There's some real weirdos on the train, some of them are probably drawing you.

Hey there pal, thanks for stopping by.
Keeping in the spirit of the last thing I put on this blog, here's a drawing I did on the train about a month ago of a woman who was listening to an iPod.
Or maybe it was an iPhone.
Or I guess it could've actually been a cassette player, all I really know is she had those white headphones in her ears. It's possible they weren't even plugged into anything.

Here's what I was drawing

and here's the drawing

I wasn't really concentrating when I drew it, which isn't to say it would be any better if I had been, but I just mean I was never planning on showing it to her.
When we both got off at the same stop though and were walking side by side I decided I would show her, and I'm really glad I did.
Here she is writing her email address onto a newspaper so that I could send her a copy of the drawing.

She was very enthusiastic. She said it meant a lot to her and that she was really flattered.
Of course I was much more flattered than she was; reactions as positive as hers don't come about too often.

Understandably too I think. I probably wouldn't want some creep on the train drawing me.

But she liked it, and I think that's great.

I'm pretty lucky to have met her really, she was such an amazing woman*, whether her headphones had been plugged in or not.

*Obviously no where near as amazing a woman as my girlfriend of course, (in case my girlfriend happens to be reading this). Or my mum. Or Tracey Chapman.

The man on the train who gave me the book he was reading

Apparently this year is the 40th anniversary of the VCA, (the Victorian College of the Arts), which is the university I study at.
Despite the stormy weather the VCA put on a bit of a street party thing yesterday to celebrate, and although it did feel a bit like I was at a Primary school fete, I had fun and the music was good.

On the train home late last night, while nearly asleep, I scribbled a drawing of the man opposite me.
It isn't a particularly good drawing as I'd had a couple of beers and big cup of wine at the street party thing, but I decided to show it to the man anyway. Here he is.

and here's the drawing. (It wasn't quite finished at this stage)

(He was reading a newspaper while I drew him, but by the time I took his photo he was sitting a bit differently and had finished with the paper and moved on to a book)
He was a good guy. All he really said was that I should've drawn more hair. It was pretty funny.
As he was getting off the train he said "Here, have an art book", and he dropped the book he'd been reading into my lap. It turned out it was the current Menzies auction house book. A big thick one. What a cool thing for him to do, I'm really grateful.

Auction house books are always good to look through because you get to see the lesser known works of the big name artists. There are five Brett Whiteleys in this book and even though I'm pretty sure I've looked through every book published on the guy I'd never seen any of these works before. They were mostly just nothing sketches, (albeit $12,000-$18,000 nothing sketches), but when it comes to Bretty I'll always get excited about seeing new work.
Like when Tupac puts out new albums.

I like to imagine that one day, when I'm even older than the VCA is now, the drawing I did last night of the man who gave me his auction house book might end up in an auction house book itself.

A Newsworthy Poem

Exactly one year ago today I wrote this poem. A lot of it is old news now, and a lot of it isn't.


And an other thing. (or “The Nightly News. March 18, 2011”).              By Kenny Pittock.

Cyclone, tsunami, earthquake, salami.

Voting Green, Charlie Sheen, Winning, Winning, Winning.

Bunnings Warehouse, where lowest prices are just the beginning.

Egypt, Libya, 80k’s of radiation,

speculation, Ricky Nixon’s ejaculation

inside of that mentally ill girl, what’s her name again?

Official death toll 16,500. 12 OF WHICH ARE AUSTRALIAN.

Just heat up whatever’s in the fridge.

He threw his kids off the Westgate bridge.

The southwestern volcano’s due to erupt soon.

Prince William, what’s he up to?

Petrols never been so dear.

Well it has, but not in years.

Sharks have never swum so near.

Headphones that loud will ruin your ears.

The seekers of asylum riot, they set detention centers on fire.

Send in back-up, get more barbed wire.

There’s a pretty good sale on at Myer.

Football full forward drunk again.

Fine with showers, all weekend.

Watch this viral youtube clip;                    

baby smiles, two billion hits.

Duck season. Vodka Cruiser.

Next on Ten The Biggest Loser.

I made this post when the poem was "exactly one year ago today", but it's only today that this has gone onto the internet, so technically it's "exactly one year ago last Sunday".
That doesn't sound anywhere nearly as poetic though does it? But then again, I guess the poem doesn't sound too poetic either.

The Queen of all police

I did this on October 26, 2011, when the Queen came to Melbourne and rode a tram down Swanston Street.

Turned out there were ticket inspectors on the tram and her Majesty was fined both for not having a concession card and also for having her feet on the seat.
It didn't get reported on the news, so you probably didn't hear about it.

Allsorted

Title- Licorice Allsort

Medium- Acrylic on ceramic

Dimensions- 2.5 x 2.5 x 2.5cm

Year- 2011

Now with a little red sticker below it.

