Sunday, 29 January 2012

In Praise of Paisley

I love paisley.
I love the way it's intricacies and frailties come together in a sort of combined strength to create sublime shapes that say more than meets the eye.
Paisley is like a secret garden that's watching you from within itself, with cheeky plants that form blob like circles in which they dance, giggle and play. You see them moving out of the corner of your eye and then you look...and they're still.

Heaven would be a paisley paradise.
It would have paisley trees with paisley leaves and paisley cows give paisley milk.

It rains silver paisley drops and tears of joy are pink paisley.
Boys in paisley shirts and girls in paisley dresses run and skip amongst paisley flowers whilst eating paisley ice creams.

My favourite between season top is cheesecloth and it has an all over paisley print. It died yesterday morning.

It has a r.i.p. that came out of nowhere, too big to fix, in fabric that has been worn so much it is worn transparent and I nearly have to wear a bra underneath which would defeat the comfort of the loose fitting light cotton. Sad.


Saturday, 28 January 2012

Where are we going?

I recently joined google+ because I noticed it has a wealth of creative sharing going on. I posted the following nude image publicly, which means anyone following me can see it...

Someone must've complained because the image was flagged as having unsuitable content for google and removed. I appealed and they reviewed the decision. Google came back to me with the following...

'Google+ has reviewed this image.
Unfortunately, this photo is not in line with our User Content and Conduct policies.
You can still see, download or delete the image, but sharing has been disabled permanently.'

I am not a fan of censorship and especially not art censorship. Not just because I see nothing wrong and everything right with the human form, but because censorship has wider implications if allowed to run rampant through our world. I wonder in awe at a world where some people think the human body even in art form should not be seen - even in art form. I'm very sad and so is my nude...

Monday, 23 January 2012


Hi and welcome to Jen.

I haven't been around for a while. I've had a touch of 'LOCIMBA' (lack of confidence in my blogging abilities).
I've written posts and there they sit, in my 'postholder'? waiting for the LOCIMBA to pass...

I've been painting - which has brought about it's own 'LOCIMPA'.

I joined a painting group at google+ and have been doing a painting a day.
The group I joined paint/draw an ACEO a day.
ACEO stands for Art Cards Editions and Originals. They are three and a half inches by two and a half inches, the size of a baseball card in the US? That's why you usually post them with a key in the photo - to show how small the painting is. These are water colours.

From a photo of my boys 14 years ago

From a photo of a friend at the beach

Our pepper grinder

From a road trip photo

From my head

I once told someone that if you want have a go at something then do it even if you can't be the best or think you're no good or (in the worst case) you're hopeless at it - because guess what? you're doing everyone else in the world a favour by showing them they can have a go also, and everyone needs to do that. Even if you make a complete ass of yourself, more the better because it gives other people permission to do the same. Just make sure you can laugh at your failure first, then it becomes a success.

Actually I told myself once that being really bad at the thing I was doing was having the added effect of making the people better than me look even better. It's nice to know you're embarrassment is helping someone out. It's a community service.

There is too much perfectionism going on and not enough silliness.

Do the world a favour and make a fool of yourself. You might make an angel.

People who rub noses make angels


Thursday, 19 January 2012

The Internet is the only place in the world where humanity can join together.
It's the man made equivalent of the earth we walk on and the air we breathe.
It has possibilities for humanity not yet realized.
We are at a T intersection.
One way is greed and the other way is sharing.
One way is freedom and the other way isn't.

Wednesday, 18 January 2012

On cooking, parenting, scrap booking and Jesus

Hi and welcome to Skwishee !

Over at we band of mothers leap blog day is all the talk. This is a bit like going to a dance and everyone sitting on the sidelines waiting to be asked.
It has been mentioned by some that they might have difficulty tackling a subject that is not their usual eg Cooking, scrap booking, Jesus and being thoughtful parents.

Since I also find the above four topics a challenge I thought I'd practice with the following story which is not intended to be irreverent...

Cockadoodledoo! A rooster crows as a brand new day dawns over Bethlehem.

A frightened four year old Jesus throws off a hemp blanket and runs through the doorway of his earthen hovel home outside into a dusky dawn.
His mother Mary is bent over an outside fire pouring batter onto a hot griddle making elephant pancakes.
He runs to her and they embrace 'Oh sweetie, what's the matter?' she asks, combing her fingers through his sweat dampened hair, 'Not another bad dream?'
Sobbing, Jesus tells mum about his nightmare...

