lot of the story) and the violence, while still graphic, is not constant. There is a building to the climax of the tanker chase (the actual sequence is well enough planned that it doesn't feel 13 minutes long) and then the film comes to a suitable end. As in it really finishes. Same ending, Max disappearing, but this time it feels complete.</div>
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There's also better direction of the actors. Instead of being expressionless and vacant, Mel Gibson is now allowed to act broken and distant. Not a lot of difference, but enough. There is at least the sense that he is doing something, that there are undercurrents even if we can't see them.</div>
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Bruce Spence gives Steve Bisley a run for his money as stand out character actor. He imbues the Gyrocaptain with great verve, brings him to life. What the captain lacks in depth he makes up for in dogged persistence and cheerfulness. Here is a man who makes the most of what life throws at him, even though the sheer awfulness of it all sometimes gives him pause. From the captain to the Mouth of Sauron Spence's delight in his craft remains unchanged. He always gives it his best.</div>
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The setting has become more conventionally post-apocalyptic, which is understandable, but kind of a shame. Still, entropy and all that. Society has collapsed and those left fight viciously amongst themselves, mainly for remaining oil supplies. The only law is that which you can enforce yourself. The strong survive, the weak die. In "the Wasteland" where the film takes place this is especially true, and Miller makes sure we know it. More bulging-eyed corpses. He can't be accused of subtlety.</div>
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Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior was shot out around Broken Hill and Silverton, in outback New South Wales. I have been to these places. There is a weird beauty about them, but I couldn't stand to live there. I'd be terminally depressed within days. The heat and dust alone are enough to do me in. But the sky is huge, the landscape vast and the sunrises and sunsets spectacular. If you want somewhere that looks like the world has ended and makes humans insignificant, it's a great location.</div>
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The action in the Wasteland centres around a seige of an oil processing compound by a group of crazed leatherclad mohawked loons lead by a masked man known as The Humungous. He wears a studded leather posing pouch and some leather straps and not much else. As the Steamgoth said, "they're in the desert. How does he not have some kind of skin cancer?" The other side, those in the compound, are equally bizarrely dressed. All in creams and beige (refining oil is such a clean job), with big 80s shoulder pads and big 80s hair. Some wear cricket pads and gloves (well, it is Australia). Then there is the Feral Kid, in kangaroo skins with a metal boomerang.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Of course we work in an oil refinery. Can't you tell?</td></tr>
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It was interesting watching the desert shift in colour from red to green. It was nice that they had a rain sequence in there to explain it. Everything blooms very quickly when the rain comes, and vanishes almost as fast. But I am glad that they shot the last sequence with the green still there. There is something reassuring about it. No matter how stupid people become, the earth continues to do its thing, completely ignoring us and our petty squabbles. Everyone's actions are meaningless.</div>
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Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior is not a great film. But it is not terrible. And it is <i>not</i> boring. The narration at beginning and end works really well, and is some genuinely lovely writing, the art of storytelling beautifully delivered. Max's reluctance to be a help, let alone a hero, is a nice antidote to the typical action character. However, I can't help feeling there is an uncomfortable homophobic undertone to parts of the film, although I could be reading too much into it. It's difficult to say. But on the whole, it is much <i> much</i> better than Mad Max.</div>
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If you can stand it, Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome is reviewed <a href="http://nettlessting.blogspot.com.au/2015/05/children-and-animals-mad-max-3-beyond.html">here</a>.</div>
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Megan Hitchenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08361935100439511819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2049406132687151789.post-74054498938291593432015-05-07T23:36:00.000-07:002016-11-15T23:07:22.145-08:00Committing Cultural Suicide (aka I Hate Mad Max)<div style="text-align: justify;">
Not a post about art, but a post about a consequence of not producing art. I have actually been doing things, but it's been paid commission work (which is great, but not stuff I can share - other people's family trees and the like). And then there was the storm, which saw the kids home for an extra week of holidays (like they complained). And then everyone seemed to walking around coughing and spluttering. So guess what? My suppressed immune system did its usual trick of not protecting me and I have a cold.</div>
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At least I hope that's all it is. You know the sort of thing - face feels like it's going to explode from sinus pressure. Head full of cotton wool. Non-productive cough. And so, so tired. Sleeping two or three hours in the day and STILL sleeping right through the night. Given I am generally an insomniac, this is a little weird.</div>
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I seem to be over the worst of it, but the last few days have had to be written off in terms of actually achieving <i>anything </i>(other than the usual things a mother has to do, like get the kids to and from school, make lunches, make dinner, do housework, moan like a demented zombie and so on).</div>
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To be quite honest, I spent two days collapsed on the lounge (when I wasn't doing all the mother stuff) watching Blu-Rays. The Mad Max Collection, to be precise. So you are getting three film reviews. Stop reading now if you want. I won't be offended.</div>
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We went to the cinema for Avengers 2: the Age of Ultron (such fun, despite some silliness). There was a big ad for Mad Max: Fury Road, which the Steamgoth expressed a strong desire to see. Her dad and I talked about it and we felt that some idea of what Mad Max is might be in order before she sees Fury Road (she told me TWICE that Robert Brown has given it good reviews, so she <i>has</i> to see it). Up the escalators to JB and there was a boxed set of all three films on sale. With an R rating. Oops.</div>
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The deal was I would watch them first, decide if and what she could watch and then we'd talk about it again. We made the mistake a couple of weeks ago of watching Hardware with her because we <i>thought</i> we remembered what it was like. Um, no. So now when we talk about films and series she asks "more inappropriate than Hardware?" My dear, just because that horse has bolted doesn't mean the gate stays open.</div>
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Finding time when I have the leisure to watch films without children around or other things happening isn't straightforward. Nice to know there is a use for the common cold after all.</div>
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So the other morning, after taking the kids to school and sleeping for two hours, I put on Mad Max. Now before you start, I mean MAD MAX. As in NUMBER ONE. As in NOT the Road Warrior. Mad Max was made in 1979 on a shoe string budget and filmed in and around Melbourne, Victoria.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mel Gibson struggles to remember a line while Steve Bisley worries about his career</td></tr>
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I had never seen it before. And I never want to see it again.</div>
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I know why it was rated R. But really, if I am to be honest, it should have been rated B (for Boring) or D (for Dull), or most probably ID (for Inexorably Dull). The Steamgoth, when she got home from school and found out how I had spent my day, asked if she could watch it. I told her no on the grounds that it is not worth the time or effort. Her time could be better spent watching grass grow, or staring at the wall, or sitting with her eyes shut.</div>
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What was wrong with it? Where do I start? The violence is gratuitous and nonsensical, the script risible, the acting laughable and the musical score irritating and domineering. Was there a plot? Beyond "a highway patrolman encounters bikie gangs. His family is murdered, he goes on a revenge rampage"? By the way, those last two take up the final ten minutes of the film. And no, I don't think they are spoilers because they are so telegraphed as to visible from the moon. Did I say there was a real pacing problem?</div>
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Don't get me wrong. There is a lot of action in Mad Max. It starts with a mad car chase (actually, no, it starts with another highway patrolman perving through his rifle scope on a couple having sex, but that is <i>immediately </i>followed by a mad car chase). But the action is tedious. And repetitive. And often ridiculous.</div>
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The lines the actors were asked to deliver - I suppose they deserve awards for actually saying them, but then the desire to eat and pay rent can motivate one to do all sorts of things. The acting ranged from more ham than a piggery to so understated as to be non-existent, with understatement clearly mistaken for menacing (yes, Bubba, I'm looking at you). I now understand why everyone raves about Steve Bisley as Goose, because he was the only one who actually turned in a performance. He took his part and made it believable and fun and meaningful. Well, as meaningful as he could. He really is the standout in the whole thing.</div>
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As for Mel, the members of International Rescue have a wider range of expressions. There is one moment where he finally shows emotion, and completely over does it, when he goes to visit Goose in the hospital and sees his friend burnt to a crisp. I laughed and then groaned at the sheer ridiculousness of his extreme reaction, and wondered if he was going for broke because he was finally allowed to <i>have </i>a reaction. It wasn't till later that I realised he probably wasn't acting at all. It was just that the terrible truth dawned on him that the only other real actor in the film had done his last scene and he, Mel, was alone in the mire. Cue look of shock and horror. I wasn't too thrilled either.</div>
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The real surprise for me was that the film was 88 minutes. It felt much, <i>much</i> longer. I kept thinking "is it going to end?" (when I wasn't thinking "gods, get on with it"). I kept thinking, "will it pick up when his wife and baby die?" (seriously, you knew it was going to happen from the second you first saw them). No. It didn't. They died and within ten minutes all the bikie gang were dead and Max was driving away, and that was it. Stop. And I mean stop. The film didn't end, it didn't finish, it just... stopped. Woeful.</div>
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At the beginning of the next disc, Mad Max 2: the Road Warrior, Leonard Maltin gave a brief history of Max 1 and 2 (I suspect the boxed set has been specially brought out because of Fury Road). He talked about how it bombed in the US (he put it down to the stupid decision by the studio to dub American accents over the whole thing) and how well it did in the rest of the world and especially in Australia. And he revealed that this was the first film Kennedy and Miller had ever made. I cannot say it was a surprise (more a relief really. Explains a lot).</div>
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He also made the point that all the action in all the films was well before CGI, meaning everything had to be physically done. So there is a good point for Mad Max. There were some brave stunt men doing some crazy driving. Still not enough.</div>
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There are two things that really, <i>really</i> bother me about Mad Max. Firstly, it was the highest grossing Australian film at the time. Box office records tumbled before it. Given its rating, those who loved it looooooooved it, enough to see it multiple times. Other films to come out that year were "My Brilliant Career", "The Odd Angry Shot", "The Last of the Knucklemen", "Dimboola", "Tim", "The Plumber" (all from Australia), "Alien", "Frisco Kid", "Love at First Bite", "the Muppet Movie", "Star Trek the Motionless Picture", "Life of Brian", "Apocolypse Now", "The Lady Vanishes", "Hanover Street", "The Quatermass Conclusion". I could go on. All this and more to choose from, and Australians were going to Mad Max.It made about $5.4 million in Australia and about $100 million world wide (see? you don't need to succeed in the US market to succeed. Another point in its favour).</div>
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So what does this say about Australian audiences at the time that they would pay so much for something so second rate? Was it just the sex and violence, of which there was plenty? Was it the unashamedly ocker tone of the whole film, at a time that Australians were throwing off the cultural cringe? The clearly Australian setting? Our ongoing and increasingly obscene love affair with the car? Did some clutch it tighter to their chests <i>because</i> word got out of the US studio dubbing? I can't say. Maybe it's because I have never been mainstream "Australian" I find the embracing of this film opaque and bewildering, and, in light of its blindingly obvious shortcomings, embarrassing. So throw me out of Australia, ostracise me from mainstream Aussie culture. See if I care.</div>
