I would like to start this blog post by thanking you. The words thank you seem so small when I write them down, they don’t really capture the enormity of grateful emotion that swells in my chest every time I receive help from you.

As each email telling me of a donation comes in, I feel an excited *squee* bubbling up and I am so very, very grateful to you.

The section of the internet that I frequent really is filled with lovely, lovely generous people. And due to your help in spreading the word of my shave we are going to be able to help the Leukaemia Foundation help families who are facing the darkest battle of their lives.

Cancer really and truly does suck. It is a terrifying reality to have to face.

It is the little things with cancer that you don’t expect.

I wasn’t prepared for how much I spent on petrol driving to the hospital over and over again, the car seemed to be continually running on empty(as was I) and all other household bills were put on the backburner as the costs of Mum’s cancer came first.

When you live any distance away from the hospital, appointments seem to take up whole days. I don’t think I cooked a meal for my family in the last few months of Mum’s life. I know I certainly didn’t do a scrap of housework.

Small things internet, small things that build up and can cause huge stress in a family.

It is my own experience of cancers destructive impacts upon a family that made me decide to join the Worlds Greatest Shave. I was grumpy with my hair and I saw an ad somewhere for the Leukaemia foundation and BAM just like that I signed up.

Now of course I am shitting myself and trying not to think about the impending haircut, as each time I think about it I start to hyperventilate a little bit.

I am impulsive and I never ever think about the consequences of my actions. I just decide to do stuff. I certainly hadn’t thought about the logistics of actually shaving off my hair until a conversation happened on facebook and I was given a link to this page, Miss Be Shavin’

And before I could say “Roller Derby looks like fun” I had joined up with these girls and the logistics of the shave are all being taken care of for me.

I just wont think about the venue, or the hundreds of people that will be there.

I will do my best Scarlett O”Hara impersonation and think about that tomorrow, internet.

On my birthday Veronica took some photos of my hair for me.

After all that hair modelling I was exhausted and the kidlets and I retired to the couch, with chocolate.

If you would like to support me  and donate a couple of dollars I would be most grateful.

So far internet we have raised Raised: $1,508.00

You can DONATE HERE. *grins*

I think that is do-able internet.

I am sure that between us we can round up five hundred people who are willing to donate Ten Dollars each.

What am I talking about?

In October 2011 I was sick of dyeing my hair purple. My hair grows so fast and I am almost totally grey these days. I seem to be dyeing my hair every few weeks so I don’t look like I am perpetually wearing a skunk hat. Albeit a smell free skunk hat.

So I thought “fuck it” I am going to cut it all off and raise some money while I am at it.

Enter the Leukaemia Foundations World’s Greatest Shave

And so I signed up.

To cut off ALL my hair.

Which was all well and good BACK IN OCTOBER, when March was months away and I didn’t have to think about the consequences of my actions.

There were all sorts of lovely distractions, like weddings and pregnancies and Christmas and exhibitions and MONAFOMA and the list goes on and on.

I had been thinking that if I didn’t say anything about the WORLDS GREATEST SHAVE online I could just accidentally forget to cut off all my hair.

I could say that I had been far too busy and I totally forgot and promise to do it next year and all sorts of other lovely excuses.

But the reality is that cancer doesn’t accept any excuses. And if I am frightened about the prospect of  cutting off all my hair at least I am choosing  this path, not having the choice thrust upon me by chemotherapy or radiation.

So internet will you hold my hand again?

Will you help me reach my total?

Will you write a post for me on your blogs?

Will you donate Ten dollars?

Will you knit me a purple hat to hide under?

You can DONATE TO MY PAGE  FOR THE LEUKAEMIA FOUNDATION”S GREATEST SHAVE  HERE

*** Edited on the 6th Feb. So Far internet, 40 people have donated $1231.00 I am thrilled to bits. Thank you all so much.

***Edited on the 7th of Feb. 46 people have donated $1418. Thank you *grins*

Melinda Tankard-Reist shouts a lot.

She shouts about porn and the exploitation of women, she presents herself as a feminist and campaigns against the sexualisation of our girls.

Playboy bunnies on eight year old girls knickers make me a bit shouty as well and I think we should all be making a lot more noise about the sexualisation of our little girls.