'It was (sniff) scary - just scary!'
Mary wipes his tears away with her head scarf.
'Not the book thing again?' she sighs.
Jesus looks away into the dust beyond the fire, 'Yes,, and...the other things too'.
'Are you okay darling? Do you want to talk about it? It will do you good to get it out...'
Jesus looks into the eyes of his mother and, finding safety in their brown depths, he bravely continues.

'There was paper with patterns, too many patterns, they were screaming at me!'
Mary pulls him closer to her and flips a pancake, 'go on darling'.
'Then there was white sticky stuff all on my fingers and I couldn't do anything because my fingers were stuck together and there were sticky picture things, little things like numbers and letters and flowers and hearts - all sorts of things, that got stuck to me all over and tried to get in my nose...' he takes a deep breath, 'there was lots of pictures - pictures of babies, everywhere, I could hardly move.. and pictures of grown ups kissing and pictures of dogs'.

Mary removes a browned elephant pancake from the fire and pours more batter onto the sizzling griddle. She sits back and puts her arm around her son and kisses his worried forehead.
'Go on, there's more isn't there?'

'Yes...I don't know why but they make me cut all these picture things and stick them in the book and my fingers are sticky and the cutting thing won't cut and everything gets stuck to it and it's horrible!'

Jesus breaks down and sobs into his mother's lap as Joseph emerges from the hovel. He looks askance at Mary.
'Not the dream again?' he asks.
Mary sighs and strokes Jesus on the back lovingly, 'Yes - the dream... do me a favour honey will you and flip the pancake?'

Jesus grew strong on fine cooking and good parenting. The nightmares about scrap booking eventually abated.

Monday, 16 January 2012

Let It Be

I don't have cancer, chronic depression, bipolar, obesity, chronic illness, a handicapped child or an alcoholic husband who beats me.
I don't have much to complain about really.

I feel guilty about this but I still sometimes suffer from dissatisfaction, anxiety, depression - sometimes  - and without any sort of good reason for it.
I sometimes wake in the morning and wonder what the hell I've done with my life and panic that I might waste what's left. Those mornings I wish I were a hope filled young person again and my mother would bring me a cup of tea in bed.

And then there are days when I love my life and everything and everyone and can Let It Be

When I find myself in times of trouble Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom 'Have a cup of tea'
And in my hour of darkness She is standing right in front of me Speaking words of wisdom 'Have a cup of tea'

Let it be, let it be, Let it be, let it be Whisper words of wisdom 'Have a cup of tea'

And when the broken hearted people Living in the world agree There will be an answer 'Have a cup of tea'

For though they may be parted there is Still a chance that they will see There will be an answer 'Have a cup of tea'

Let it be, let it be, Let it be, let it be there will be an answer 'Have a cup of tea'
Let it be, let it be Let it be, let it be Whisper words of wisdom 'Have a cup of tea'

Let it be, let it be, Let it be, let it be Whisper words of wisdom 'Have a cup of tea'

And when the night is cloudy There is still a light that shines on me Shine until tomorrow 'Have a cup of tea'

I wake up to the sound of music Mother Mary comes to me There will be no sorrow 'Have a cup of tea'

Let it be, let it be, Let it be, let it be There will be no sorrow 'Have a cup of tea'
Let it be, let it be, Let it be, let it be


Saturday, 14 January 2012

Three Types of People

There are two types of people in the world, tantrum onlookers who you know are thinking 'Why doesn't that mother show her child who's boss?' and tantrum onlookers who you know are thinking 'Why doesn't that mean spirited mother buy her darling a measly little bag of lollies?'

After reading Marianne's article about mums losing it I recalled an incident at a shopping complex supermarket in Bigtown not far from us. I was with little Batman (out of uniform), waiting in the checkout line for what always seems too long with a small child. He decided he wanted a bag of lollies he spied at eye level (everything eye level at that age is candy - it's not their fault).

I was tired, so why not say yes and make it easy for myself?
-because I had done a Parent Effectiveness Training course not long before and when you're tired you can't think straight so I decided to give 'active listening' a go...

LBat, pointing: 'I want that!'
Me: Oh - you want that.
LBat: Yes mum I want that.

Active listening works. It's where you listen actively to the person who has the problem.
By feeding back information we let the person with the problem know we understand what he's saying and even accept what he's saying.
We don't have to solve his problem but by listening and accepting we help him to see how he can solve it himself.
(It really just avoids the 'n' word which is a red rag to a bull - but if you can avoid the n word long enough the child tires of asking.)