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The other thing that bothers me about Mad Max is the squandering of a great opportunity. Mad Max is NOT post-apocalyptic. If you think it is, I suggest you have it confused with Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior. Mad Max is set in a time of societal decline. There are still structures there, attempts at order in the chaos, people and things don't look any different, but something is amiss. Things are on the slide.</div>
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Let's face it, fun as an apocalypse is, it has been done to hell and back, particularly lately (okay, fair dos, that wasn't the case in 1979, at least not to the same extent). Here is something <i>much</i> more interesting - disintegration. And it is used just as a backdrop. Okay, there is a sense of it there, but no exploration of it. Maybe I am being unfair. Maybe the pacing of the film is reflective of the pace of entropy, slow at first and then speeding up until, when Max's family is killed, it reaches light speed and tears the world apart, just as Max's life has been ripped to shreds. And maybe I am reading way too much into it in an attempt to find something, <i>anything</i> nice to say about this film, given it started Kennedy and Miller's careers. But I can't. Bring on the apocalypse.</div>
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If you can stomach my rantings, stay tuned for "<a href="http://nettlessting.blogspot.com.au/2015/05/the-only-way-is-up-mad-max-2-road.html">The Only Way is Up: Mad Max 2 The Road Warrior</a>".</div>
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Megan Hitchenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08361935100439511819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2049406132687151789.post-33093243679695254682015-04-12T03:31:00.001-07:002015-04-12T03:31:14.044-07:00The Long Dry Spell<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's been a long while between posts. It's been a long while between many things.</div>
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I have an exhibition coming up in 11 days. A group one, so nothing to get too excited about, but it still needs my best effort.</div>
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And I am absolutely dry.</div>
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There are fall-back pieces I can put in, if I have to, but I really want to do something new. And nothing is forthcoming.</div>
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I've been trying to do a birthday drawing for someone, but it has been Catweazle all over again. And now the birthday has come and gone and all I have are drawings that are unsatisfactory.</div>
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As for painting, let's not even discuss that, shall we.</div>
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I know what is causing this - sleep deprivation, pure and simple. It stuffs your brain around, interferes with thought processes, reasoning skills. Just screws over the whole system. There have been things going on, family-wise, so either I have been up being nurse and sickmaid, or just awake worrying, which is pointless but difficult to shake off. I <i>think</i>, touch wood, that we are at the end of it all (ooh, that feels like a jinx, right there), but it has been going on for so long. And in the meantime I have done nothing. The day comes to an end and there hasn't been the time to pick up a pencil or pen, or there has been and my brain has felt like soup, fit only for a mindless pursuit or filled with what is needed next.</div>
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Margaret Olley, the famous Australian artist, said that if women want to be artists they should neither marry nor have children. A (male) artist friend said she's wrong, but I can't agree. The married thing, yes, okay, things have shifted enough that that is no longer true. And by married I count partners too. Wendy Sharpe manages well as an artist with a partner, and there are others. But I am struggling to think of a female artist I respect who has children. Female artist who have given up, or been made to give up their art because of children? Plenty of examples, and many, like Ria Murch, did so so that their husbands could concentrate on their own work (I wonder if Margaret was thinking of Ria when she made her statement).</div>
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Maybe it's a female thing, or maybe it's a primary caregiver thing - the role, not the gender. But either way, it can make this infernal juggling act difficult. Here's how it works, and I would love to hear from male primary caregivers on this (in my small and ever diminishing readership) - everything goes on hold for the sick or distressed child, so that they can have the attention they need. Not just activity, but also brain space. The child in question fills your waking life and haunts your dreams when you do manage to sleep. The child is the focus, apart from when you are desperately trying to split yourself to give the other child/children some attention when you can.</div>
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There is no resentment in this toward the children, even though it may sound like it. It's just the way it is and is probably some deep-seated evolutionary survival mechanism or something. But what does get to me is that the secondary carer doesn't seem to be consumed at all. They continue on with their life (which they have to do) and while there is worry it doesn't seem to occupy as much space in the mind. There is room for other things and other functions, again probably some deep-seated evolutionary survival mechanism, but gosh it can be irritating.</div>
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And the lack of sleep has not helped - how to blow concerns out of proportion and deaden the senses, all in one easy step.</div>
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Things are, as I said, easing off, getting better. Hey, I have time to write this post (yippee). But now there is also fear, oh joy. Nothing works, nothing is satisfactory, so picking up a pencil or pen is getting challenging. What if the drought never breaks? Why am I still producing crap? Okay, it is not all crap. I did some drawings of Flacco when I went to see DAAS, of which I am quite pleased, but that is one page of sketches in the space of months. And the fear grows and forms tight uncomfortable knots in my stomach and in my mind. And nothing feels right.</div>
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The friend who said Margaret Olley was wrong also said that you have to keep working even when you don't feel like it, otherwise it's a hobby. And he is 100% right about that. If I am going to succeed at this it <i>has</i> to be my job as well as my driving passion. But the thing about jobs is that sometimes you have to take leave, particularly if you are the primary carer. So that's how I am trying to look at what has happened - enforced leave. I just hope I can come back.</div>
Megan Hitchenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08361935100439511819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2049406132687151789.post-12775613227072733542015-01-12T01:31:00.003-08:002015-01-12T01:31:43.235-08:00When Lightning Strikes<div style="text-align: justify;">
Drawing is an interesting process. It is essential to art practice, whether you are figurative or abstract or anything in between. It trains the brain and the body. The hand, the arm, the shoulder, the torso, whether you are sitting or standing, the placement of your feet - all are important in the production of a drawing. I tend to hold my pencil so that my whole arm and shoulder get involved in what I am doing. It gives me greater expression and fluidity. Yes, I do sometimes hold it like a pen, when I need those fine, accurate lines, but for sketches something livelier is needed. Sketches are quick things.,accuracy and speed come with practice, but it is something you need to keep working at, or you rapidly become rusty, and slow.</div>
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I try to draw and sketch every day. It doesn't always happen, sometimes the rest of life gets in the way, but it is what I aim for. Part of that aim requires carrying paper and pencils with me most of the time. Yesterday was no exception.</div>
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My son loves Andy Griffiths and Terry Denton. He has most of their books. I was looking through the newspaper back in early November and Son noticed an ad (he reads over the shoulder - sigh) for "26 Storey Treehouse - The Play" at the Opera House. Cue much excitement and longing. Unbeknownst to him, spouse and I talked about it later and then I got online and booked seats- one for Son, one for me, one for my mother-in-law. Imagine the Son's face on Christmas morning when he opened a plain looking envelope containing the magic tickets.</div>
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Yesterday was the day to go.</div>
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Train trip down to Sydney. I love train trips - great opportunity to draw people who have little choice but to sit still and do nothing for a couple of hours. Only I was having such a good time chatting to my mother-in-law that I didn't get out my sketch books. Okay.</div>
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We had a nice lunch together and then made our way to Circular Quay and round to the Opera House. And arrived over half an hour early. Oh well, I thought, we can sit quietly and I can sketch the milling masses. Not so.</div>
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Given the number of children coming to see a play by their favourite funny author and illustrator, the Opera House had wisely arranged entertainment beforehand - something called Build the Music. Basically, it's a Lego table which the children build on with different coloured bricks. Then a laser reads the creations and translates the colours, shapes and shadows into music. Son had so much fun experimenting and seeing how his different ideas translated into sound.</div>
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And I got some sketching done.</div>
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The people running Build the Music were fabulous. They were great with the kids - so engaged and encouraging. Keeping things under control without being bossy or didactic or appearing controlling. Expert child-wranglers. They were also good musicians. When not helping with the children, they were wandering amongst them playing ukuleles, just quietly, as background. No "look at me" qualities. Happy to answer any and all questions, show the children the many instruments they had with them, let them try them out. Great ambassadors for their profession.</div>
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And they were steampunks.</div>
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Or at least dressed as them. All browns and blacks, and muted colours. Top hats and flat caps and scarves and waistcoats and boots. Fantastic goggles, too.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_3IMZh2k6aTY2JC8dnKYa6PBjLoGHO_klByARdzSBNMw5GZlpDn1iSOn7Iv1Na9DGifaQgM4T2_z53QcbEtNFkMPeWUT5UHYVJ3dfOlAP0euGZBzyr8d_Skgb7hMxyIUKd-gK8jzaP9w/s1600/sketches+goggles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_3IMZh2k6aTY2JC8dnKYa6PBjLoGHO_klByARdzSBNMw5GZlpDn1iSOn7Iv1Na9DGifaQgM4T2_z53QcbEtNFkMPeWUT5UHYVJ3dfOlAP0euGZBzyr8d_Skgb7hMxyIUKd-gK8jzaP9w/s1600/sketches+goggles.jpg" height="320" width="186" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Goggles</i>, Megan Hitchens, black chalk on buff paper, 2015</td></tr>
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I didn't have my camera with me, and my phone was out of juice, so there were no means of photographic recording. Which was a good thing, because it meant that I HAD to draw.</div>
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There is a knack to drawing people who are constantly on the move. You have to go for the very quickest methods, often only hinting at what is going on. Detail has to go by the board, which is a good thing, because it means I cannot get bogged down. Detail has been something of my Achilles' heel in the past. Too much attention to it can kill a drawing stone dead (mind you, just about every drawing can be revived if you know how. All dead drawings have the potential to be Lazarus).</div>
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A lot of things got crammed on one page because I couldn't afford the time to flick over. I've chosen a selection for this post. The subjects were constantly on the move, so these were lightning sketches. Speed was the key. Then one of the performers realised what I was doing and pulled a weird face every time I looked at her. So that's how she got drawn. Go with what you get.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9SzIQ743fs5In2Xncad9ksL2SFb5kNSFSsYmDmQKQTSIlSWSeGeupNYfIdZv9fLzgP8PI_7gttxUO9aXaiW_1MccZEa0uIk7PRzedVX_wV8iK1GsgnhZrwbkzR26SL3Q8wKsKVCzJzY4/s1600/sketches+goya.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9SzIQ743fs5In2Xncad9ksL2SFb5kNSFSsYmDmQKQTSIlSWSeGeupNYfIdZv9fLzgP8PI_7gttxUO9aXaiW_1MccZEa0uIk7PRzedVX_wV8iK1GsgnhZrwbkzR26SL3Q8wKsKVCzJzY4/s1600/sketches+goya.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Reminds me of Goya</i>, Megan Hitchens, black chalk on buff paper, 2015</td></tr>
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Another sketch was a composite. The chap kept moving (doing his job), so my sketch ended up a bit of a mash - the nose at this angle, the eye at that, the chin at another. Each bit looks like him. Together it looks like someone else. I keep thinking about this, brain ticking. There's something...</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiQQCL0I5B9LWDCW6FasJIGJGlBcx0CxPT0-Rr0aDKKP6YSJ1jNN0MOvamuUkY0rPREi-xwWQkwhuHr5egEbUWA3eFJYL4OzxWEgCB5YNroelnCru4a6QNH-WO_x_KY15RywqZoBTC7SM/s1600/sketches+composite.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiQQCL0I5B9LWDCW6FasJIGJGlBcx0CxPT0-Rr0aDKKP6YSJ1jNN0MOvamuUkY0rPREi-xwWQkwhuHr5egEbUWA3eFJYL4OzxWEgCB5YNroelnCru4a6QNH-WO_x_KY15RywqZoBTC7SM/s1600/sketches+composite.jpg" height="320" width="192" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Composite</i>, Megan Hitchens, black chalk on buff paper, 2015</td></tr>