What you're likely to find in the bushes on the side of every highway

Early last Monday morning I got in my car by myself and drove 900kms from Melbourne to Sydney. It took somewhere between 12 and 13 hours. I was my own personal courier, transporting a couple of paintings.

At some point around the 9 hour mark I pulled into one of the little "fifteen minute power nap" bays on the side of the highway, kilometres and kilometres away from any exit off the highway.

I didn't power nap, but I did get out of the car to give myself a brief power break from the driving. I powerfully got the urine out of me, and then went for a little power wander to power stretch my powerful legs.
There was a fair amount of litter around. The usual stuff you'd expect; junk food packaging, coffee cups (hot coffee and iced coffee), lemonade and energy drinks. Cigarette packs and a corresponding number of cigarette butts. As well as an assortment of different brands of sneaky beer bottles.

Naturally I then found the baby wipes and scrunches of brown smeared tissue paper.

I then found a gram bag and an empty pack of jumbo cigarette papers.

Looking a little closer I found both a sardine can and a tuna can. 

And that's when things started getting a little fishy.

Looking closer still I found shorts, underwear, a condom wrapper, a tube of KY jelly, and another piece of packaging which although was just clear plastic it isn't hard to have a confident guess as to what it might have once contained.

If this highway could talk, oh the stories it could tell.

Once I felt I'd seen all the tourist attractions this stop had to offer, I got back in the car, back on the road, and back on with my life. 

So anyway, me and the paintings arrived safe and sound, and after staying up there for four nights I drove back home yesterday along those same 900 kms in the opposite direction, from Sydney to Melbourne. 

This time though I had a friend I'd been staying with in my passenger seat. We talked, we laughed, we sang, and the drive felt a lot quicker than it had when alone on the way up.

Why public transport should run 24 hours

I was running, and I mean running, through Brunswick to make the last tram. Google maps told me it would take 35 minutes to get there on foot, but I only had 14, and so I ran and ran, the whole time wishing I had my skateboard.

I didn't have a choice, I had to make that tram, I live about an hour away from the city, so it's about a $90-$100 taxi ride. Despite all my better judgement, at one point in my desperation I considered hitchhiking to the tram stop, but the one time I did turn around and face what appeared to be the headlights of an approaching car, jogging backwards with my thumb out, it turned out that instead of a car it was two cyclists riding side by side. Ridiculous. I had to laugh.

But so I made the tram, just, and got back into the city a minute before one o'clock. The last train came at ten past one so I had just enough time to get a footlong sub from the beloved 24 hour Subway on Elizabeth street.

Walking into the station with my sub I spotted a man dressed as Spiderman, zipping up a gym bag. For whatever reason I decided to take a photo of him. I guess my Spidey Senses were tingling.

Walking into the underpass I saw a man who had gotten his foot stuck while jumping the fence to make the last train.

Despite Spiderman's cartoonish muscles and what you might have seen Spidey do in the comics and movies, Spiderman was no super hero.

Spiderman was more like the anti-hero in a painting by Brisbane artist Anthony Lister; he simply pointed out the obvious and then disappeared into the night, leaving me in charge.

For the second time in my life I called 000, and in a couple of minutes the paramedics were on their way. "Should we send Police as well?" they asked, "That's probably not necessary" I said, "Spiderman's already here".

Actually I didn't add that last part, but it was definitely implied.

The fallen guy must have landed hard, he'd cracked his head right open. He was losing a lot of blood very quickly. I then had to jump the fence myself. I was a lot better at it than he was.

The guy wasn't talking a whole lot of sense. Clearly he'd drank a lot more than I had. He kept trying to stand up and immediately stumbling back down. Me and this other guy helped him sit up and told him he really needed to just take a rest for a moment. "Na I gotta go I'm gonna miss the last train!" he yelped back. "Mate don't worry about that" we told him. There was no way he was leaving on a train, he was taking an ambulance.

The desperation in how he yelped reminded me of how I'd felt earlier when I'd considered hitch hiking. If I were in charge, public transport would run 24 hours. Even if they only ran trains once an hour between 1 and 5am. People make bad decisions when they're scrambling for a way out of the city, (let alone if they miss the last train and are stuck roaming around looking for a taxi).

I couldn't stick around any longer, I'd done my part, and I wasn't going to miss my last train. There was a small a crowd now, and so I ran up onto platform three and got inside the closest carriage just as the doors were closing.

As I began to eat my sub I immediately went for my water bottle.  When the sandwich artist had asked what salads I wanted I'd said, as I always say, "everything except jalapeños", but I mumble, and he must've heard, like has happened once or twice before, "everything and extra jalapeños".

I did my best to pick the suckers out, but those things have seeds, and you just can't get them all.  Very, very spicy. I guess no artist, sandwich or regular, can get it right all of the time, especially in the early hours, when even the Super Heros of the city have zipped up their gym bags and called it a day.