The line gets nearer the checkout and I put our half dozen items down on the counter.
LBat: I want lollies!
(He's not as tired as me and I can see he could ask all afternoon.) I make a fatal mistake...
Me: No.

We are being served. He reaches for the lollies. Although he resists I pick him up and holding him firmly I turn him away from the counter as our purchases are scanned and bagged.
I pay the checkout girl and then with great dexterity and ease that comes from experience I swing the noisily protesting little Batman horizontal and with him facing away from my body I grasp him sideways in a strong hook grip under my arm and grab my bag of shopping with the other hand. I leave the supermarket with little Batman's arms flailing and legs kicking.
It's a long 200 meters to the car park but I'm a fearless invincible hunter warrior mother with the day's live catch under my arm.

People are looking at me and pretending not to - both types of people. But as I charge past them a third kind of person passes me. A beautiful silver haired lone old woman, who takes in the overly animated scene of a mother and child in gridlock, looks me in the eye and smiles.
My heart opens and I smile back.

As we continue to the exit little Batman senses the change in my demeanor and relaxes. Outside the complex we stop to sit on a bench and laugh and laugh till our sides ache.


Wednesday, 11 January 2012

Remote 'control'

We have six remote control devices next to our television that relate to six devices for our viewing 'pleasure'. We use all of them, that's why they're there, I think...

My techno savvy sister has given me a movie on a disc in a format that requires watching on a computer. It's about a walk in Spain and since I'd rather see it on the bigger television screen I mention it to SOB (Significant Other Being). Too late I realize I've made a mistake...

SOB: 'Do you know how the TV works?'
(Too late I realize I've made a terrible mistake...)

Me, with pained expression and in a small voice: 'Uhhhh'

SOB: 'I'll tell you.'

Me: 'Oh no - why did I - I didn't mean that...I was only joking - I do know how it works - really I do.'
(I know this is going to be like going to the dentist, in fact I'd rather go to the dentist.)

Me - grabbing my bag: 'I think I have a dental appointment..'

SOB: 'No - don't look like that! Just relax and take a deep breath.'

ME: 'But - I don't want to do this right now, don't make me ..please...'
(It's like brain rape.)

SOB: 'Once you know how it works and understand it, it will all make sense.'

Me: ' I don't...oh. just please don't begin with electricity!'

Images of school homework at the kitchen table with my impatient father 'helping me' fill my head as SOB launches into a completely thorough and un-entertaining explanation of how our entertainment 'system' works. I sort of panic because I can't understand and that makes me understand less and he gets frustrated with my lack of comprehension. My ear drums start to vibrate with every word - so much I think they will bleed. Does my difficulty listening to and understanding my husband hark back to childhood issues about maths homework with my father?

The similarities are uncanny.

Don't worry, my ears don't really bleed and even though I imagined stabbing my father with a pencil and SOB with a broken DVD - I didn't.

I don't think this is something I will work out before I die.
In the meantime I have found that I can listen to SOB's explanations if they are through a medium or third person. ie if I eavesdrop as he instructs someone else - someone he doesn't live with, but it's a little difficult to organize. Perhaps we need a dicta-phone or something.

When I speak of this dictation dilemma to other couples I find it's a common occurrence, like back seat driving is - I won't get started on that one.


More on Noses

As I mentioned in a previous post the nose picking season in my part of the country is from the beginning of December to  the beginning of February. It is now nearly at an end with the best bloom time being around Christmas when there is hardly a function or friendly gathering where there are not noses gracing the tables amid plates of Asian fried noodle salad and tofu kebabs. Hotels and eateries everywhere join in the spirit and celebrate the season with a vase in every room and on every table.

One year we found some noses growing wild in a paddock near us. On our way home from shopping we spied them in a field not two minutes walk from our house. The next day was cool, a relieving break from the heat, humidity and thunderstorms we'd had for over a week. We took a morning picnic (so we could hear the noses take in air) and spent a few pleasant hours wandering the paddock, picking noses and relaxing in the shade under a tree.

Over croissants and tea we played our tin whistles, which the noses seemed to enjoy as they all turned their nostrils toward the music.