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I was just wearing my ordinary everyday clothes, which I often feel aren't steampunk enough. Yet I got asked several times if I was with the performers. Was I their director? How can they be booked for other events? Sorry, I'm just a parent. But it did make me feel good.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilggPwsIdAIoAy6q4CgXm27ubzR1OlqMTXvfV_EumvfwkFwiVf4TeYADwtRbteT6n3_Ox8Im-bUGVXu0ItpcFTehDG710-1G096n2FFH_aUnIY1e0twZTUCGl3GMDFrcxkSHLVGc_nuNU/s1600/sketches2+small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilggPwsIdAIoAy6q4CgXm27ubzR1OlqMTXvfV_EumvfwkFwiVf4TeYADwtRbteT6n3_Ox8Im-bUGVXu0ItpcFTehDG710-1G096n2FFH_aUnIY1e0twZTUCGl3GMDFrcxkSHLVGc_nuNU/s1600/sketches2+small.jpg" height="320" width="246" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This set up hid all the computer equipment. <br />There were glowing wires too, but I didn't have a blue pencil with me. <br />This is not a lightning sketch, but was worked up from one. <br />Black, white and sanguine chalk on buff paper. 2015</td></tr>
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The doors opened and it was time to go in. Son and I thanked the performers. They asked to see the drawings. Thankfully they liked them, and the face-puller laughed. I did some more sketching in the play, but it was quite dark, and I was laughing a lot, so they were less successful. But it was an interesting experience, and one I enjoyed. A different set of challenges.</div>
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Today's drawing was much more sedate. I have actually started working on a series of Tomographs, and the drawings for them are of a very different nature. They require detail. I shall have to be careful I keep them alive.</div>
Megan Hitchenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08361935100439511819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2049406132687151789.post-77453416156130615122014-12-25T19:36:00.002-08:002014-12-25T19:36:57.291-08:00Going Off Half-Baked<div style="text-align: justify;">
My name's Megan and I'm a blogger. It's been ten days since my last post.</div>
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But what a ten days. The kids finishing their school year seems to bring so much drama with it. Getting reports, cleaning out the layers of detritus from their school bags (for which I am grateful for some archaeology knowledge), going through all the school clothes and all the school books. And getting ready for Christmas. There were presents to buy and presents to finish making and baking to do. So much baking. And in the midst of that all the usual, boring things, like grocery shopping and cooking and doing the washing. Bleah.</div>
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Somehow, in all that, time for quietly drawing or painting got shunted back in the schedule (and blogging went right out the window).</div>
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Baking. Every year I go a little crazy making gingerbread. I love gingerbread, and ginger cake. And I love making things out of gingerbread. The whole house smells of gingerbread for days on end. It greets you when you walk in the door and wafts you off to sleep at night. Just heaven.</div>
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It started with houses. I have been making houses for a number of years. They are fun and versatile and when the kids were little they used to love decorating, although I think that had a lot to do with scoffing sweets as they worked. Houses were made for family and friends and we would have a great time making each look different. We'd change the biscuits and other decorations out the front. But inside was always the same - biscuits with the names of each of the recipients, as a little surprise when the roof was finally taken off.</div>
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Then last year the Son up the ante. "We always do houses. They're fun. But can you make a TARDIS?" said with the definite tone of throwing down the gauntlet. So I put my mind to it and came up with this (note the small size of the Cybermen and Daleks) :</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOsfFA_UOOZoirbNxOm4RxqTPY70Q2MPCOeJrwA7UIIw6_rXDNZWHiPqHNUNlngUsl8VBzv22HQHdRDMRwi_u2MSrwu9szTKmVtxrlVLjWYbpT-mtfgaH1GnPn90NcoivtST7SyiXQDs8/s1600/TARDIS+crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOsfFA_UOOZoirbNxOm4RxqTPY70Q2MPCOeJrwA7UIIw6_rXDNZWHiPqHNUNlngUsl8VBzv22HQHdRDMRwi_u2MSrwu9szTKmVtxrlVLjWYbpT-mtfgaH1GnPn90NcoivtST7SyiXQDs8/s1600/TARDIS+crop.jpg" height="400" width="343" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Gingerbread TARDIS</i>, 2013</td></tr>
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There was one for us and one for some friends who love Dr Who. And then there were several houses as well. Inside the houses were the usual biscuits with names. Insides the TARDISs were biscuits done like Seals of Rasalon with names on the back. I was quite pleased with how it came out.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsRbtYyrg5-dLe0umMjGKqdhT7-y-1kccbXxDPHQl1vejmfp_p_pger2nrq-VZqEmLucN7ia6RpjK-sv4WgL9QTRwdc8XUgRVTm-VVe0NYkBl3-mvh9YMYtU6ZBjIWgXJjJ-PLJqvnhgM/s1600/Rasalon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsRbtYyrg5-dLe0umMjGKqdhT7-y-1kccbXxDPHQl1vejmfp_p_pger2nrq-VZqEmLucN7ia6RpjK-sv4WgL9QTRwdc8XUgRVTm-VVe0NYkBl3-mvh9YMYtU6ZBjIWgXJjJ-PLJqvnhgM/s1600/Rasalon.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Gingerbread Seal of Rasalon</i>, 2014</td></tr>
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So this year I thought, more TARDISs, why not? I made TARDISs for some school friends and their families, with Seals inside, and larger Daleks outside. They were more to scale, but it did mean two figures per structure. Four was too cluttered.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Gingerbread TARDIS </i>2014</td></tr>
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Looking at it now, my piping could have been better. Don't know what was wrong with me there. The Daleks (and cybermen) are just made with a template I draw each year, which will always mean that no two years will be alike. I also found this year that Smarties make a perfect top to the TARDIS light. Which enables me to colour-code each one. Otherwise, once the lid's on I have trouble remembering which one is for which family.</div>
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There was also a sleigh. I used a mold, which I haven't done before. It needs rethinking. I was happy with the sleigh, but the two reindeer had to go. They looked like they'd been hanging around the king of Goblin Town. Not good. I shall cogitate and experiment (there is still some dough left in the freezer). Might make templates for them and see if that works better. Or make them in the mold but with chocolate rather than dough. Needs work. This was the first time I had made something without testing it first. Just trusted the thing I had bought. Sorry, Cate. I owe you two reindeer.</div>
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Anyway, Son threw down the gauntlet again this year. "You've made TARDISs. They're good. But what about a Dalek? Like, a 3D one?" Ooookay.</div>
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So I went through the process I adopted for the houses years ago and for the TARDIS last year. Lots of thinking. Draw plans based on images from the Doctor Who Technical Manual. Build out of cardboard to perfect template. Build prototype from gingerbread. Look at it, pick faults, iron out kinks, revise, think.</div>
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And this was the result:</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Gingerbread Dalek Travel Machine</i>, 2014</td></tr>
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There were problems. Snapping the panel above the gun and plunger was a big one. The dome needed perfecting. But I think jelly baby heads make perfect lights. On the whole, however, it worked. And the scale is Jaffa scale.</div>
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I made another one for a friend and her family. And the Son came up with the great idea of putting an actual dalek inside. Did you know, if you chop up and melt jelly snakes they become a glorious slimey mess? And almost impossible to clean off teaspoons? The Dalek came out okay, and caused a "ewww" reaction, which was the desired effect. But I have since had ideas on improvements. This is, as always, an ongoing process. And sometime I shall have to make a Doctor gingerbread man. After all, he often says he wants to be ginger.</div>
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So after all the panic and rush, Christmas was done. I love that people loved their gingerbread. I love that we still have our prototype to eat. But I am really pleased to sit down, to get off my feet, to read and draw at leisure.</div>
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And I am NOT showing this to my Son:</div>
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In closing, here's a little something for all of you who, like me, need to relax a little now Christmas is done. In! Calm! Out! Relax!</div>
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Megan Hitchenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08361935100439511819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2049406132687151789.post-38048188603412259652014-12-16T15:32:00.001-08:002014-12-16T15:40:02.391-08:00A Jolt to The System<div style="text-align: justify;">
Sorry it is such a long time between posts, but this is a busy time of year. I'm writing this in between baking and finishing presents and helping the kids wrap up the school year. This is the last year in primary school for the Son, and today is his last day. So it's something of a big deal, for him and for me.</div>
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In the midst of all this there hasn't been much time for non-Christmas creation. Although I didn't get my Christmas cards finished (but at least I now have a head start on next year's). The house is looking nice and Christmassy, the windows are gradually being covered with <a href="http://www.anthonyherreradesigns.com/index.php/8-ahd-blog/14-star-wars-snowflakes-2014">Star Wars snowflakes</a> (they're fun). <a href="http://abneypark.com/market/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=2&products_id=306">Through Your Eyes on Christmas Eve</a>, which is usually our go-to album for Christmas (because it is fabulous) is having to compete with Nomad, but in a day or so I shall make us stick to Christmas music (leading, no doubt to a Nomad explosion on Boxing Day). The baking started a few days ago, and I am taking advantage of the strangely cool weather to get a crack on with it.</div>
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Christmas was not a happy time when I was growing up. Bits of it were, but on the whole, no. So I love making it happy for my children. My parents-in-law have the right idea - remove as much stress from proceedings as possible so that everyone can have a good time. Cook as much beforehand, go for salads, cold meats, etc (which makes sense in our climate) and make clean-up as quick and easy as possible. And <i>everyone</i> helps out. That way there's more time for fun and frivolity.</div>
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The children are working on making presents and have also been saving their pocket money so that bought presents come from them. The Steamgoth particularly is coming up trumps in the making department. She is going to be an artistic force to be reckoned with.</div>
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Most of the stuff I have been doing I can't discuss because some of the recipients read this blog (I think). But there is one thing, as it has already been given.</div>
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One of the sillier things I do, but which my kids love, is modifying NERF guns. I'm not great at it, I need more practice frankly, but I'm getting there. And I am good at NERF repairs (which reminds me, I need to take my repair kit to my friend's house. I promised her sons ages ago I'd have a look at their NERFs.</div>
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Son's class do Secret Santa. This is a great idea and really cuts down on school Christmas expenses. Everyone writes out a slip of paper with their name and interests. The teacher then gives them out so everyone has someone they get a present for. Limit is $5-$10. You get a present, wrap it with the recipient's name but not yours, and sneak it under the tree in the classroom. The Son drew a girl in the class who likes "rainbows and weapons". So I got asked to modify a gun, but without rainbows.</div>
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We went and got a Jolt. This is the smallest NERF and costs $5. It also packs a real punch. I learnt the hard way to <i>not</i> remove the air baffles. With the baffles the Jolt fires hard (hence its name) and makes a pleasant <i>thock</i> sound when fired. Without the baffles the Jolt <i>hurts</i> and makes an unpleasant <i>snap</i> sound when fired. Some guns, such as the old Maverick, perform better without the baffles. Not the Jolt.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Jolt, as it comes</td></tr>
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What I have done with it doesn't actually constitute a mod. It's really just a new paint job. And before you ask, all my guns have names. My modded Jolt in called Minnie (as in Minerva), this one is Lily. It is missing its brand plate (just realised - too late) - HMA Firearms and Munitions. There's a whole story to that. One day I will write it up.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><i>Lily</i>. Unfortunately the bullets still look the same</td></tr>
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I wanted a really Chrome paint for the cartridge handle. Still looking for that (at least this paint is more silvery than it appears in the photo). The copper barrel isn't bad. I am looking into "gilding" parts of the guns in future. We'll see how that works out. The Son liked the finished product, and the recipient <i>loved</i> it, so that's the important thing.</div>
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There's so much Christmas music I could put on this (and I am seriously running out of time to put any up). But I thought, silly post, so silly music, so you get this...</div>
