Diary Of An Artist In A New World

It Takes A Long Time To Get Back To Normal

I don't think anyone is the same after something like the loss of their father. When he died I was stunned. It felt like I had been hit over the head with a piece of 4x2 timber. That shock takes a long time to subside and probably never goes away completely. I still think of Don as the man with all the advice. His stories are alive in me and I find myself retelling things he said and did as if he was still around. Is it wrong or strange to mention him as if he is still here and use the present tense? It is not as if I cannot let him go, it is more that the emotion in the first couple of years is still raw and the wound still healing and I like to protect his memory as something hugely valuable that will always loom large in my heart. He didn't want to die, and I didn't want to loose him but dreadful as this part of life is, it is unavoidable as is the time necessary to recover.

Getting back to my diary I realize how long it has been since I was last making posts. It is not that nothing important has happened - on the contrary, it has been a momentous year with events that have been life changing. In particular Elizabeth coming into my life and to a lesser extent creating a large painting for a new Music Center in Poland. I would have liked for my father to see both but that wasn't to be. With such emotional events there is plenty to talk about but sometimes the feeling for a certain privacy prevails and consequently my diary has languished, and feelings have been shared only within my close circle.

I can understand why just with typing these few words. Emotion is welling up inside me and I am experiencing that horrible feeling in the stomach and I feel the weight on my shoulder. I think those who find it easiest to just cry their feelings out might reach a point sooner where they no longer need to cry. Maybe not. I do know that being a man is a double edged sword at a time like this. We do find in ourselves the strength to be a rock and carry on through the sea of emotions, but in our strength we sometimes cannot just cry into the wind like we really should do.

It is also easier for those who believe in after life's in a literal sense. Sure I believe in a metaphorical living on of his spirit. Every time I think of him for example he is alive in me but that is very different to some invisible metaphysical being with thoughts and feelings that lives in some spiritual realm and continues on as if it was Don living in a community of similar ethereal beings or metaphysical souls that are conscious and can live forever or return to earth in another form. People who really believe those sort of things feel less loss and maybe even a kind of celebration that their loved one is in a better place and they too have less fear of their own death. Unfortunately a true skeptic requires quantifiable and verifiable evidence when figuring out the workings of the universe around us and in light of the lack of evidence of the existence of a metaphysical world or we have to face the bleak prospect that death is a very final thing. My father didn't believe there is any life after passing from this one and I cannot disagree with him. Unfortunately that finality is hard to deal with sometimes.

Apart from the loss of life, death also takes with it the sharing of future things. My father would have thought the Polish painting that I would be doing the following year was just another waste of time as he saw all art in those terms, but Elizabeth he would have loved and welcomed as a long lost daughter. I think both of them would have found it difficult not to like each other. When death takes someone in the family it takes so many opportunities too.

So now life has changed and it is time to do normal things like make posts in my diary and other web sites. So much of my web world had become neglected during the last year or two and this last month I have been updating existing sites, creating new Facebook and Twitter pages, and created a brand new web site for the sketch club. Practical considerations meant that the need for survival dictated more practical sites got the attention first, but now my diary is open for my musings again. It is another milestone in the process of getting back to normal and writing these very emotional words an important part of the healing process. Another part is admitting that I miss him a great deal.

Discovering The Protective Instinct As A Dad

Tonight as is usual on a Saturday night I went to get my boys for the night. Leif was working but Pablo was on his way and I went down to Woolloomooloo to get Gian, Ashton, and Anton. Thats them in a photograph I took while walking with them. As we reached William Street a drunk woman was fighting with her boyfriend and screaming abuse at him. Every second word was a swear word. He walked across the street through the moving cars and sensibly disappeared from view but she kept screaming abuse after he was gone and so I told her to stop swearing in front of the children. She objected to that and I was the focus of her abuse then but at least she crossed the road and I hoped that was the end of it.

I kept my eye on her as we too needed to cross. As we walked across she decided to come back enraged and attacked Gian in the middle of the street. There is no obvious reason for her going for him. I was the only one who had said anything to her and then it was only the not swearing in front of children comment. She was clearly not behaving rationally. She only managed to kick Gian but she was surprised at the speed with which I sprang at her. She managed to duck and ran and I fell to the road surface but was quickly up and after her and she fell to the ground on the footpath. I never touched her but I was full of rage and told her with my fists clenched in front of her face never to touch my kids ever again. I turned away dismissively and she fled.

Just then the police arrived. Fortunately they had been driving up William Street and had seen what went on. They took my details and Gian's as well and asked if we would make a statement if necessary when they caught up with the woman. They indicated that she is well known to them.

It was just a few seconds of drama. Gian was fine (I lost a little skin from my knee when I fell) but it is amazing how we can spring instantly into action to protect our loved ones and when our kids are threatened we can become like a tiger. At times like that there is no time to think just a necessity to act. I think my boys were surprised by my reaction and speed in the situation but I think they feel very safe and protected whenever we are out in the world and maybe now they know why. 