It was a pleasant morning marred only by one mishap - not bad when you have two boys in a paddock full of noses. My youngest wasn't watching where he was walking and his right foot entered a cow mine. It was a large one, about four kilos and wet inside with a 10am crust. It took three of us to pry him loose and we all fell back into a patch of noses which snorted, blowing us up and onto our feet again.

Noses are quite responsive to humans.


Sunday, 8 January 2012

Batman saves the day

Hi and welcome to Mrs Tuna  who has a funny food blog and isn't MOV's twin sister.
Following hot on the heels of  MOV's 'Bag Lady' post, here's another bag story.

A shopping trip over 18 years ago with SOB (Significant Other Being) and a five year old Batman.
SOB has bought new shoes. He, little Batman and I go into a supermarket and SOB buys masking tape, pencils, a toy and a packet of chips for little B. I pay for goods and being environmentally aware, SOB says no to another plastic bag. Outside the supermarket SOB takes a seat with little B to wait while I visit another shop. I am gone 20 minutes.

While I am gone and with no one to watch over them they wreak havoc...

SOB decides to reduce his baggage by putting the few supermarket items in with his new shoes in the shoe box which is in a plastic shopping bag.
He asks little B for a chip but little B hasn't learned to share.
He decides to buy his own packet of chips He gathers up the shopping bag and little B, re enters the supermarket, chooses a bag of chips and goes to make his purchase.
At the checkout SOB is asked for permission to check his bag.
The checkout lady is thorough and looks in the shoe box, finding the concealed goods.

SOB: "Oh no, this isn't what it looks like...'
Checkout Operator: 'do you have the receipt for these items?'
SOB: 'No I haven't. My wife has it and she's not here'
Check Op calmly takes hold of microphone beside cash register 'code 9 on checkout four' she says and as the words ring out the other operators look at SOB like sharks that have smelled blood.
SOB: 'look this isn't - I bought those things, well my wife did, we paid for them and she's got the receipt.'
Other customers stare at the shop lifter with the little kid in the Batman suit.
Check Op into microphone: 'Code 9 on checkout four, code nine on checkout four.'

Soon an officious looking manager, fat from eating shoplifters, hedges through the line of customers building up on checkout four.
Manager looks through the items hidden suspiciously in the shoe box.
Check Op: 'He says they've been paid for but he doesn't have a receipt.'
Batman is growing restless beside SOB and wants his toy back.
Manager with an important tone to Check Op: 'I'll call the police.'
SOB: 'Look - 'This stuff has been paid for. The girl who served us was on the next checkout, that one' he nods toward checkout three.

The manager starts toward checkout three.
SOB: 'No - that's not her, she's gone. Look - if you check the till you'll find the transaction.'
Manager: 'I not going to to that - that's ridiculous, it would take hours.'
SOB: 'It was only five minutes ago!'
Manager looks unimpressed.
SOB: ' Where's the girl who was there before? the blonde girl?' looks around wildly.
Suddenly SOB's eyes light up and he points up aisle three 'There! the blonde girl!'

The manager calls to a young blonde checkout girl emerging from breakfast cereals who wends her way through the shoppers to the scene of the crime.
Manager: 'Do you remember serving this man?'
The young girl looks at SOB and is thinking...
SOB pleads: 'Remember? I said I didn't want a bag?'
The girl still looks unsure but then notices the little Batman hiding behind SOB and her face brightens 'Oh yeah! - I remember the kid in the Batman suit!'
SOB turns to the big bad store manager 'I think I deserve an apology.'
Big bad store manager turns and walks away.

SOB is a marked man, he doesn't go shopping for months unless Batman comes too.


Friday, 6 January 2012

Words (Between The Lines Of Age)

Hello and welcome to The Observer who has a new blog with short sharp and to the point reviews about stuff and also welcome to BragonDorn who is writing a book about a squirrel called Sammy.

Music is amazing stuff. One song can change the course of my day. I've been feeling seriously cynical of late but in awe of beauty at the same time, a weird mix brought on by listening to 'Harvest' too much.

With respect, here I post someone else's words - am I allowed to do that? 

You see, I can't get this classic old Neil Young song out of my head and so I thought, as an art exercise and to improve my drawing tablet skills, I would illustrate it and see if it will go out of my brain before I do...

It would probably help you to understand the pictures if you listened to the song at the same time. Let me know if the pictures work for you. I may have got a bit literal...

"Words (Between The Lines Of Age)"

Someone and someone were down by the pond

Looking for something to plant in the lawn.