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Megan Hitchenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08361935100439511819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2049406132687151789.post-71197928948761670702014-12-05T22:29:00.000-08:002014-12-05T22:37:05.378-08:00Zat You, Santa Claus?<div style="text-align: justify;">
I've been getting a lot of drawing done, but there's nothing ready to show yet (that's the trouble with working on several things at once). So instead I will do something appropriate to the season and write about Father Christmas. And show some old fruits of labour.</div>
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In Bangladesh 25 December is a national holiday because it is the birthday of Rabrindranath Tagore, the famous poet. The Tiger of Bengal. He wrote a lot about Indian independence (he also wrote about love and other things. His poetry is worth finding and reading). He was also a playwright, composer, painter, essayist and novelist. So, my first bearded fellow at Christmas was this man. I think I got off to a flying start.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rabindranath Tagore, 1861-1941</td></tr>
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My first actual encounter with Father Christmas was in Port Moresby, PNG, when I was about 23 months old. Yes, I do remember this (my earliest memory is at about 14 months, but that's another story). He was an old, slightly overweight PNG man with a VERY bright, highly patterned shirt and a short, white, curly beard. He was accompanied by a number of PNG ladies and they were all on the back of a flat bed truck. I don't think I knew what "Santa Claus" meant or entailed, but I knew he was it.</div>
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The next year my mother took my elder sister, my baby brother and me to the local shopping centre to have our Christmas photo done. The photo is one of those "mixed bag" ones. Sister is happy enough, Brother is a babe in arms (only two months old) and I am furious and tearful. Because this fat white guy with the huge beard was <i>not</i> Santa Claus and I was having none of it. Wrong outfit, wrong beard, wrong colour. No, no, no! I suspect there was foot stamping involved (I should ask Mum for the photo so I can scan it). The next year, and all subsequent were fine, but that year... no. Not at all.</div>
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Shopping Centre Santas are their own mixed bag. Some are lovely and knowledgeable and really have the children believing. Others, while sweet, are not so convincing. If you want to be a Shopping Centre Santa it is best to not live under a rock.</div>
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I have always had my children's photos done at David Jones. Great service, great photos with a good range of packages and prices so you do not have to bankrupt yourself. Generally good Santas. Except for one year.</div>
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Every year I make (or now offer to make) a new outfit for my children. For the Steamgoth a dress (often worn two years running, the first year floor length, the next mid-calf. Her choice. Smart girl), for Son a shirt (he wanted the same one four years running, so that was easy).</div>
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When Son was three he made his most extravagant demand (he has never topped it, although last year's cammo gear was interesting). He wanted to be the pilot of Thunderbird 2, which meant dressing like Virgil Tracy. </div>
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I am not one for putting photos of my children on the web, but I'll make an exception this time because this photo is so old, and he is so cute, and I am so proud of the damned costume.</div>
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Everything is made by me, except the gun. The boots, the hat, the sash, the belt and holster, the uniform. The badges on the sash and hat were painted with fabric paint and then appliqued. We still have this. I don't care how big Son gets, I am <i>never</i> giving this away.</div>
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When you take kids for Christmas photos mums look and coo (or appraise), dads ignore. Not this time. We had guys in their 20s and 30s stop us and ask where the uniform came from. One guy walked backwards in front of us to get a better look. Son thought this was all marvellous. And then we got to Father Christmas.</div>
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And the silly man <i>asked</i> "who are you meant to be?" and when son looked shocked and told him, he said "Who?" Like I said, if you want to be a Shopping Centre Santa, don't live under a rock. At the age of three I had to have <i>that</i> talk with my son. You know, the one where you explain that these guys are all just helpers because the real one is flat out getting everything ready, but don't worry, he gets all the messages.</div>
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The local Westfield has told the local David Jones (inside the local Westfield) that they can't have a Santa this year because it competes with the Centre one. So we will be going down to Sydney to the big DJs in the centre of town. Raspberries with knobs on to Westfield. The Steamgoth has declared she is NOT coming. She is "too old". And there is nothing I can do or say to change her mind (I have tried).</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Laser Claus</i>, Megan Hitchens, watercolour pencil on paper, 2013. He wants a word with Westfield Tuggerah</td></tr>
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To finish up, have you ever really listened to the words of "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town"? The guy <i>is </i> a creepy stalker. Doubt me? Listen to it in a minor key, then tell me I'm wrong. (That's my drawing, by the way (<i>Fat Man</i>, watercolour pencil on paper, 2013). I couldn't resist after I heard this version).</div>
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Megan Hitchenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08361935100439511819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2049406132687151789.post-82591848980376101612014-12-01T17:59:00.003-08:002014-12-01T17:59:52.100-08:00On the Ball<div style="text-align: justify;">
Tomorrow is the Year 6 Farewell dinner at the local Golf Club. When I was at school there was a school disco and the principal stood up at the last assembly in the year and said goodbye to us all. That was it. Now, there's the farewell dinner, a farewell pool party, the assembly, and on the last day the rest of the school forms a guard of honour at the gates (that's actually quite funny, watching the Year 6 kids trying to get under the arms of the kindergartners).</div>
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My baby will be finishing primary school.</div>
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Lots of people are pitching in (it's a public school, we're not flush with cash). Decorations and special place mats have been made, I've spruced up the banner and written out place cards. Parents will be decorating the room at the club on the day (not me, sorry, that banner was more than enough). Everyone pulling together, which is as it should be.</div>
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Son loves his teacher. Miss Casamento is lovely, but she is also a great educator. She has a tough class (the Opportunity Class (gifted) - pack of smart arses, including my boy), but she keeps them in line and motivated and interested, and learning all sorts of things. There are two OC classes, the kids have the same teacher for both years 5 and 6, and the two classes, next door to each other, interact a fair bit. So when Son asked me to make a temari for Miss Casamento, he also asked for one for Miss Garland, the other OC teacher. To be given at the farewell.</div>
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Remember <a href="http://nettlessting.blogspot.com.au/2014/11/having-ball.html">temari</a>? I made one for Mrs Dawes, our deputy principal, when she retired.</div>
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It was a simple thing for Son to ask both women for their favourite colours. Then he and I went through <i>all</i> my temari books looking for just the right designs. I swear he bookmarked about twenty. I deliberately did not say "Let's look on online too". We'd still be choosing.</div>
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After several days he settled on one for each.</div>
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I made Miss Garland's first because my boy was still deciding thread colours for Miss Casamento's.</div>
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This is wrapped in red thread, divided with gold into a C8 (see <a href="http://nettlessting.blogspot.com.au/2014/11/having-ball.html">the other post</a>) and then the pattern is built up by stitching interlocking large and small squares. That's right. Squares. The triangles appear as you go. I had to unpull it once because I mistranslated something in the instructions (if I had looked more closely at the photos I would have realised my mistake). Then I had to unpull it again because there are two ways to stitch the large squares, and I chose the wrong way (again, photo, dur). But it came out alright in the end.</div>
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By the time it was done, Son had finalised the colours for the second one. A dusty pink and white. I suggested a touch of light green, but he was adamant.</div>
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The mari was wrapped in dusty pink thread (it's fairly dark in tone) and then simply divided into twelve, like segmenting an orange. All those petals are achieved by first stitching zig zags from the pole to midway to the equator on alternating spokes (repeat once so all spokes are done) and then stitching spindle shapes on each spoke over the equator. Repeat till finished. The equator is then wrapped in an obi (basically a belt made of wrapped threads) and that's it. It is a simple pattern, but it takes a lot longer to stitch than the red one.</div>
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And if you are wondering about the cushion, that's a zabuton, or little mattress. I have a few of these in my temari box. The colours were perfect, so Son snaffled it.</div>
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So that's it. Now I have to find something else for the evenings (too warm for knitting at the moment).</div>
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Christmas music. I meant to start this yesterday, but I forgot it was 1 December (despite stressing about the Christmas tree and the cats). Still, better late than never. (And don't roll your eyes, listen. Great version)</div>
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Megan Hitchenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08361935100439511819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2049406132687151789.post-58259463250499058702014-11-30T21:27:00.001-08:002014-12-03T13:35:45.095-08:00Into Aladdin's CaveSo what did the Steamgoth think of Frankenstein? She loved it. As we walked out into the bright Summer sunshine, she said "thanks, Mum, for bringing me to this". She even <i>held my hand</i> as we walked along the Quay through the ever present throng of tourists. My teenage daughter! That it had been a film of a stage production seemed a bonus. She particularly liked the ingenuity involved in the props and the Spartan settings, conveying so much with so little. We had a lengthy talk about Mary Shelley and her parents as we made our way over to The Rocks and the tightly-packed Aladdin's Cave of wonder that is Parker's Fine Art Supplies.<br />
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I love Parker's, and unlike <a href="http://nettlessting.blogspot.com.au/2014/11/of-mice-and-megans-part-2.html">last time</a>, it was open. It smells glorious. Turn your head to the left as you walk in and it is the heady scents of linen and cedar from the canvas and stretchers. Turn to the right and it's the metallic tang of pen nibs. There are racks and racks of handmade paper, leather-bound sketch books. Old Holland oil paints (the best paints in the world, and that is written without any exaggeration). I have to admit, I stand in the oil paint aisle and shut my eyes and breath in and am transported to other times and other places.<br />
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We drifted around for a while just gazing at all the beautiful things. The Steamgoth found a rather nice retractor pencil and a pack of 2B nibs, and I found chalks that were buttery-smooth and glode onto the test scraps of paper.<br />
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There was a little stand set up with various coloured ink stones and a calligraphy brush. The Steamgoth had a great time writing Kanji while I got some serious looking done. Honestly, I could spend thousands in that shop without blinking. But I don't have thousands. So I contented myself with my chalks, her pencil and leads, a beautiful new sketchbook (heavy cream paper) and... a silverpoint stylus. Yes, finally, a silverpoint stylus.</div>
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Such a <a href="http://nettlessting.blogspot.com.au/2014/09/i-should-have-known.html">contrast to Eccersley's</a>. "Do you have silverpoint supplies?" "Yes, but it's only the silver at the moment. I think we are out of the gold". Oh, bliss. He showed me what they had (they even had lead. Nice, but no thanks). And then he <i>apologised</i> because they are out of prepared paper. Before I even asked (I wasn't going to, but still... impressive).</div>
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The day in Sydney was rounded out with afternoon tea at a cafe and then an hour or so in Kinokuniya, with the Steamgoth waxing lyrical over the manga while I looked through the art books and the Japanese Steampunk magazines (they had a new one, but having been to Parker's I couldn't afford $40 for one magazine, lovely though it was).</div>