Lost Year: August 2008 - Paula Left

It is now 13 months since Paula moved into her own place. We had not been happy as a couple for quite some time although we retained a close family sort of relationship and are still good and mutually supportive friends. Even though it was appropriate for her to go any separation inevitably is a painful pulling apart of the wiring between 2 people. We had been together for 8 years and that is plenty of time for lots of ties. It is also a case that the simpler rejection emotions on the surface tend to obscure the deeper and more complex feelings and it takes time to deal with all that. I certainly could not have written these words a year ago while things were fresh but it is time to acknowledge what happened.

The Lost Year

It is almost a year since my last post, a very emotional year. Sometimes dealing with the ups and downs of life requires a little privacy, or in this case a lot of privacy. Hence my blogging has taken a back seat for a while. 

Not that it has been a year without good things. Some of them have been very good. I went on an extended holiday to Queensland with my boys in a mini-van so they could have Christmas with their grandparents. It was very special. It was also a big year for computer purchases with 2 computers for my boys, and an Axiotron Modbook for myself. There has also been the joy of the iPhone and most recently making iPhone videos to upload to YouTube. Over the next few weeks as I get back into making regular diary posts I will intersperse them with posts under the general heading of "The Lost Year" to detail some of the major happenings so we can catch up better.

Recently I returned to Facebook after an absence of several months. It was wonderful to catch up with all my friends. I know that this diary has a good readership so to all of you - it is a good feeling to be back. I love social media and the way it has revolutionized life. 

Dealing With Anxiety At The Dentist

Root canal. The words strike irrational fear. Like snakes, we instinctively recoil from certain things. Dental work is one of them. I was at the dentist today, and root canal therapy was the agenda. I get very anxious. I was a victim of a country schools dental program in which there were dental nurses only - no dentists - and they drilled without anaesthetic. It was the country in the 1960's. Boys displaying courage was more important than spending money on anaesthetics. The only encouragement consisted of being told that only girls cry and be still. Now I would never go to any dentist voluntarily unless there is great pain.

Sleep At Last In A Month Both Traumatic And Exciting

Managed to get good sleep last night. Had set the alarm for 8 1/2 hours but was woken an hour early but even so it is so good to feel relatively refreshed. With the funeral last monday, and an extra busy week following sleep became a luxury I could not afford. This coming week will be at least as bad. November is always my most difficult month of the year. It seems that Scorpios are disproportionaltely represented in my family and friends. The birthdays alone make this a busy month, add in hens events and Lisa's death, and I have many reasons to be glad to see December this year.

Once A Viking, Always A Viking, Even A Facebook Viking

The Internet enriches my life in many unexpected ways. Recently I made a Facebook profile and have discovered some very surprising and wonderful things. Firstly it surprised me how many people I already knew were on Facebook. Secondly I was surprised how easy it is to keep in contact with existing friends by using Facebook. Thirdly are the new friends I am making through Facebook.

There is a feature that enables easy discovery of people in far away places called World Friend-finder. Naturally I used it to find people in Norway, especially Bergen where my family comes from. So I now have 4 friends in Norway and they have proved to be interesting people, the sort of people who it is a pleasure to converse with. There is more to it though. I get the feeling that I "fit" with these people. I like their attitudes to life. It is as if the Viking genes are saying that I share some very fundamental things, that my genetic heritage recognizes the wider Viking family that I come from. It is a good feeling.

Thank you Facebook, for giving me this.

Exhaustion

I got 8 hours sleep last night. I still feel like I could sleep for 8 hours more. People don't realize how much effort goes into preparing for these hens nights, and of course as well as preparing for the hens, I try to squeeze in a little of the web stuff I need to be doing, and end up spending a few days trying to survive on 2 or 3 hours sleep like the last couple of days.

This weekend I had 2 hens groups. They were delightful women, the sort of women to make one feel glad to be alive. Even though it is a lot of work to make certain they have the best event possible, it is also very joyful seeing the work rewarded by their obvious enjoyment of the event.

And then afterward I had my boys for dinner. Last night we ordered-in pizzas. They liked that. Sadly I was so tired that I feel asleep in my chair. After I took them back home I set to work cleaning up. It was 5 in the morning by the time I had finished. and there were stacked rows of clean glasses, plates, bowls, the rubbish out, floor cleaned, and I dragged my sore feet to bed.

Becoming Unstuck From Time

Is it possible to see terror in something beautiful and retain that first excitement of love and appreciation? Take this sunset tonight as glimpsed between city buildings. Gorgeous! was my first reaction and it filled me with thoughts of beautiful things, those special moments that make life feel alive. That was a sunset that could put youth into the old, make the poor wealthy, and bring poetry from stones.

Look at it. Mauves and oranges. It is like the cloud caught fire and is smoldering in the sky. The mauvey greys are like smoke, the cloud made of coals as big as the horizon. It is such an exquisite sight and doubly wonderful for being a snippet of a view.