Out in the fields they were turning the soil
I'm sitting here hoping this water will boil

When I look through the windows and out on the road
They're bringing me presents and saying hello.

Singing words, words between the lines of age.
Words, words between the lines of age.

then a guitar solo... 
...but much longer, then...
If I was a junkman selling you cars,
Washing your windows and shining your stars,

Thinking your mind was my own in a dream
What would you wonder and how would it seem?

Living in castles a bit at a time
The King started laughing and talking in rhyme.

Singing words, words between the lines of age.
Words, words between the lines of age. 

Edit: more guitar -

Hey it's working, I think the song's fading in my head...


Wednesday, 4 January 2012

In Praise of Bottoms

I'll never forget the first time I went skinny dipping. I don't remember where or when it was - but I remember how it felt. It was one the most freeing experiences I've ever had....except for the time my boyfriend tied me up naked and he went to hockey practice and I had to get the dog to chew the that didn't really happen.

Hello and welcome to Bee Bee, who has a fabulously funny and cute blog.
I read bee bee's bucket list this morning and I thought of something I'd put on my bucket list. I'd like to be one of the models in a photo by spencer tunick . He came to Australia last year and I didn't realize until I saw the picture on the front page of the newspaper. Five thousand two hundred naked people lying all over the steps of the Opera House in Sydney. I hope he comes back to photograph the Harbour Bridge.

I like nudity, all sorts and all ages. If I'd seen more naked young women when I was a young woman I might not have grown up thinking I was weird. I think the more nudity we have, in art especially, the better. It's educational and it takes the pressure off the need to be beautiful as it helps us to realize we are all already beautiful and all different and all the same.

After that first skinny dip it was difficult for me to keep my clothes on, especially around water. When my SOB (Significant Other Being) and I were courting we used to bush walk and swim naked often.

When I became pregnant with my first child we lived in Sydney, in a flat not far from a nude beach where we swam that summer. He and I would walk through the bush past the toilet where gay men mingled with hetero fathers and sons and mothers and daughters and then on down to the beach where whole families lay naked on towels almost shoulder to shoulder. We'd disrobe and I'd bob about in the water, my ball of a baby belly a strange lopsided swim ring that kept turning me onto my back.

I didn't realize until then that there were so many people just like me who wanted to get their gear off. Old men and women, young teens, little children, soaking the sun into the whole of their bodies and letting it all hang loose in the ocean. It was like Eden would be, only instead of a dumb old Tree Of Knowledge there was ice cream!

A fellow who had the good sense to make a profit out of all these crazy naked people got himself a boat, filled it with ice creams and visited our little paradise with a bucket of change and good sea legs. Naked people are very polite.

After my son was born we moved to a hippie country town where we and our children swam naked in the river with our neighbours and their children.

Times have changed it seems and young people don't enjoy the feel of the wind and sea and the sun on the whole of their bodies as much as our lot did.

I'd like to propose an international naked day. One day where we can do naked all those things we normally do with clothes on, riding the bus to school, supermarket shopping, meeting with the bank manager, parliament - I know, the streets would be empty except for me, ha! ha! - one single, white, flabby, saggy, nude 30 - 60 year old female off to the shop with a blonde purse and two empty calico bags...


Monday, 2 January 2012

Please be Seated

See - I turned to look at you lot, acknowledging your presence and one of you did a runner.
It's a strange feeling - losing a follower.
But I made a new friend also - welcome to Jenny who doesn't blog but is a creative scientist. 
Some people call their readers members but since reading a pornographic story in 'Forum' magazine (when I was too young to) in which a 'swollen member' was mentioned I can't bring myself to say the word without a lot of concentration.
Anyway I thought I should offer more comfy chairs and glasses of wine - or cordial if you prefer, because I don't want you to feel unwelcome and run away. Then I got to thinking about my share house days in Sydney and how my housemates and I used to get into my bed  on cold nights and watch movies. We could do that, but it can be dangerous...

I lived with a girl with as strange a sense of humour as I have, maybe stranger.
One rainy morning in the kitchen after breakfast she whispered to me, 'Shh' and holding my arm led me to the open doorway of my bedroom.

On my bed was the usual mound of blankets and sheets, 'Shh - Julie's still asleep' she whispered, 'Let's jump on her and wake her up!' She smiled mischievously and although I got it, I was reluctant because I was vaguely aware of someone banging on the locked door inside my brain - the adult Julie that knew something bad was going to happen. But hey, who listens to the little adult in their brain on a Sunday morning, after a drunken dinner party the night before, when there's silliness to be had?