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And we just made it home before the exhaustion set in. Sunday's activities got severely curtailed, but after feeling like I was made of lead for most the day( and still I had to wash the children's school clothes), I took son shopping for his year 6 farewell outfit and then sat down and did these from memory, because they wouldn't let me rest.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Train</i>, Megan Hitchens, trois crayons on buff paper, 2014</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Creature</i>, Megan Hitchens, trois crayons on cream paper, 2014</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Worker</i>, Megan Hitchens, white chalk on black paper, 2014<br />
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They tumbled out of my head. There are more, and I have found a stack of photos this afternoon on the <a href="http://ntlive.nationaltheatre.org.uk/productions/16546-frankenstein">National Theatre live website</a>, so I can fix up some I am not happy with and maybe do some others. It's odd, drawing from memory. A very good exercise, but not easy. They aren't perfect but I am quite happy with them, given what they are.</div>
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The one of the creature I got too caught up in musculature and wounds, and forgot about proportions. His arms are hopelessly long, or his legs too short. But I showed it to the Steamgoth and she knew exactly the moment I had drawn - his bottom-wriggling joy at finally mastering walking.<br />
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I have included the Rachmaninoff because I like it, and it is melancholy, and I am knackered.<br />
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Megan Hitchenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08361935100439511819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2049406132687151789.post-71255028605005550632014-11-30T18:35:00.003-08:002014-11-30T18:35:58.517-08:00The Monster Within<div style="text-align: justify;">
I meant to write and post this on Saturday, but Saturday wiped me out. Sometimes I can withstand a lot of physical activity, sometimes I really pay for it. The last couple of days I have been paying. Mind you, a whole week of waking at 5am (alarm is set for six) coupled with screaming nightmares while I have slept probably had something to do with it.</div>
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On Saturday I went down to Sydney with the Steamgoth, to see the National Theatre production of Frankenstein at the Dendy Opera Quays. You read that rightly, a stage production at a picture theatre. Frankenstein is a film of the stage play in London, right down to an audience present. Almost like being <i>in</i> the audience, only the view is better. We saw the changing of the sets, the rotating of the stage, the works. The industrial train was especially impressive.</div>
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This is an amazing production. If you ever get the chance to see it, make every effort to go. It's the version with Benedict Cumberbatch and Johnny Lee Miller. Every night they would swap who played Victor Frankenstein and who played the creature. Which version you see depends on the session you go to. We got lucky. We got Cumberbatch as the creature. It is an incredibly demanding role, which is possibly partly why they swapped each night.</div>
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I wasn't sure what the Steamgoth would think of it all, but I was hoping she might like it. We got off to a good start when she said how much she liked the theatre. Then they played "Minnie the Moocher" while we were waiting for the film to start. Cab Calloway, but a different recording to the one we are used to, so we had a lot of fun trying to sing the responses correctly. The Steamgoth added "sir" to the end of each of her's (Jeeves and Worcester fans, us). The two elderly ladies sitting next to us weren't sure what to think.</div>
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When the lights finally dimmed, we got a documentary. The Steamgoth hates documentaries about films, whereas I love them. I have indeed watched all 12 hours of documentaries on the Lord of the Rings discs, and been declared mad by the rest of the family. But this documentary was mercifully short. We both agreed that Benedict Cumberbatch looks weird with his real hair colour, and my daughter was very impressed that Mary Shelley was 19 when she was writing Frankenstein (she wants to be a horror writer, and her stupid English teacher has said that as a girl and a dyslexic she should give it up. We have had words).</div>
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And then the film itself started. From the beginning it was enthralling and imaginative and utterly believable. More from the point of view of the creature than anything else, unlike the novel, which is Frankenstein's report to a friend of all that happened. Frankenstein's lack of humanity is in sharp contrast with that of his creation. It's hard going at times, but the story is hard going. If you have never read Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, do so. It is a classic for a reason.</div>
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Cumberbatch was brilliant as the creature. His performance so very physical, the spacticity of the early attempts at movement ghoulishly fascinating. As he learns to speak, I was reminded very much of David Threlfall's performance as Smike in the 1980 production of the Life and Adventures of Nicholas Nickleby. That sense of disability never really leaves the character, and it calls upon that terrible but wrong-headed instinct in us all that how someone sounds reflects their intellect. He speaks with a slur and moves unevenly, so he must be an idiot. But he isn't. He is more capable of reason than many others he encounters. Frankenstein is astounded that the creature has read Milton, but seems unable to believe that he understands it (which he does).</div>
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And is that not how most react? People speaking slowly to Stephen Hawking, or to the son of my spouse's friend who is wheel chair bound and speech impaired but a whiz with computers. We see and hear only the externals and ignore all other evidence to the contrary. This production highlights that terrible, stupid reaction in us, the audience, while brutally enacting the other common reaction, that of violence and revulsion, the fear of the other, the threat it poses to our own sense of self. The creature is beaten and yelled at and chased off, to the point that his first spoken words are "piss off".</div>
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Then there is Elizabeth, and the first bride. Mary Shelley well knew that women were the pawns of men, devalued, used and then abandoned. Not only was she an intelligent woman trying to make her way in the "Age of Enlightenment" (has ever a time been so badly named?), but she was also the child of Mary Wollstonecraft and William Goodwin, the great social philosophers and feminists. This background is drawn on in the play, with Elizabeth even baldly stating the central point of Wollstonecraft's "Vindication of the Rights of Women", that she is "no less intelligent but appear so only because I am less educated, and who's fault is that? For I was not allowed to go to school". Elizabeth and the bride are shamelessly used as weapons by both the creature and Frankenstein, then butchered and discarded.</div>
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It is also very much a play about pecking orders. At the top is Victor and his family, then their servants, the industrial workers, the vagrants, (at all ranks women inferior to men) and at the bottom the creature, outcast because of his appearance. It is a long time before his actions become such to justify that exile. He is more noble, more just, sweet and innocent than any humans encountered. It is the actions of those around him that teach him how to be a social being, that is, how to lie and cheat and hate and kill.</div>
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While it is a strong theme throughout the book, Godwin's main tenet roars through the play, that the evil actions of men are solely reliant on the corrupting
influence of social conditions. While Godwin believed that changing conditions in society could remove evil, the outcome in the play and the novel is that the evil in society instills evil in the creature. All are culpable in the crimes of Frankenstein's monster.</div>
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At the moment Danny Boyle (the director) is resisting requests for the production to be released on DVD. God knows why. The National Theatre could make a mint from it. I for one shall be adding my voice to the growing chorus.</div>
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What the Steamgoth thought of it all and what we did next shall follow.</div>
Megan Hitchenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08361935100439511819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2049406132687151789.post-43923297435248852952014-11-30T17:07:00.001-08:002014-11-30T17:17:09.663-08:00Tag, You're It<div style="text-align: justify;">
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Okay, so sitting here at 7am, checking emails and the dreaded facebook (I <i>hate</i> facebook, but I love being connected to my friends. Aargh), and looking at my blog stats (that is so addictive. Be warned, should you start a blog. And remember, the views and + are not reflections of you or your worth as a human being. It's okay that no one has looked for a while). My son and I love looking at where the views are from. That can be a lot of fun, and quite perplexing. I have a regular viewer in Russia, and the family history blog (which I must get back to) seems to have someone from the US armed forces. At least I think that's what's going on. Views from South Korea, then Germany, then South Korea again, but never both at the same time. Then both will vanish and there'll be extra under US (I have a branch of family in the US, so it's possible). The Zentangle blog gets readers from all over the place - Czechoslovakia, Poland, Netherlands, South Africa, Malaysia. It's up to about twenty destinations now.</div>
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Today I am checking the blogs. I have one and a half posts ready to go for Grasping Nettles (hopefully later today), and because it has a been a little while between drinks there hasn't been much activity. One view. I'm curious (it did annihilate the feline species, according to K9). Source? House Goes Home, that wonderful blog of my old school friend, Alana. Which is weird. Who has clicked through from there and how? So I follow the link. And get a shock.</div>
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I read Alana's blog every day (yes, she blogs every day. I don't know how she does it). If you want a blog that is honest, frequently funny, sometimes heartbreaking, that deals with everyday existence, her part of the extraordinary journey we all make, go and read <a href="http://housegoeshome.com/">HouseGoesHome</a>. I looked at the post the link took me to, "I Got Booked", and wondered how someone found me through there. Um. Alana tagged me. And I didn't realise. I read that post three days ago and didn't see the tag. I loved the little image at the top of the page (the Steamgoth had a good laugh about it too then wryly said "there are some people at school who need to see that"). I followed through and read <a href="http://www.pinkypoinker.com.au/2014/11/the-book-of-pinky.html">Pinky Poinker</a>'s post from which she tagged Alana (see? Grown ups do still play tag). And I looked at who Alana tagged in her post and thought "that would be fun" and didn't <i>realise</i> one of them was me. Some days, I swear, thicker than a whale blubber sandwich.</div>
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So, questions, answers, <strike>incep dates</strike>. I have to answer some questions about my reading habits. Here goes, and apologies in advance for boring you all to tears.<br />
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<b>Do you snack while you read?</b></div>
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Ah, no, for the same reason I don't listen to music when I paint or draw. I get so caught up that I don't notice if I'm eating or not. Plus, if I do stop to think to take a bite then the flow is gone. I also don't like intermissions in plays or films.</div>
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<b>Do you tend to mark your books as you read, or does the idea of writing in books horrify you?</b></div>
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For fiction books, this absolutely horrifies me, makes my blood run cold. My uni texts, on the other hand, are full of notations. Even if I am looking at them again now, more than 15 years after leaving, I sometimes add notes. Some of my non-fiction favourites also have very full margins, passages underlined, wording questioned. It is like a conversation with the text. At high school I would have died rather than mark a book. Studying the history of book production at uni shifted something in my head. But only for non-fiction. The words of a fiction author are sacrosanct, their creation, and the images they are pouring into my head don't leave time or space for anything else. But there are editors out there who could do a better job.</div>
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<b>Fiction, non-fiction, or both?</b></div>
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See above. Definitely both. There is too much knowledge out there, and too much amazing storytelling for me to ignore a category.</div>
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<b>Hard copy or e-books?</b></div>
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Oh, this is vexed. I <i>love</i> the book as artefact, the smell, the sound of the pages turning, the feel of the paper and the spine, especially if it is a hardback. Especially if it is old. I love having those beautiful volumes on my shelves, just waiting to be picked up, with no energy needed other than mine. They don't need recharging, they don't rely on electrickery. Once made they need no other energy investment, they become clean and green for more than a lifetime. But... (there is always a but), I have an e-reader on the computer (I hate it. I want a Kindle. They use Othello technology. They aren't hard on the eyes). There is a Victorian author I love, George Chetwynd Griffith. He was an explorer and author (yes, he wears a pith helmet in his author photo). He was a left-wing science fiction writer, posited the powering of London with wave power from the Thames, wrote about airships that didn't run on fossil fuels, gave women strong important roles. He was a Steampunk writer before there was Steampunk. And my chances of actually owning a physical book of his are pretty much close to zero. But I have his entire output in e-book format. So for the sake of George I have to beat down my Luddite tendencies and say thank you to e-books.</div>
