In AFL, when a player does not make enough of an effort to keep the ball in the field of play they are penalised for ‘insufficient intent’. It is, or has been, also commonly known as ‘deliberate out of bounds’.

I love it! What a brilliant name for a rule. ‘Insufficient intent’.

Sounds like my life!!

Giggling until next time,

Kirsten

I have misunderstood poinsettias.

This year, I have nursed a poinsettia, purchased last Christmas, through until now. I didn’t think that was possible. For some reason I had an impression that, once the red decoration had fallen, the species possessed some sort of time limit—like a flowering annual that didn’t even last that long.

So this little plant that has hung on, albeit only in its green garb, has opened my eyes. I headed to Google for more information.

Poinsettias are native to Mexico and Central America. The red adornments we know so well are, indeed, leaves not flowers. They are called bracts. The most interesting thing is the plant requires at least fourteen hours of darkness each night, for six to eight weeks in a row, to fully form these red bracts. This means that, to meet an Australian summer retail market, some manipulation of the light/dark balance must have occurred in the lead-up. It also explains why the bracts drop off and don’t continue to form once the poinsettia is left on the kitchen windowsill into January.

What started all of this for me now is that my poinsettia has begun to form red bracts again. The coming into winter is providing the conditions it needs to flourish. We all do best in optimum conditions and the sometimes humble, sometimes spectacular, poinsettia is no exception.

Maybe today has the perfect conditions for you.

Until later,

Kirsten

 

 

Mount Gambier has, this weekend, played host to the annual Generations in Jazz event. Since 1987, jazz experts, performers and teachers have gathered to instruct, adjudicate, entertain and inspire a thousand students or more from many parts of Australia. Locals make their houses available to accommodate competitors, volunteer on gates, direct in parking areas, gather bands together in the Green Room, and other such things. Without them it would all be impossible. Although there are many people in Mount Gambier for whom Generations in Jazz (GiJ) is merely a passing phrase, for much of the community it is an event that brings people, money, music and joy into the town.

It struck me this weekend that GiJ is one of those GOOD things in life—a positive phenomenon that blooms with fantastic outcomes for everyone. Musicians of all ages and stages are drawn together under the banner of performance and love of the genre. Buses roll into town carrying stage bands and vocal ensembles of the hopeful; the excited; the dreamy; both the brilliant and those who simply love it; and those who organise and make it happen for each school.

So, yes, there are certainly GOOD things happening in the world. Of course that is true. It can be easy to forget, though, between war, terrorism, knife attacks, climate and weather events etc. I read very little news and watch even less—head in the sand, perhaps, but it increases the proportion of GOOD things I see and experience. I wouldn’t necessarily advise it as a way to operate (I’m woefully out of touch) but it works for me.

And today I feel quite buoyed up by the buzz in town and the sense that there are a more than a thousand kids, staff, volunteers, families, friends, aficionados and fans who’ve taken another step forward, or at least had fun, or contributed to something GOOD.

Let’s enjoy it!

Until next time,

Kirsten

On the 15th March, 2019, I was kicking about in Sydney. While my hosts were at work during the day, I was filling in time and decided, on the spur of some inspired moment, to start up a blog. It wasn’t something I’d planned or even really thought about but it obviously satisfied my loose-end desire to start something new.

Here we are five years later and Everyday Thoughts of an Artist is still hanging on. Strangely, I can’t decide whether the first post seems like yesterday or whether half a lifetime feels like it’s shot by since those first nervous, out-in-the-world words. There’s still nervousness in 2024, but also a stubborn bugger-it-I’m-going-to-do-this-anyway sort of vibe.

I was going to get out my printed book of posts so I could see what I had written on 15/03/19. Unfortunately, I can’t get to my writing bookcase because of extra large paintings leaning against the shelves. Ha! The arts crowding in on each other. Irony. And rather nice.

Thanks for being part of it—my precious fourteen followers! Haha! Luckily, it’s about the writing and not the influencing!

I’m still loving it. Here’s to the next five years, or even the next fortnight. Let’s not pile the pressure on!

Warmest wishes,

Kirsten

I have just read a book, given to me by an old friend who is also a painter and musician, called Think Like an Artist …. and Lead a More Creative and Productive Life by BBC Arts Editor, Will Gompertz. The book aims to encourage all those in the world of ideas (surely that’s everyone?) to look at the traits of our creatives and incorporate those qualities into our own thinking.

