Friday Archive

More from the ol' notebook

Including obligatory Diesel Sweeties phase...
















Happy Birthday to Bronald and Pauly!

Friday Archive

I stumbled upon an old notebook I'd forgotten about whilst cleaning up last week.

The few drawings in it were from a particularly melancholy patch where I struggled to get out of bed let alone draw.

Previously I've experimented with naive art as a release from intensive technical drawing periods and the quest to translate actual onto the page.

When I was the most depressed, drawing became my nemesis because I lacked the drive, attention span or the nimbleness to complete anything "realistic". Allowing myself the freedom to work with simple geometry and a basic palette, slowly coaxed my brain and hand to work together without any expectations.

Intellectualisation aside, it was just plain fun. The simple joy of unpretentious newsagent colour pencils and paper.

As far as aromatherapy is concerned, the smell of a box of pencils always fills me with a sense of serene excitement. It is possibly my favourite smell (closely followed by toast and puppy tang).

It might not be everyone's cup of tea, but this style of drawing still really appeals to me. Its simplicity belies the depth of emotion behind it.

So be prepared to suffer more over the coming weeks!

Friday Archive (belated)

The cover illustration for my entry in to the Textiles Institute competition in 2nd year at RMIT Brunswick. The Grand prize was/is 4 weeks tuition and accommodation at the Paris American Academy.

Probably the last time I played with gouache and pencils (I was soon after introduced to Adobe illustrator
and it's been my friend ever since).

I was a finalist, but wasn't really in a position to give it my all (quite the theme for my time at Fashion School really).

I am sometimes saddened that I was not able to take advantage of all the awesome opportunities that crossed my path at RMIT. But bigger things were happening, not all apparent from the surface. It is this deeper story I am reminded of when ever I see this drawing.

Still reeling from my Grandfather's death the previous year - it was a time of great emotional upheaval for me.

Part of my rationale for going back to Uni was to find somewhere to hide while I continued my daily, if not hourly, battle with clinical depression. My ability to function had been seriously hampered for some time, but I loved working with textiles and if I didn't show up for a few days no-one got cross. As a Mature Age student, most teachers guessed if you weren't there you had a good reason.

My Grandfather's death set in motion a series of events that have changed my life dramatically. Ultimately for the better, but in the midst of the maelstrom it was hard to see that.

I had chosen to cease all contact with my Mother. A decision that was not made lightly. A decision that still makes me an outcast with half of my family (including my nearly 99 year old maternal Grandmother). A decision that had me frightened, however irrationally, that she would show up on my wedding day and try to ruin the one thing that has kept me alive. I have grieved for the loss of her in my life. And I suspect I will always despise Mother's day for its annual reminder that I chose to rip out my own heart rather than let it kill me from the inside out.

I started going to CASA house. Buried deep was a secret so horrific I'd managed to hide it from several years of psychological analysis. The layers covering up the abuse were finally starting to be peeled off. Several years on, I still struggle to put this into words. If I could write a dedication in the book of "my life so far...", I would note profound gratitude to my counselor Mary M, for well, everything.

But from this pile o' shite, some flowers were born. With the money from Granpa's small estate, my Dad took me on an overseas pilgrimage to discover my roots. It was a profound experience with infinite joyous memories I draw from everyday.

I also got the opportunity to get to know my father. Our past together is complicated. He was a violent and angry man for a long time. He hurt my brother and I very deeply. But I have managed to achieve an adult relationship with him, which I value very much.

I also realised that Jms was my "till death do us part" guy. Despite our shared experiences of diabolical marriages, it was still an institution worth signing up for. Sitting in the bath, as he washed my hair, post 22 hour flight from LA, I informed him we were getting married.

I think I managed to make it back to school for the rest of the semester (mostly). I cobbled a garment together for the finalists' fashion parade, but my heart wasn't in it. My brain was busy re-wiring itself.

And I can honestly say - that I must have done a pretty good job of it - because my current RSI "stumbling block" has not plunged me back into the darkness of depression. It may inspire tears, frustration and require a re-think of my career path and goals, but by and large I am pretty happy to be here.


My friend, the gorgeous and awe inspiring Laura, won the competition. And she deserved it. I may have delusions of fashionistic grandeur, but this girl IS fashionistic grandeur - and with the callouses to prove it. I continue to be blown away by her hard work and vision. I await the debut of her own label with bated breath.

I wonder why I didn't really fit in at Fashion School

I didn't have a collection of plastic bangles from Toxic. I didn't get fake tans or wear giant sunglasses. I shaved my head not because I was a punk but because I couldn't afford a haircut.

We had a very memorable "industry partner project" with a high profile denim brand. Those of us who didn't wear plastic bangles and get fake tans protested for something less vacuous than a brand whose ad campaigns were based on breasts and products they didn't actually sell. In the absence of an alternative I thought I'd just take "military styling" to its logical conclusion as well as make a genuine and heartfelt political statement about the war on terrorism.

My design teacher said, and I quote verbatim "They'll never pick you".

But they were going to be wearing denim bikinis under those veils!

Angry (again)

(this page intentionally left blank)

Needs work

Timing is everything in comedy. So too with comics. Not sure if this hits or misses. Its sometimes hard to distill a lifetime of experience into 4 panels. I am no Sparky.

I miss that dog (still)

Raw (still) too.

Oh so very angry (still)

Flashback Tuesday Afternoon

I've often fantasised about being a comic book artist - who doesn't? Especially when you consider all the money, fame and creative respect you get. Oh wait.

Snide remarks aside I am a regular reader of several webcomics. There are so many of such an incredible calibre out there in the interwebs. It is a real joy to find a new artist and have the pleasure of their entire back catalogue to spend a lazy afternoon scrolling through. Its like sitting in front of a huge tub of your favourite ice-cream with a spoon knowing you are allowed to eat it all and it won't make you fat. A warning though: both can give you a bad headache.

Jms hooked me up with QC saying that watching the art develop was almost as good as watching the story unfold. I admire xkcd too for having the presence of mind to not let a reliance on stick figures get in the way of an awesome idea. The kind of presence of mind I wish my virgo self would embrace more often.

An afternoon of trawling through old paperwork (ie. throwing crap out) uncovered a few random sketches that I'd scribbled down that I thought I'd share. In all their embryonic and raw glory. It's not called the random acts of Jimmy Trickle for nothing.

As mentioned previously, that is part of the impetus behind this blog. To catalogue all the random sparks of ideas and energy that randomly pop out of my head and fingers in the hope that they might coalesce into something cogent and identifiable. I am jealous of many of these artists because they chose something and stuck with it. Of a close friend many years ago it was said she was "a jack of all trades and master of none". I too feel like I am cursed with this moniker.