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<b>What is the last book you bought?</b></div>
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I can't say because it is a Christmas present, so the one before that was "Frankenstein" by Mary Shelley. Because I really wanted to read it again (you'll see why if I get my act together) and I don't know where my copy has gone. I went to QBD and found there was stacks on my card so I got Frankenstein and a Percy Jackson for my son <i>for free</i>. Who cannot love free books?</div>
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<b>Is there a specific book or author you find yourself recommending over and over?</b></div>
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Yes, yes, yes. Terry Pratchett, Robert Brown and Nancy Mitford. I have been reading Terry Pratchett's books since I first picked up The Colour of Magic in 1987. The collection has grown from there - his science fictions, children's books, the Discworlds (obviously), Unadulterated Cat, his collaborations, including the latest, the Long Earth series, with Stephen Baxter, essays. He is an extremely gifted writer. Over the years his books have become darker and more political, and I have loved those even more. And if you want books with a strong role for girls, go straight to his Tiffany Aching books "The Wee Free Men", "A Hat Full of Sky", "The Wintersmith" and "I Shall Wear Midnight". The first one is okay for 8-10, the last for teenagers. Like Harry Potter, the story grows with the reader.</div>
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“Zoology, eh? That's a big word, isn't it."<br />
"No, actually it isn't," said Tiffany. "Patronizing is a big word. Zoology is really quite short.”<br />
Terry Pratchett, "The Wee Free Men"</blockquote>
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Robert Brown. If you have been reading this blog you know about Robert Brown, whether you want to or not. Lead singer, main lyricist and songwriter of Abney Park. And a glorious author. Only two books so far, "The Wrath of Fate" and "Retrograde", but he is a great story teller. They follow the adventures of Robert and his wife Kristina as they are shot into a world of chaos in a time-travelling airship, the Ophelia. Along the way they discard, meet and recruit others (who fans can identify as past and current band members, some are harder to pick than others) and Robert tries to "fix" the world, with disastrous consequences. That makes it sound twee. It isn't. You don't have to know a <i>thing</i> about the band. You don't even have to like their music (although how could you not?). These stories stand tall on their own strengths. I have written <a href="http://nettlessting.blogspot.com.au/2014/10/rise-up-what-happens-in-artists-mind-at.html">elsewhere</a> about them. Brown is maturing as a writer (so is Pratchett. All good writers mature with each book). These are rollicking good tales, with beautiful illustrations, and they are novels that make you think. At least, they make me think. Even if you are one of those who rolls their eyes at my banging on about Abney Park, you are doing yourself out of a bloody good yarn if you ignore Robert's books (and if you want more of the story, it's there in the songs too).</div>
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And lastly Nancy Mitford, author of (amongst other things) "Love in a Cold Climate", "the Pursuit of Love" and "Don't Tell Alfred". She wrote startlingly funny books about upper class England between the wars. There are also her biographies, her essays, journalistic writings and reviews, translated stories (from French) and collections of letters. Beyond her novels (which I adore) I especially love "The Mitfords" from 2007, a collection of letters between Nancy and her five sisters, including Unity (although there aren't a lot from her after she shot herself in the head when Hitler rejected her. She was the black sheep in the family. You can read more about all the sisters in "The Mitford Girls" by Mary S Lovell, 2001). I have always urged others to read Nancy Mitford's books. She will make you laugh until you cry, and then she will make you cry.<br />
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So all that remains now is to tag two other bloggers and ask them to answer the questions on their reading habits:<br />
Do you snack while you read?<br />
Do you tend to mark your books as you read, or does the idea of writing in books horrify you?<br />
Fiction, non-fiction, or both?<br />
Hard copy or e-books?<br />
What is the last book you bought?<br />
Is there a specific book or author you find yourself recommending over and over?<br />
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So, to the lovely and talented Lianne of the <a href="http://thetangledway.blogspot.com.au/">Tangled Way</a>, tag, you're it. Most of the other blogs I read are by academics I don't know, others I have only been following for a short while and don't feel confident to tap them almost out of the blue. Alana already tagged me and it seems I cannot tag her back. One blog is so specific I dare not ask (<a href="http://theteasgettingcold.blogspot.com.au/">We've Got Work to Do</a>. I would love to know the reading habits of my favourite Who blogger). Instead I shall tag my Facebook friend Arthur Slaughter, who isn't a blogger but should be. An erudite and well-read man with many strings to his bow, whose reading habits I am rather curious about ("curiosity annihilated..." yes, yes, K9, I know).<br />
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And to end, my son's favourite band, the Russian ensemble, Caprice. They often write about stories and books (there are at least two albums about Middle Earth) and have lots of weird labels put on them - neo-classical, neo-baroque, fairy-pop (wrong), fairy-goth (closer). But everyone seems to agree: evocative music, ethereal vocals. I can't find his favourite track, Edge of Arctica, so instead you have this, which isn't typical, but is soothing.<br />
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Megan Hitchenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08361935100439511819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2049406132687151789.post-78452926819363635712014-11-18T21:32:00.001-08:002014-11-18T23:21:45.088-08:00That'll Put Colour in Your Cheeks<div style="text-align: justify;">
I've been plugging away at the Golden Nautilus shells, and even got back to the airships (although I think I will continue those in watercolour pencil. They're driving me nuts at the moment), and have been doing some little test panels for the abstracts. But there really isn't anything substantial to show you at the moment. Unless you are interested in test panels.</div>
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So yesterday I took the day off and did some other things. My son's teacher's temari is now well underway and the next door teacher's is finished. I did a <a href="http://nonetneeded.blogspot.com.au/2014/11/being-bit-off-hand.html">Zentangle challenge</a>, drawing with my left hand. That was fun. Drawing with your left hand is always a good exercise, in humility if nothing else.</div>
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And I finally did a drawing of my friend, Arlene.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Arlene</i>, Sanguine, white and black chalk on grey paper, Megan Hitchens, 2014</td></tr>
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Last time I was in Sydney on my own I bought a pad of pastel paper. Three types of grey, a cream and two ochres. Lovely colours. And one of the greys was perfect for what I had envisioned for Arlene's drawing (I get these images in my head and then I have trouble matching them up to reality. Better to see what's available or can be made available and then get the image, but I don't seem to work that way).<br />
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Anyway, it turned out well, I think, although I will let my other friends who know her have the final word.<br />
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Oh, and in case you are interested in process, here is the drawing <i>before</i> I really got to work with the sanguine. I had only put a little in the hair and eyes and just started on the face when I took this photo.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Arlene</i>, drawing in progress, Megan Hitchens, 2014</td></tr>
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Amazing the difference it makes. Unfortunately I'd managed to make her look about fifteen years older at this stage. There are some other differences - I softened some of the lines, made her a little less gimlet eyed, etc, but mainly it's the addition of the red chalk. Temperature is so important. Drawing on or with cool colours makes adults look much older (our body temperature cools as we age, apparently, so our skin tones cool), while drawing children on or with warm colours makes them look older (they are also on the cooler side of things, or so I am told). Whether the temp thing is correct or not, I can tell you it is <i>definitely</i> correct with drawing and painting. You can see the difference with adding that warm chalk to Arlene's drawing.<br />
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I'm including the Stranglers' delectable Golden Brown on this because I like it (even though it is about heroin - I didn't know at the time, and I don't care now) and my daughter has been playing it <i>a lot</i> on the keyboard lately, so it runs round the house and round my head. Just as well I like it really.<br />
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Megan Hitchenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08361935100439511819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2049406132687151789.post-92072730907271514422014-11-09T14:47:00.000-08:002014-12-01T17:08:23.613-08:00Having a Ball<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm one of those people who can't just sit and do nothing. It drives me mad. Watching tele, on a train, in a doctor's waiting room, I can't just sit. I have to have something to do. So sometimes I knit, or I spin, or draw. Lately I have been making temari.</div>
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Temari is a Japanese craft form. It literally means Hand Ball. Basically it is a decorated ornamental ball, hand made and hand decorated in thread. Traditionally they were given between women as a sign of worth and/or respect. Given Japan traditionally valued women poorly these were important and heartfelt gifts, both for the maker and the recipient. They were made upon a base that started as a child's toy.</div>
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Before rubber made its way to Japan, mothers would make balls for their children from rags and other bits and pieces. If you make them correctly they bounce really well. And unlike rubber, when the bounce goes out of it Mum can just tighten it up again and the bounce comes back. Great recycling.</div>
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We are so used to throwing everything out these days, but in the past everything was used until there was nothing left. Worn out clothes became rags for cleaning or whatever. When the rags were done they were made into toys. In the West there were rag dolls, in Japan there were mari.</div>
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Depending on where you are in Japan the centres of the balls take different forms. In Tokyo it was traditionally a tightly bundled rag (which makes a heavy ball, but it bounces well), along one of the coasts the centre is dried sea cucumber, other places a bag of rice husks (these have to be <i>really</i> dry or they end up combusting - that would make play time interesting). The centre is wrapped firmly, tightly and above all evenly, in strips of cloth. Keep it spherical, wrap it tightly and the ball will bounce really well.</div>
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Someone somewhere, probably someone up the social scale, had the idea of stitching patterns on mari for decorative purposes. You have to put in a couple of extra layers to turn a mari into a base for a temari. The ball has to wrapped in yarn of some sort (I use wool or cotton knitting yarn, depending what I have to hand) and then in sewing thread. This is quite wasteful of precious resources which is why I think this is an upperclass thing in origin.</div>
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After that the mari is divided into sections so patterns can be wrapped or stitched onto the ball. And I love the method of division - a strip of paper and some pins. There is no measuring, just find the circumference and then fold the paper into the appropriate segments and mark the folds on the mari with the pins. Repeat as necessary. Divisions can be basic (divide the ball into quarters or eighths, for example) or complicated (called combinations - such as dividing it into eighths and then using the division lines to further divide the mari into eighths, but along a different axis to the original division - not as complicated as it sounds). These are designated as C# in instructions, so C8 or C10 or whatever. Marking up accurately is important. Let it be wonky here and it will be even worse when it's finished.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The start of the temari I have been working on, It has a C10 division, marked in gold thread</td></tr>
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There are lots of websites on marking and making temari. The best ones are in Japanese, but they are pretty easy to follow. I still have enough Japanese to translate my temari books and to read through the finer instructions, but I know quite a few people who make these who have no Japanese at all, and they don't seem to struggle. Once you get the basics down the rest follows on fairly well.</div>