Gompertz examines the minds of makers of things, recognising that there are as many ways of being an artist as there are artists. He manages, nevertheless, to pinpoint similarities across creative practitioners —things like insane curiosity (unfortunately not so much me); scepticism (again, not my natural state); courage; a point of view and something to say; and a combination of ‘big picture’ and ‘fine detail’ thinking.

The star chapter for me, though, was the one on failure. It, as expected, emphasised that there is not failure; there is simply another step on the road, even if it doesn’t seem to fit our initial plans. But the bit, the fleeting reference, the concept I liked most was that very, very often success, satisfaction, joy or meaning comes from Plan B. While we’re focussed on our main drive there is so often something that flings us sideways into new territory. And there is no reason why that couldn’t be as rich or richer a hunting ground than the original patch. Quite by chance, I heard Tim Minchin make a similar comment in an address to graduates at the University of Western Australia. Don’t look too far ahead, he urged. You might miss the diamonds by the side of the road.

It all seems to advocate an art practice, or a job, or a hobby, or whatever, be all messy and non-linear and changeable. Uncomfortable, perhaps. But maybe that’s also more fun and, in the end, more beneficial. Perhaps failure recedes into the background of (dare I say) uncertainty, and we are less constrained. Perhaps a side route might take us where we end up wanting to go.

It’s food for thought and, inspired by those ideas, I’m not going to plan too far beyond my next cup of coffee! It seems like the perfect excuse and who knows what I might find!

Until later,

Kirsten

I was lucky enough to visit the Art Gallery of New South Wales today, to see the exhibition of works by twentieth-century, European modernist, Vasily Kandinsky. His paintings employing pure abstraction, and the use of colour and shape without any realistic reference, are designed to move the viewer in their own right, not because they depict something particular.

I love seeing the work of great painters across their lifetimes—the progression of style, the refinement of ideas, is always interesting. So often, these ground-breaking artists start out in a naturalistic mode which develops into the type of work we are familiar with—their legacy, if you like.

Kandinsky’s paintings inspire me to be less fearful. As artists, realistic or abstract or somewhere in between, there is always a fear that the next brushstroke will ‘stuff it up’. In reality, there is either a way to repair the damage or the mishap turns the painting in a new direction, so, in many cases, the fear can be unwarranted.

Kandinsky’s work is precise. It’s not messy like mine, but it is brave, particularly obvious when you look at those who inspired his beginnings such as Monet and the famous French Impressionists. Kandinsky takes their influence and, through his brilliant filter, develops a completely new style of art.

So, be brave, I tell myself, even in my little corner of the art world. Now I feel excited about getting a brush or squeegee in, and paint on, my hands and enjoying the process.

Until later,

Kirsten

I watched some tennis last night (you may not be surprised). Two of my favourites were facing off—Dominic Thiem and Rafael Nadal. Both were coming off lengthy breaks or interrupted years due to injury and for both, I suspect, it was a chance to see ‘how things are going’.

Thiem, a former number three in the world and Nadal, one of the greatest to play the game, have met many, many times. The beginning of this particular match was a slow, almost careful affair. Throughout the game, there were definitely moments of brilliance but generally it was a pretty stolid event – more unforced errors than Thiem would have wanted and a generally only-what’s-needed approach from Nadal.

To see these men compete was a lesson in understatement. There was less of the posturing and revving up characteristic of younger players, less ‘game-face’, less appealing with desperation and frustration to coaches’ boxes when things went wrong. These tennis players were self-contained and masters (or once were) of their craft. They seemed wise, if wisdom can be the privilege of those just thirty and thirty-seven.

I don’t for a moment suggest Thiem and Nadal weren’t loving the contest or that they had lost the competitiveness needed to bring someone to an elite athletic level. It just seemed they had seen a lot, knew a lot about themselves and their game, and knew what had to be done in this situation without resorting to artifice or performance.

Wisdom, which I feel is something we gather slowly over the years, could, I think, lead to understatement. When we quietly know or understand after a long period of gathering ‘life’, we are perhaps less in need of noisily making sure everyone else is aware, or listens, or gets on board.

I look forward to gaining that wisdom—the years-in-the-game knowledge of ourselves and the world, and the inner quietness that might accompany it. More living needs to be done but Dominic Thiem and Rafael Nadal, despite their relative youth, have placed in image in my mind of what that might be like.

Until next time,

Kirsten

It’s a blue-sky morning and, at this hour, the shadows are long and still a bit damp with dew. In these southern areas it’s going to reach a lovely twenty-two degrees—beautiful ‘living weather’. The north of the state will hit forty. I’m glad I am here.

