A quick fix

e have become obsessed with the notion of success achieved by ‘a quick fix’.

Whereas once, a long time ago, the dream was to raise a happy family, have a good job and see our children on their way, we have now turned inward. The ‘dream’ that appears to permeate our every waking hour now has to do with being noticed. We all want to be famous. We see ourselves as somehow, ‘more’.

Not only have we become dissatisfied with our lot we are easily bored and absolutely dissatisfied. We want more than the 9 to 5 can offer. Money, (easy money), quickly, rather than a workaday route to a bigger house, has become the road to escape.

My plan was, on writing this to blame everything on the digital age and the growth of the internet but in moment of clarity I realised that was too easy and what was ‘old people do’. I actually became suddenly aware and realised that it was probably all my fault. That in fact it had all started some time before Bill Gates and the like got a grip on us.

I blame the Beatles and the Boomers (like me).

I confess.

The fact that we now have an insatiable appetite and desire to be noticed and recognised, is the fault of four working class kids from Liverpool. Oh yes, and us boomer idiots who took everything at face value without thinking.

It was these four ‘rascals’ who showed us boomers that, anyone could do it. Anyone could become rich and famous. We were suddenly festooned with colour and sounds we hadn’t heard before. Our sad little lives changed in what seemed overnight, and… we caught the bug. We were fooled yes, but we walked willingly, straight into a trap of our own making.

We (boomers) interpreted the fact that as they (The Beatles), came from where we were, it meant we could go where they went. In short, if they could do it, so could we.

In truth, they did in fact break barriers. The class thing cracked. Doors opened up to the obvious.

Holy Mother of God, there was talent within the working class. The notion that the working class were more than rough labour with dirty fingernails and tattoos of anchors and saucy ladies, could indeed harbour poets, painters and musicians. It was true. Amongst these uncouth people there were talents that with nurture (money), could prove lucrative.

Inevitably, those with the filthy lucre noticed the profit potential and the realisation that there was ‘gold in them thar hills’ struck home.

For us of working-class origin we noted a way out from the sheeple pen and so, as you do, away we went.

Or so we thought. Away we went, totally forgetting the one basic need that everyone who wants to forge a new path so absolutely needs, talent. Talent and the fortitude and where-with-all to work at it. What we really wanted (and some of us still do), was ‘The Quick Fix’, an easy way out. (The need to escape is strong in this one).

Anyway. None of this is an apology or a plea to return to some golden age. It’s just a ramble amongst sad and sorry thoughts. A note on evolution and what can happen when there is a sudden shift in what we believe is the norm. An experience of a social revolution that I now realise can take some time to recover from.

The need for an easy life is still there. Success without too much hard work continues to pulsate in the background. The 9 to 5 still exits (unfortunately), albeit in different forms. Some of us are still dissatisfied and would give anything to escape. The trouble is time has moved on and life (for some) has become easier. And it has become increasingly more difficult to define what it is we want to escape from. Hey ho.

Something in the air

**‘Relaxing in the Garden of Tranquillity’. Acrylic on 12″ x 16″ canvas. £60**

the outsider art of Ian Frederick Harris — **‘Relaxing in the Garden of Tranquillity’. Acrylic on 12″ x 16″ canvas. £60**

I don’t know about you but there’s something in the air. I know not what, but it feels like something BIG is about to happen.

Thinking about it carefully and taking into consideration the way the hairs are raised on the back of my neck, this feeling must be based on something on the scale of…

1: Instant annihilation.

2: The return of the Messiah formerly known as Jesus.

The truth is, either way, I must admit I am not looking forward to any of these things, for these reasons.

ONE: No-one wants instant annihilation. We all like a surprise now-and-again but instant annihilation is a step too far.

(Admittedly, and on the hard to find plus side, a theory of such a sudden death that exists in the mind of people who study such things says, We/I/You won’t know much about it as it will all be over in a literal flash).

& TWO: I do not want to be around when Jesus cottons on to what we have done to His and His Father’s planet. Boy, is he going to be pissed off. We all know what He is capable of on those rare occasions when He loses His cool.

(This time I believe it will be a little more than the turning over of a few tables).

One can only hope that that these feelings of dread will pass and the hairs on the back of my neck will settle down. That these dread-filled thoughts are merely a symptom, a consequence of sharing the same space in time as the present lunatics who think they run the Earth.

One can only wish that my feelings of close and present danger, are merely hopeful misinterpretations of what is going to happen to the present slew of despots and dictators. Monsters, who are making life particularly unpleasant for the innocents attempting to live a ‘normal’ life everywhere. One can only hope that what I am ‘picking up’ are the sictator’s (see what I did there), death throes.

Perhaps I am having a premonition of what is about to happen to them. Maybe, hopefully, they are about to get what history shows us, they always get.

What they deserve.

A man walks into an art gallery…

A couple of weeks ago I put my horrendous self-doubt and disbelief behind me, became very brave and entered the doorway of an art gallery/shop I’ve always admired with a view to asking the shop-owner if he would be interested in displaying my art.