I stood there in the middle of the street, the cars all around me, and took a photo. They always think I am mad when I take a photo from that little domain I claim on the white line. The cars that is. The pedestrians don't notice. I was transfixed by the beauty of the sky and the office workers streaming past in a river of hurry to get home never noticed that the sun had painted another picture just for them. This was an exhibition for the few, right in the middle of the many. So it goes

That's what Vonnegut says. So it goes. I am reading Slaughterhouse Five yet again. Well, listening to it on my iPod. It is my private homage to his life, since he died just a few weeks ago. In the book he tells the story of Billy Pilgrim. It is meant to be about the fire bombing of Dresden in World War Two. He was there, Vonnegut that is, a prisoner of war, in a slaughterhouse called Dresden. But he says that he cannot think what else to say about the firebombing. I think he thinks that the incendiary bombs said all that needs to be said all on their own. So he talks about Billy who also fought in the war and then goes home and becomes wealthy and it is not until 1967 that anyone realizes that all the way back then, the trauma had made him go quietly mad.

That is until 1967 when he decided to tell a radio station that he has become unstuck from time and that one night in a microsecond before his daughters wedding he spent several years with aliens in a zoo and being mated with a porno movie star called Montana Wildhack. So it goes.

His daughter Barbara was aghast. Aghast not that her father had gone mad, or that he had had to endure the horrors of war, but that he was embarrassing her. So it goes.

I read quite a bit of the book as I went about my business purchasing supplies for tomorrows workshop. I discovered a lot of things. I have read Slaughterhouse Five before. Everybody has, it is one of those books that is respected and so everyone claims to have read it, but Slaughterhouse Five is also a powerful and interesting book, so not only do people say they have read it, they usually have. Me, I read it about three times.

I was much younger then. It seems I was probably quite a bit stupider too. Because (as is often the case when I reread things at this age) I am discovering depths and subtleties that I never noticed the other times. Maybe I did notice, but didn't think it was important so I forgot them straight away.

That's the problem with extreme youth, the extremely youthful are in such a hurry they don't pause to notice so many little things. Like sunsets down a street. Or nuances in the way a character says something, or is introduced. Or why they are there in the first place.

Now I am still a youth, but a little less extremely youthful than before, and discovering that a book that I should know very well is able to surprise me yet again. Or maybe, it's just that it is a good book, and that is why I can rediscover afresh within its pages another aspect that I hadn't considered before. And so it goes.

Tonight I could relate to Billy Pilgrim. I think at times like sunsets or other things of great beauty I too can feel a little unstuck from time. Of course unlike Billy I don't think I have been carried off to Tralfamidor by beings who hold their eyes in their hands. At least I don't think I have been.

But there is something that Billy does that I do do. Cry every so often, usually with dry tears. I get it in artworks, especially books or movies or television. I got it tonight. On an episode of Startrek: Enterprise one of the officers is trying to compose a letter to the parents of a crew member who has just died. The portrayal was very powerful and went through stages of denial and anger and rejection and acceptance, and when he came to terms with it, and started to really write as from his heart what he felt about this person I felt the tears welling up and the sensation was of the tears flooding my eyes, but really there was not that much water there, just the sensation. Big boys don't cry after all.

I wondered how I would deal with a real life situation of being in a place like Dresden in the war, and maybe having to tell someone about their somebody and share their last moments because it needed to be done.

I think I might become really unstuck in time too, and maybe even go to Tralfamidor and be in a zoo.

Everything would be different from then on, even sunsets. Later when I was downloading the photographs I was struck by how the colors in the cloud looked like they could be reflecting the fires of a burning Dresden. Even the mauvey greys looked like smoke rising from the city. Yes the cloud was still gorgeous, but somehow Vonnegut had managed to paint a few extra layers in there that I didn't notice the first time. So it goes.

My Little Mulberry Tree

Last night in the dark in Forbes Street I discovered a little treasure. Despite the cold, my little magic mulberry tree had opened a first leaf. There were two of them, tiny and fresh, about the size of a five cent coin. I noticed the  hint of something catching the dim street light above my head and drew the branch down low enough for me to run my finger tips over the softness of the new born leaf. It is very eager to come to life this special little mulberry.

It shouldn't even be here. I discovered it many, many years ago. It grows in a tiny space between two buildings and a few scraggly thin branches weep over an old wooden fence. On the other side of the fence is such a small dark space, that its only real life is in those few fingers that escape the confines. Over the years the property owners have tried to cut it down, but each time it manages to extend its tendrills over the fence once more and then suddenly produce a surprising mass of leaves. Later in the year it will fruit and I will have a taste of two or three delicious mulberries. I have the feeling as I eat them each year that the fruit is somehow just for me, as if the tree and I are having a clandestine affair in the street. it is that kind of special treat that has grown a life inside me beyond the fruit itself. It is as if when I am passing there, I can hear a whisper... "have you forgotten me that it took so long? I have been waiting, all alone, just for you."

One day, perhaps, I will see someone else enjoying a mulberry there in the street and I will wonder what sort of relationship they are having. Meanwhile, however, I prefer to believe that the mulberries were always just for me.