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Sewing can be in silk for deluxe versions or in perle cotton. Something with a bit of a sheen. I use DMC perle cotton, I want to try Cosmo perle cotton (Japanese brand) to compare the two.</div>
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Sometimes I make temari just for the fun of it. It is handy to have some ready as gifts. Others I make specifically, for a particular person for a particular occasion. That's the case with the one I have just finished.<br />
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We have a lovely deputy principal, Mrs. Dawes. I have written about her before. She is retiring (tomorrow is her last day. I'm told she is sailing around the world so weather timing is important. Keen sailor is Mrs Dawes. And I don't mean she's going on a cruise. She is sailing, in her own boat. More power to her).<br />
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Mrs Dawes has done a lot for our school, she has a no-nonsense approach that I really appreciate, and she has been very innovative in the programs she has put in place. Remember the <a href="http://nettlessting.blogspot.com.au/2014/09/jobs-for-boys-and-girls.html">careers fair</a>? That's one of her babies. There is also the annual art show. All the children put in two works. Parents may buy the works for $5 each. Money goes back in to the school. If you don't buy your children's pieces, you don't get them at the end. Good motivation. There is a proper opening night and everything. It is a great event for the kids, they get a taste of what art can do and what an exhibition is like. But it is a bitch of a thing to curate. And she works hard for fair treatment, resourcing (always a struggle for a public school), education outcomes for all the children, and on and on.<br />
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Hmm. A temari seems woefully inadequate to express worth and respect. But it's a bit late now.</div>
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The pattern I chose is quite simple. You just stitch interlacing five-point stars around each of the twelve division points. The black one was first, then there are succeeding rounds in blues, from dark to light. It's a versatile pattern. You can stop halfway through and end up with flowers (I should have photographed that. That's another "bit late now"), or you can keep going and end up with a whole lot of triangles. With which you can do this:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPgRWjyL4TWwyDDiMspJu0b6w5FZGyIKkWgqkx2cjjtxOHspoWM0BKAYgFVefZsk6Cj8TvF64dexBMbZBKynvCXdCYKTPdocbFewR0Kz9geSqptIBEclEYdOZPZoNXtv6oKF-9dtxNEIA/s1600/DSC00567.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPgRWjyL4TWwyDDiMspJu0b6w5FZGyIKkWgqkx2cjjtxOHspoWM0BKAYgFVefZsk6Cj8TvF64dexBMbZBKynvCXdCYKTPdocbFewR0Kz9geSqptIBEclEYdOZPZoNXtv6oKF-9dtxNEIA/s1600/DSC00567.JPG" height="400" width="395" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The finished temari. See the triangles under the black lines?</td></tr>
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This was made over a number of nights while the Steamgoth and I were watching alternating episodes of Buffy and Angel. I unpulled it about four times in the process of stitching it. The Steamgoth would sigh and ask if I was ever going to be happy. But it paid off. Some patterns are quite forgiving. This one isn't. Allow your stitching to get uneven and it becomes glaringly obvious.<br />
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Now my son has chosen a temari each for his teacher and the teacher in the other OC class as farewell gifts (years 5 and 6 OC have quite a lot of interaction). So my hands shall be quite busy over the next week or so.<br />
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And just to keep to the Japanese theme, one of my favourite Japanese ads. Like the temari sites, you don't need to know Japanese. You know what they are singing.<br />
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Megan Hitchenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08361935100439511819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2049406132687151789.post-31205607746882967022014-11-04T23:23:00.002-08:002014-11-05T02:18:46.509-08:00The Past is Not Another Country<div style="text-align: justify;">
Two in one day. Either you'll think yourselves lucky or you'll be rolling your eyes and navigating away.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijp5iNUbr8Do8M9RYX2lIpBu0f5dS5-5OeHxNTz3hT0UN60xHuxvrxdhGEsgbv-alTQrFu5OPU3dXAPwdZ43iChAE7U8624GUx0yYpKo9rxQCoaMe_3WQfzvu99VhwaRXfd8J2g_MU-j0/s1600/Whitlam-Lingiari-1975-larger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijp5iNUbr8Do8M9RYX2lIpBu0f5dS5-5OeHxNTz3hT0UN60xHuxvrxdhGEsgbv-alTQrFu5OPU3dXAPwdZ43iChAE7U8624GUx0yYpKo9rxQCoaMe_3WQfzvu99VhwaRXfd8J2g_MU-j0/s1600/Whitlam-Lingiari-1975-larger.jpg" height="267" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vincent Lingiari and Gough Whitlam, 1975, photo Mervyn Bishop</td></tr>
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Noel Pearson's speech at the Whitlam Memorial today (yes, I'm on about that again) has been running through my mind, along with some other things. I took my son to afternoon tea after school. When we go we talk about our respective days. He told me about school and some interesting things they did (his class <i>always</i> does interesting things - I wish school had been like that when I was there), and I told him about Gough and the service and Noel Pearson. And like me he was horrified.</div>
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You can here the whole of Pearson's speech <a href="http://www.smh.com.au/federal-politics/political-news/noel-pearsons-eulogy-for-gough-whitlam-praised-as-one-for-the-ages-20141105-11h7vm.html">here</a>. It is about 18 minutes long, but you won't feel it. It is <i>well</i> worth listening to.</div>
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So what horrified us? Noel Pearson was born here, in Australia, <i>but was not a citizen because of his Aboriginality</i>. If that isn't horrifying, tell me what is.</div>
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I know, intellectually, that Aboriginal people lost their citizen rights with Federation and did not regain them until after I was born. All colonies had given Aboriginal people full citizenship rights (although many were made wards of the state, thus negating this), but Western Australia and Queensland had effectively locked out most aboriginal people through land requirements on the voter registers (kept out the poor riffraff too, bonus). Those two states said they would not become part of a federated nation in 1901 if Aboriginal people were recognised as citizens, as equals. Turned out the desire to have a new nation for a new century was stronger than the desire to be fair. Politics rarely changes, does it? Those who had state voting rights already could continue to vote, and could vote in federal elections, but their children could not be added to the rolls as they grew up, gauranteeing that any "aboriginal vote" died out. (If you want a detailed run down of the aboriginal fight for citizenship go
<a href="http://www.abc.net.au/civics/democracy/struggle.htm"> here</a>, but be prepared to be angry, ashamed, horrified, outraged.) I know all this. I wasn't taught it at school, but I found it out at university and through aboriginal friends. That's history. That's the past, right?</div>
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But here is a man only three years older than me who was born with that terrible legacy, with that history that was by no means in the past. Compare Noel to me. I was born in Bangladesh. My parents were able to go to the Consulate in Rawalpindi in Pakistan and register me as an Australian Citizen. Noel was born in Australia and was not a citizen. There was nowhere that his parents <i>were allowed</i> to register him as an Australian Citizen. That is more wrong than I can express.</div>
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When the general public had it finally driven home the horror of the Stolen Generations and the missions, John Howard, then Prime Minister, refused to apologise on behalf of the nation because, he kept saying, it was all in the past. He made the past sound like it was long gone, all the participants dead and buried. You can still apologise for things way back when, but he was perpetuating a popular lie of racists everywhere. And letting himself off the hook. He had grown up in an Australia where its indigenous people were not recognised as part of their own country, where they could (and did) serve in wars but couldn't be served in bars, were told where they could work and when, were paid in rations rather than with salaries, were treated as idiot children.</div>
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And if you think it stopped when voting rights were finally achieved and citizenship recognised, think again. This is what Howard refused to acknowledge, that State sponsored abuse and discrimination have very long lasting effects and everyone must accept responsibility for the past. And that what is in the past doesn't stay in the past because we ALL carry it with us.</div>
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Rhoda Roberts, a respected Aboriginal actress, is about my age. She went to high school in Lismore, where my spouse was born. I saw a documentary a few years ago about her sister who was murdered. The police refused to really do anything about it because she was aboriginal. She just wasn't worth the effort. In the documentary, Rhoda talked about growing up in Lismore (a large town on the New South Wales north coast - we used to holiday there. I hate the place). She talked about being in high school in the 1980s and having all the aboriginal kids called out of assembly. Made to walk to one side in front of the rest of the school. Being told they were to be checked for head lice and if any were found they would be suspended.</div>
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The 1980s. When I was in high school. And remember, this was <i>only</i> the aboriginal kids. This isn't John Howard's safe, distant past. This is people my age, who were growing up with this crap while Howard was in the parliament in Canberra. Don't tell me he was in opposition. I know that. But he was in parliament. This sort of institutional discrimination was going on while he was in parliament. And don't say "Oh, the States". Yes, the states, but are we or are we not all Australians? The teachers doing this were counting on the kids being too ashamed to say or their parents too disenfranchised to turn to the Anti Discrimination Act (that's the one Brandis and Abbott want to do away with).</div>
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And for every Noel and Rhoda, there are how many others? With similar stories or worse? We are not talking about a past long gone. We are talking about a past that is very immediate. It puts the truth to Howard's lie. And even if it were long gone, why shouldn't wrongs be apologised for?</div>
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The Apology. I was in an arts project with an amazing aboriginal artist at the time. There was a lot of whoo-ha in the media, whether it was a good idea or not, meaningful or patronising, if you were around you'll remember. So I took the opportunity to ask my colleague for his thoughts. He told me about the life his mother had led. She was one of the Stolen Generations and her story was terrible and heart-breaking and all too common. He said that the Apology made her feel validated, worthwhile, that it would never make up for the past she had lost, but gave her peace for the present and future, that she was part of her own country, that her suffering was recognised and acknowledged, no longer hidden. It took from her the shame that had been placed on her by the actions of government. Think about that. They did a shameful thing and made the victims feel ashamed instead. How is that any different from what we have heard from the Royal Commission into Institutional Child Sex Abuse? How is that any different to anything we hear about abuse of the vulnerable by the powerful? The Apology took that sense of shame away. I have my issues with Kevin Rudd, but he made the Apology on behalf of us all. We should all be proud of that.</div>
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The current state of affairs? Don't get me started on "The Intervention". The fight for aboriginal equality is not over. Although it has come far it still has far to go. And it is a fight that concerns all of us. I am not aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander, but I am diminished by this ongoing inequality, by the statements of the Andrew Bolts of Australia and the actions of governments, supposedly on my behalf. I am further diminished if I do nothing about it. We stand together or we are all lesser for it.</div>
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Finally, I'll leave you with something atypical for me (although folk music is something of a guilty secret). This was also played at Gough's Memorial today, requested by him. It was just Kev and Paul on stage. We've all heard it, but how many have really listened to it? We all know the chorus, it's so easy and sweet and catchy "From little things big things grow". It has been used so often as to become cliche. But listen to the full song, to the verses. It is the story behind the image at the top of this post. Hope for the present. Hope for the future. Hopefully.</div>
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Megan Hitchenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08361935100439511819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2049406132687151789.post-77705674490975113572014-11-04T21:51:00.000-08:002014-11-04T21:51:34.940-08:00The Memorial Service - a Personal View<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have just finished watching Gough's memorial service on the ABC. Well, not <i>just</i>. It took a little while to compose myself, and I know I shall weep again. Rhys Muldoon was right in the weekend Herald. It isn't crying, it's weeping, a different and more profound thing. And Kerry O'Brien was right. Today is a time to mourn and celebrate.</div>