Needless to say, I felt a complete imposter and fraud, noting that my art, compared to the art displayed, was extremely messy (in a childish sort of way), unframed and absolutely, compared to what was on show, underpriced. The voice in my head was loud and insistent…’who the fuck do you think you are’?

Anyway, the owner couldn’t have been nicer. He put me at my ease, we exchanged cards and he said he would check out my website. I kissed his feet (not true) and left feeling pleased with myself.

I haven’t heard a thing since.

Hope and Beauty

12:38:47

So here we are in the first month of the year and here I am, depressed. Empty. Devoid of any sign of Hope and Beauty. Either would do but…

One: I find myself ‘blocked’ and stumped on what I need to paint (and boy do I need to paint). Nothing has popped into my head which is how it usually works. ‘Not popping’ is not only unusual but is, worrying. But then again, other things occupy my solitary brain cell.

The point being. Two: How can I justify time and space on such a frivolous pastime and ‘useless occupation’, when evil bastards/monsters like Trump are killing innocent people the world over?

I know, I know, ART out-trumps Trump (see what I did there) every time. Art doesn’t kill, it informs, it offers hope and promotes beauty. It keeps people like me, sane (ish). At least that’s what I try to believe.

Unfortunately, ART (I think) doesn’t flourish in the dark or when evil is afoot because ART needs to be seen to be believed, and human waste like the aforementioned have a way of keeping hope, and beauty out of sight of the masses whose main concern, is at the moment, to survive.

Artists remember…

ARTISTS…

There is no telling or predicting people’s taste.

You cannot dictate how a viewer of your art is going to react.

If you paint only to sell, then you are fighting a losing battle.

You must learn to paint for yourself because the ‘market’ is unpredictable and unknown.

What feeds collectors today, can be forgotten and worthless tomorrow.

What you are looking for is reaction & connection.

SO…

paint for yourself with all your heart and all your mind.

DO NOT LOSE HOPE.

The connection with a stranger will come

Patience is the key.

Advice for the Royal Shakespeare Theatre I.

A great revelation has come to me overnight that would enable the Royal Shakespeare theatre to immediately cease their most recent round of choice and disappointing redundancies.

The plot would involve supplying targeted education establishments (schools), with series 1 & 2 of the BBC’s ‘Upstart Crow’.

Written by Ben Elton, these series would provide everything the pupils of these chosen educational establishments (schools), need to know concerning Shakespeare and his works (borrowed/fabricated or otherwise), thus relieving the RSC’s need for a so-called education department that we all know is actually a ploy to fill their coffers with Grant Monies.

Once the ‘Upstart Crow’ episodes are established, the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, could then cease the afore mentioned and unfortunate redundancies of under-workers, and save money instead, by relieving themselves immediately of their well-heeled and obviously unnecessary Education Department.

You may thank me later.

A Health Update

The silence in our house that (I described in my last post-One car family) is slowly breaking down and is now punctuated by the odd ‘good morning’ or stuff that doesn’t crack the ice too much.

All this accompanied by a scowl or a frown either from me (I confess), or her. In all our years of marriage (54 years – Holy mackerel) this present outbreak must rank in the top ten. The hate, the anger is palpable. Thank God we live in a country where weaponry is hard to come by (actually there is always the kitchen).

Anyway…did I mention I am on a diet? I didn’t? In that case, let me give you a health update (bear with me).

The diabetes (type 2) is insidious. It’s a nasty bastard that eats you up from the inside out and it looks like it’s having a good go at me now. Reports from the front are telling me that my kidneys are ‘leaking’ i.e. not doing what they should be doing with proteins.

All this was discovered because I noticed that there hadn’t been any reference from those in the know of late to those naughty (failing?) kidneys. There had been previous reports of dodgy behaviour on the part of these necessary organs some years ago but I, and others had not followed through. I should say that I accept some responsibility because I haven’t turned up to my yearly diabetes check up with a bottle of pee to be looked at for some time.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, I did this time and mentioned to my lovely doctor that it was some time since I had an actual report on the state of the kidneys. She leapt into doctorly action, and the pee was sent off to Pee Central. We waited.

When the report came back it was, on the dark side. It was not good, and (if I survive) it looks like I will be going onto a new drug in the very near future…. oh yes, the diet.

I had read somewhere that type two diabetes can be reversed with diet, so determined to beat this nasty fucker that is what I chose to do.

Diet, diet, diet.

Amazingly I lost 5lbs in just as many days… and then disappointedly it stopped. I was left very slightly thinner with a bunged-up feeling I put down to, too much Slim-Fast.

Fast-forward, I’ve dropped the Slim-Fast but am still dieting and regulating what I eat with sheer willpower.

Unfortunately, I haven’t had the courage to get back on the weighing machine. I feel depressed enough already what with Gaza, the idiot trump and the UK knuckle-draggers who come out from under their stones every (hot) summer to complain. They come to threaten and scare anyone who is different than them, i.e. not fat, not bald and has a vocab of more than 10 words oh yes. Oh yes, not forgetting the dress sense.

I shall keep you informed.