'Ready...set...go!' and she and I ran screaming like idiots over to the (wooden slatted) bed.
'Aaaaaaah!' we yelled together as we launched ourselves up and onto the pile of linen, 125 kilograms of 23 yr old female insanity.
There was an almighty crack and a crash followed closely behind it as we, the linen, the mattress and ten planks of wood hit the floor.
As our mass of tangled arms and legs fell to earth my friend's knee came down and connected with my nose in a final crack that showed on the doctor's x-ray later as a fracture. It filled my face with blue and black for a week.

No, on second thoughts, Ill find chairs for all of you.


Sunday, 1 January 2012


I've had a great time with my new pastime and meeting new amazing people.
One of my new friends MOV gave a link to me in a recent post of hers and my page views that day made a triplet of spikes that rose above the 'Julia' spike by two pv's. These were surrounded by a whole city of smaller spikes. MOV must get a lot of page views.
It's hard to avoid the stat room.
The post on my home page at the time was not the best, so I'm lucky I made two new friends that day.
Welcome, here's a painting I did of a comfy chair for you to sit in.

I sometimes forget manners when I don't mean to.
I say the wrong things to people at the wrong time and then ask myself if I know anyone else who would say that and the answer is almost always no.

A cousin of mine who has the most amazing and natural manners and would never make a hurtful mistake in conversation had been a brick throughout the day of my mother's funeral, 'Thank you for all your help - I hope I can do the same for you someday' I said to her and before I could drag the words back I realized the blunder I'd made as I noticed her eyes flutter and she started to sway a little. Why did did I...what was I thinking?

It happens a lot when I am trying to do the right thing and be polite. I have to learn to edit before speaking so I can at least delay a little my becoming a rambling, muttering bag lady with no sense of decorum.
I have a friend who is the essence of congeniality. She makes you feel wanted when you visit, offers a drink and a comfy chair and listens to your conversation with intent, even the dumb things you say. She doesn't say dumb things.

I tell myself I have a good heart, it's just that on the way from my heart to my mouth the words get scrambled in my brain and meet other words that were left there from sentences I had the good forethought to keep caged. The words party hard and what comes out is a mixture of South Park meets Little House on the Prairie.

When I was younger to a friend with a broken arm I announced...
'Oh, that guy you like? I saw him last night and told him you had a broken arm, he said "it couldn't have happened to a nicer person".'
Truly, I honestly thought he meant her well - that he was sorry for her misfortune. I didn't realize he wasn't keen. I couldn't understand why she hated me for telling her and later he denied having said it to me at all.

I noticed in earlier posts on Gweenbrick's blog that he gave new readers a really nice warm welcome. So welcome to Marianne at 'We Band of Mothers' and Evan who has a blog promoting wonderful fantasy artists.

I have pretended I don't see new followers and have checked them out on the sly out of the corner of my eye so they don't notice because they might run away like a startled wild animal does when you turn around to look at it.

So again, hi and just in case you are large people and can't fit in one chair, here's another - oops, see what I mean.



A fellow artist (who does real art and not strange cartoons that only the artist finds funny) and myself are having an exhibition in August this year.
I have worked out without the aid of a calculator that I need to produce about one painting a week to have a goodly number by then. If only I was famous.

It would be fun to be a famous artist. One that's so famous you could draw a line and a couple of dots on a piece of paper, hang it in a famous gallery and people would stand in front of it for an hour and then say...

'ahhhhhhh - so...well, just so....right, isn't it?'

Famous artists have (usually) worked very hard to get famous and they've earned the right to take some time out and produce crappy lazy art for wealthy people to spend their money on. Some of those art works that seem to be 'oh so simple' actually take a lot of time perfecting.

I thought I'd practice being a famous artist so that when I am famous I can be ready with some really snappy crappy lazy art.

This I call 'Bucket Fill in Blue'

This is 'Bucket Fill in Blue No 2'

and 'Bucket Fill in Blue with Green Squiggly Line'

and finally 'Woman in Green'.

There are those who have nothing but criticism of famous artist's crappy lazy art.
They ought to be thankful that they have something to complain about.
Every critic likes to have something to complain about.
It's not cool to like everything.

I'd make a terrible critic - I like so many things...
sometimes especially the simple things, like...
famous artist's crappy lazy art.

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