There’s a long list of jobs for today. How I will organise them around a potentially ripper of a day of Test cricket is yet to be seen. Thank heavens for breaks in play for lunch (lawn mowing) and tea (weed spraying).

In this aptly named ‘lost week’ between Christmas and New Year, it’s easy to lose track of days and dates. The town is bursting with holiday-makers, only just emerging after their rest—yesterday the pathway around the Blue Lake was awash with runners, walkers, dogs and at least one small child who had had quite enough, thank you very much.

It’s a blue-sky morning here. I hope it is for you too.

Until later,

Kirsten

A few thoughts about diamonds.

I’m no expert, of course, but I’ve been reading about lab-grown, or synthetic, diamonds. I am fascinated by the science that can replicate eons of geographical processes. Apparently, lab-grown diamonds are essentially indistinguishable from the ‘real thing’—only newly developed chemical spectrography can discern any difference. Certainly, naked eyes, even those most knowledgeable, can’t make any determination ….

…. except for the fact that ‘natural’ diamonds usually have some degree of fault. Diamonds are measured largely by the ‘four Cs’: cut, clarity, carat and colour. The higher the quality of these elements, the more valuable the item. Any faults, varying from diamond to diamond, of course, reduce that value.

It seems to me that the human race can be reluctant to embrace synthetic replicas of parts of our lives. We like the real thing, often in the face of the artificial version being a technically purer and improved version. The uptake of synthetic diamonds is definitely happening, but many still desire the original.

So, I’m wondering whether we’ll ever get into a situation where the faults in a gem that designate it as ‘real’ will become prized in some strange way; whether the perfect creation will take a back seat to those examples that can be proven go be ‘genuine’ by their weaknesses.

There seems to be something there we could connect with life, or people or the things we do. I won’t labour the point.

Until later, and may your day be sparkly,

Kirsten

I am sitting in the main foyer of Hamer Hall, Melbourne Arts Centre. I am suitably (and characteristically) early for a performance of Handel’s Messiah, to be performed by the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra and Chorus with soloists.

This is a family ritual—one, if not two Messiahs per Christmas, depending on my two sisters’ involvements in various choirs. I am keeping an eye out for the rest of the tribe as we all take ‘promptnesses’ a little too seriously!

This work is a monumental one. It must be, in order to sustain my love for it for over forty years—ever since learning excerpts at school. I am looking forward to hearing how this particular conductor directs the performance. They all have their own predilections which makes for delightful variety.

There is a boy outside doing tricks with a soccer ball in the hope someone will put a coin in his hat. There is a small market coming to a close along the St Kilda Road walkway towards the theatre precinct. I purchased some poffertjes, Dutch mini pancakes, with strawberries and cream. There are many people wandering along the street, more than I might have expected on a Sunday evening. That’s probably my country experience speaking.

Patrons are arriving, gently at this stage. They wander in, hoping to find a rare place to sit. The staff are yet to be run off their feet but I suspect it will come, tonight being a sell-out or thereabouts.

Inside the Hall, I imagine the Orchestra and Chorus are going through their final paces. As the anticipation builds, I notice myself looking at my watch more frequently. It will be a great night. Family, music and a first step into the very real joys that the Christmas period brings for me.

So, a happy one to you. And a special New Year. See you then.

All the best,

Kirsten

There is a concept in architecture called a desire line. It is defined as ‘an unplanned route or path, such as one worn into a grassy surface by repeated foot traffic, that is used by pedestrians in preference to or in the absence of a designated alternative (such as a paved pathway)’ (merriam-webster.com).

We’ve all seen them—worn paths cutting corners or across the middle of an expanse. They are where we naturally want to walk if we weren’t (or when we aren’t) constrained by existing defined infrastructure. Farmed animals also create desire lines leading to troughs and gateways along what I can only assume to be the easiest land to traverse.

Some new building complexes, particularly those like universities where foot traffic is high, have not installed paved paths until the natural desire lines have been established. Once people’s preferred tracks are obvious, they install the paths.

I think the concept of desire lines is brilliant! It seems we have some sort of collective idea of what is the quickest, or most convenient, or most desirable way from A to B, thereby wearing away obvious marks in what is an act in delightful defiance of pre- or ill-planned offerings.

And I love the concept of builders NOT trying to predict the desire lines but allowing them to show themselves first—basing the building elements around humanity. Let’s take that as a lesson. It’s all pretty cool!