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I <i>had</i> put in a nomination to be at the service at Sydney Town Hall but fortunately I missed out. The Steamgoth is still sick. While she could care for herself, I would not have got back in time to pick up the Son from school, and my father-in-law is still recovering from being ill, and I can't risk him getting an infection. So I watched it on the television.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was outside Town Hall. The crowd stretched out around St Andrews and blocked George Street. Photo from abc.net.au</td></tr>
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The ABC should be praised for televising it and castigated for having Chris Uhlmann anywhere near it. He went on and on about how "Whitlam got things wrong, he couldn't manage the economy" (there was a global economic crisis at the time, and Fraser's record was just as bad, if not worse, but that never seems to be mentioned), "Menzies was a great leader and gave Gough advice, wasn't that generous" and his "personal disappointment" at not being able to attend Menzies' memorial service. I know the ABC is justifiably afraid of being gutted by the Murdoch government, sorry, <i>Abbott</i> government (appearances, at all costs appearances), but this was utterly disgraceful. Fortunately Uhlmann had "radio commitments" (as his embarrassed colleague reminded him) and had to go before the service proper started.<br />
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It was interesting watching the crowd's reaction to people arriving. Philip Ruddock got almost as loud boos as Tony Abbott, and I think marginally louder than those for Howard. Hawke's entrance got a bit of a cheer, Keating and Gillard a rousing welcome. And the welcome for Rudd? Luke warm would be a kind description. Gareth Evans was greeted like a hero, as were Barry Jones and Penny Wong. I was disappointed at the boos for Malcolm Fraser. Gough and Malcolm buried that hatchet years ago and have since worked together on things, not least of which was combatting the concentration of media ownership.<br />
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Abbott was awful, as could be expected. He was being ferociously booed as he entered, so he turned and smiled and waved. Why? At whom? He came up later on the screen talking to Bob Hawke and the crowd was again vocal in making their feelings known. Have you noticed he gets this weird fixed smile when someone is voicing their disappointment or anger at him? It's like Arnold Rimmer, only without the charm and endearing personality traits.<br />
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The speeches were moving and affecting and funny. Noel Pearson was articulate and shocking and angry, and delivered an excoriating rebuke of the LNP government (funny how the camera switched to Abbott's face in the middle of it. He looked bored. He clearly had tuned out). John Faulkner's was personal and practical and moving. I want him for PM. It was also a clear rebuke to the Parliamentary Labor Party. and a fierce reminder to everyone that Gough remained a Labor man to end, but <i>very</i> aware of its flaws and failings, particularly the way it is now (he didn't say "Greens take heed, and Labor listen up", but the words were there). I do not have Gough's resilience. Having been a Labor member for some while I felt in the end I had to quit. They had strayed so far from what they had been that I could not stay around. Unlike Gough, as a member of the rank and file, any influence we may have had was gone, deliberately and methodically stripped away, so there was no point. All I was doing was providing funds for the Sussex street mob to do as they pleased. It is starting to change. I hope, I really <i>really</i> hope it can come back from this. In the meantime I cannot bear to watch.<br />
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Cate Blanchett has, for me, forever stolen Menzies' sycophantic line and made it into something new and better, "I was but three when he passed by, but I shall be grateful till the day I die".<br />
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Really, the more I think about it, the more I think Pearson's speech was the highlight. It should go down as one of the great speeches of this century. I know, we are only 14 years in, but it was that good. It certainly highlighted the dearth of true orators in current politics. I don't always like Pearson or the way he operates, but he was masterful today, and true and passionate. And I'll give him the last word, because there have been so many, like Chris Uhlmann, who have sought in the last fortnight to diminish or tear down Gough's achievements (think of the scene from Life Of Brian, "What have the Romans done for us?")<br />
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“Apart from Medibank and the Trade Practices Act, cutting tariff
protections and no-fault divorce and the Family Law Act, the Australia
Council, the Federal Court, the Order of Australia, Federal Legal Aid,
the Racial Discrimination Act, needs-based schools funding, the
recognition of China, the Racial Discrimination Act, the abolition of
conscription, the Law Reform Commission, student financial assistance,
the Heritage Commission, non-discriminatory immigration rules,
community, Aboriginal land rights, paid maternity leave for public
servants, lowering the minimum voting age to 18 years and fair electoral
boundaries and Senate representation for the Territories. Apart from
all of this, what did this Roman ever do for us?”</blockquote>
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<i> Noel Pearson, 5 November, 2014, Whitlam Memorial Service</i></blockquote>
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And for the music, one of the pieces Gough chose for the Service, and one of my favourites since I was wee, <i>Nabucco</i>, or <i>The Chorus of the Hebrew Slaves</i> from Aida by Verdi. It was used as the anthem of Garibaldi's followers. I never knew.</div>
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Megan Hitchenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08361935100439511819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2049406132687151789.post-76175248275251476172014-11-03T21:33:00.000-08:002014-11-20T20:53:32.568-08:00Of Mice and Megans - Part 2<div style="text-align: justify;">
The whole point of going to Sydney on Sunday was to catch an exhibition before it closed. If it hadn't been the last day I would have waited until there was no damned trackwork.</div>
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The exhibition was Prints and Drawings: Europe 1500-1900, at the Art Gallery of New South Wales. It took up four rooms in the Upper Gallery (you know those stairs behind the Information desk and opposite the bookshop? That's what they lead to. Now you know). Each room was a different century, so there was a nice chronological progression in style and technology. The only thing they could have done better would have been to have had a good explanation of each technique and maybe a display of some of the equipment involved, even if it was just at the level of "this is a woodblock, this is an etching plate". The catalogue, lovely though it is, has the same problem. The only thing described in any detail is mezzotint. I heard a few people saying "I wish I knew how this was done". So I know it isn't just me. An understanding of process does really help with appreciating these things. Yesterday and today were spent doing some cursory reading on auqatint and mezzotint, drypoint and lithography, but I wish I had known more about them on Sunday.</div>
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I had to get to the C18th and C19th rooms to see any drawings, but I suppose part of that is because there is more chance for mass produced prints to survive. And they don't cost as much as original drawings from 300 and 400 years ago. Initially I was a little disappointed, but that soon turned to fascination, partly because of the chronological arrangement, but mainly because of the breath-taking skill on display.</div>
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One of the things that struck me as I moved through the exhibition was the sheer number of artists who became printmakers in a desperate attempt to make a living. You couldn't, in all fairness, say "Oh, they did that because they weren't good enough". Clearly they were, but it has ever been thus. Once the patronage and guild systems broke down most artists struggled. Printmaking was a way of keeping your hand in and feeding the family.</div>
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Some printmakers became very inventive, playing with chiaroscuro and later with colour printing. Registration (lining it all up) was really important. Others played with effects of dark and light, thick and thin lines. There is a great deal of art and creativity involved.</div>
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So, some favourites.This was difficult to narrow down, as most of the exhibition was fantastic, but here goes.</div>
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Claude Mellan's "The Veil of St Veronica".<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiknKYcbRdLFjYFpR8DaB_8JBvDFMl7LZ-240BnktOcqDbzboLiwvCauyy1agI79iLgUZzg12yB1tmqqewUGeEHC_dM_Tec9dEr0_jOcM3cq9iLSxReWBQ4ruYGAWpun7libQkFxHp6Rmg/s1600/veil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiknKYcbRdLFjYFpR8DaB_8JBvDFMl7LZ-240BnktOcqDbzboLiwvCauyy1agI79iLgUZzg12yB1tmqqewUGeEHC_dM_Tec9dEr0_jOcM3cq9iLSxReWBQ4ruYGAWpun7libQkFxHp6Rmg/s1600/veil.jpg" height="400" width="297" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Veil of St Veronica</i>, Claude Mellan, 1649, engraving, AGNSW</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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It doesn't look like much here. The print is 43 x 31 cms, a good size, but what is interesting about it is how it is drawn. Here is a detail<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_-MY3KT5KtfkOvmy-mTCXMC9gGJY8jXea_gtEzdyqTozVjRqi1v3nAo-AuX5lrTmKo46rHWM8g-7MxTPyPWolJ17BseS7vVU3pkklKlHYy8cLBfVYrSK6qGW2GIaMTjpsONMTgGYpJfw/s1600/veil+detail+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_-MY3KT5KtfkOvmy-mTCXMC9gGJY8jXea_gtEzdyqTozVjRqi1v3nAo-AuX5lrTmKo46rHWM8g-7MxTPyPWolJ17BseS7vVU3pkklKlHYy8cLBfVYrSK6qGW2GIaMTjpsONMTgGYpJfw/s1600/veil+detail+2.jpg" height="204" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Veil of St Veronica</i>, detail, Claude Mellan, 1649, engraving, AGNSW</td></tr>
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The entire image is one continuous spiral line. Contours, shading, details are all achieved by varying the thickness of the line and by slightly altering its path, making it wavy or undulating. It was an impressive thing to see. Very clever. What becomes really interesting is when you try to reproduce this electronically. As an engraving <i>The Veil</i> could be easily and accurately reproduced in large numbers. Try scanning this or photographing it, and it's a nightmare. The AGNSW must have worked really hard to get the beautiful reproduction for the catalogue, but when I try to scan it I get strobe lines unless I blow it right up, and even then some areas aren't right, as in the detail. Look it up on Google and you'll see what I mean. So I find it ironic how modern technology cannot handle this, but old technology can.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Drapery study for Cymon and Iphigenia</i>, Frederick, Lord Leighton, 1883, black and white chalk on brown paper, AGNSW
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<i>Cymon and Iphigenia</i> is one of my favourite paintings in the AGNSW. I often just stand before it, transfixed and strangely moved. And apparently the Gallery has a lot of the studies and preliminary drawings for it. On top of the joy of that piece of news, the simplicity of this drawing is wonderful. Just black and white on brown. And so well observed. I just love it.</div>
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Then there's this:</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Study of three male figures,</i> Jean-Antoine Watteau, 1713, sanguine on cream paper, AGNSW
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I love this because of how much it tells us about how Watteau worked. He was one of those artists whose technique said "stuff the academy". Normally an artist would arrange a tableau for the prep drawings and sketches, hiring in models for the figures, making everything just so within the studio. Not Watteau. He hired models alright, but he would hire them for an hour or two, get them to strike multiple poses and would sketch madly. The three images here are of the one model. All these poses and sketches were made in books to which Watteau would refer when he had an idea for a painting, adapting figure and clothes as needed. So he dreams up a painting with fifteen people in it (not unusual for him) and instead of hiring multiple models (fifteen if the artist isn't imaginative, less if he or she is), Watteau saves money and merely goes through his source books looking for what he wants (the books have since been largely broken up and sold as individual sheets. Someone made a tidy sum out of them). Funnily enough, the most highly worked figure on this particular page never appeared in any of his paintings. Watteau was well known for his use of trois crayons (my favourite, sanguine, black and white), but all his source books are in red alone.</div>
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There were a number of Rembrandt etchings and engravings. There were Rubens ones too, but there's a big difference between the two. Rubens closely supervised others to make prints of his paintings. Rembrandt made his own. Get rid of the middle man, keep all the profits. This is a big thing when you want Rubens' lifestyle but can't command his prices.</div>
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I was going to go into the old galleries afterwards and do some sketching, but the trackwork had severely eaten my time, so I bugged out and walked up to The Rocks to go to Parkers for some supplies. Great walk across the Domain and up past the Mitchell Library. Which is just as well. Parkers is closed on a Sunday.</div>
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So all that was left was to fight the reduced train timetable back to Epping and drive home with the music on. On the whole a good day, but not all according to plan. Still, as they say, the best laid plans...</div>
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Megan Hitchenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08361935100439511819noreply@blogger.com0