Until later,

Kirsten

There are motorbikes outside the café this morning. Big ones. Harley Davidsons, black and chunky, weighing several hundred kilos each.

You wouldn’t want to end up under one. You wouldn’t even want to pick one up should it fall over next to you. But, I notice now, they have tiny stands, similar in style to the old pushbike stands of our childhood, and not as much bigger as you might imagine!

The machines are obviously perfectly balanced in relation to the stand—a piece of metal that seems so under-engineered. I don’t imagine a Harley rider would put up with anything but complete certainty that the bike will stay wheels down so the stand is obviously adequate.

And it occurred to me that if, as people living in a shifting world, we are perfectly (or even mostly) balanced, maybe it doesn’t take much to hold us upright. It’s when we tip to one side that greater supports become desirable or essential. We are most fortunate if those supports are waiting in the wings.

So here’s to seeking balance of whatever sort suits. May those stands, flimsy-looking or otherwise, work for us more often than not.

Until next time,

Kirsten

You’ll be delighted to know ‘my’ cafe has moved from an 8am opening to 6am. It’s closer to 7 now as I drink my latte, but it’s a comfort to know I can come in more-or-less as soon as I like.

It is, however, early in the day to be having profound (or any type of) thoughts. I wonder, when our dreams before waking can be so vivid and creative (although often forgotten), why our early morning thinking is like a rusty wheel trying to turn. The ‘sleep hangover’ seems to be a real thing.

For some, the fog of waking is conquered fairly quickly—‘morning people’ perhaps? Others take longer to re-enter the flow of the world. And then there are those who function better the longer the day goes on—afternoon? evening? night people?

I imagine you could be a bit miffed it you were neither a morning person nor an evening person and there was only the little portion in the middle of the day that operated in the clear and vaguely enthusiastic zone. Conversely, I have known a couple of people who could be described as all-day people—exhausting! Haha!

So, whether you’re checking your emails early or come to this later in the day, I hope you spend some of the daylight hours in the ‘zone’.

Until next time,

Kirsten

It’s interesting how people, artists, doing what is essentially the same job of creating something where, before, there was nothing, approach the task so differently.

I was listening to an interview with US sculptor and installation artist, Daniel Wurtzel. He creates amazing large-scale works for public spaces that are shown around the world. Although that particular style is a long way from my practice, it still maintains one of the defining aims of art: that is, to be seen and responded to. His method of working, however, is almost diametrically opposed (or, if not actually ‘opposed’, at least ‘placed’) to mine.

Daniel Wurtzel advocates taking emotion out of his art. Further, he prefers to take every evidence of the hand of the artist away. The work becomes a piece unrelated to its creator. He avoids introspection, focuses on ‘anything that is not’ him. He looks for the essence of the art, a stripping back of any obvious input.

Interesting. My work is very personally based, from which materials and colours I feel like using, which size takes my fancy, what stimulus or emotional starting point I’m going to choose. The beginnings of my paintings are often expressions of my own fleeting thoughts and impulses. The ongoing painting, a series of interpretive judgement calls on what the piece continues to need.

Interesting. Same job. Same purpose. Different philosophy. Both valid.

Until later,

Kirsten

I’m at that age where I take a list to the doctor—not just a list in my head but a real bit of paper. Yes, I’m at that age where I need reminding. I certainly don’t want to walk out having forgotten to ask about shingles or obtained a new prescription in the wake of the actual instigating issue. I’m sure doctors sigh, or roll their eyes, when they see a list. They probably settle back in their chair for a longer-than-five-minute appointment. I’ve always meant to take in a really long bit of paper and unroll it with great pomp, as a joke, but …. new doctor. Still sussing her out.

But of course, most of you will know a list is my comfort zone! I have many lists—I won’t list them all (haha)—but they all relate to different time-frames, locations and urgency. Often things get moved from list to list as they change status or don’t get done when planned—I tell you, it’s a very scientific process that has taken some time to perfect. Don’t laugh. I’m an organisational dynamo. Haha!

(You will be amused to know that, between paragraphs, I glanced at my list and there was a job in the café (other than writing) that I’d forgotten. Now completed! Yay! Ah, the power!)

And the best thing, of course, is the crossing out. And the worst thing is doing something and finding it wasn’t on the list. Go on, fess-up; I’m not the only one who retrospectively adds a task just for crossing off purposes!

Anyway, the list says doctor (in the ‘outside the home’ column, of course) so I’d better slavishly obey.

Until later,

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Kirsten