BUT

What Melinda Tankard Reist would prefer that we didn’t know about her is that she is a fundamentalist Christian.

A god botherer of the first order who attends a Baptist church.

I didn’t know this, because to be honest even though I follow Melinda Tankard Reist on twitter I find her hysterical screechings to be a bit exhausting and I only notice her occasionally.

Once I was made aware of Melinda Tankard Reist’s religious leanings a lot of her opinions were immediately put into context.

A context that Melinda Tankard Reist doesn’t seem to like me having.

And it also seems that Melinda Tankard Reist  would prefer that her religious preferences aren’t talked about.

Melinda Tankard Reist says,

“She tries to follow Jesus, but she doesn’t want anybody focusing on her religion because that will distract from her work.”

I tend to disagree.

I think it is of critical importance that we have a context within which to frame our responses to Melinda Tankard Reist’s anti porn and anti abortion campaigns.

I think that  Melinda Tankard Reist’s religion is very, very important to how I perceive her and her work. It doesn’t distract me from her work at all, it gives me the previously mentioned context.

Dr Jennifer Wilson has been persistent in her  public questioning of Melinda Tankard Reist and Dr Wilson writes that she is now being sued by Tankard Reist for declaring on her blog, “No Place for Sheep” that Tankard Reist is a Baptist and attends a Baptist church.

MTR threatens Sheep with legal action if we don’t censor our posts about her immediately

In the conversation that ensued on twitter between No place for Sheep, Weezmgk and myself, I offered my public support to Dr Wilson

This conversation in turn inspired  Machine Gun Keyboard to write this post in support of Dr Wilson

Melinda Tankard-Reist is not the internet nor sex police

So here I stand on my soapbox on my blog declaring loudly that I am Spartacus, because it is incredibly, incredibly important that WE DO NOT LET THE SHOUTERS WIN.

We the public should always, always question the motivations of high profile public campaigners,politicians or anyone else that purports to speak in our name.

I AM SPARTACUS!

This cat, Veronica’s cat, is stopping me from doing any work.

We are engaged in an ongoing battle over the computer chair.

I leave the computer. The cat jumps into chair.

I throw the cat onto ground (gently), the cat jumps onto the desk, somehow she manages to press ctrl, alt, delete with her paws. Then she blocks the screen for good measure and starts banging her head into my hands, DEMANDING that I pat her.

Cat hair goes everywhere.

I need a tissue and get up out of my chair.

Cat jumps into my chair.

I think she is winning.

The Smug, she has it.

I am not panicking but the temptation is there internet, the temptation is there.

Do you remember when I mentioned I was having an exhibition on January the 26th with Eve Howard? An exhibition that was mostly all my friend Eve’s idea? Well internet, Eve has reluctantly cancelled as she is too busy to do our Albatross exhibition justice and we will have a fabulous joint show together at a later date.

This in itself isn’t enough to make me panic, not even enough to make me falter in my artistic stride internet. No, not at all.

What has made me contemplate panicking is the fact that another exhibitor at the Off Centre Micro Gallery has cancelled their booking and because of this cancellation, I decided to bring the date of my exhibition forward 2 weeks.

Commence panicky breathing and OH MY FUCKING GODS now.

That means that I have to have my work ready in TWELVE DAYS internet. Not the luxurious twenty six days I had up my sleeve yesterday.

12 days.

Eeek.

On the upside, I have asked another ceramic friend of mine, the very talented Philadelphia Hansen-Viney to share the space with me. Philly is going to bring some of her work up here tomorrow and we will do a bisque firing on Monday and then I plan to do a glaze firing by next Saturday the 7th of January at the very very latest.

I am going to be cutting it very very fine internet.

Very fine indeed.

I will keep you posted.

*image by Robin Roberts.

I have a very active imagination, I create wonderful “what if” scenarios inside my mind complete with multicoloured layers of alternate realities. This can be a good thing as it enables me to visualise work that I need to make and I can quickly fill pages of my visual diary with ideas that will keep me happy in the studio for months.

This can also be a bad thing as when I am feeling especially maudlin, I can spend an inordinate amount of time brooding on possible futures for my family, all of them grim, and so my mood plummets. Ehlers Danlos Syndrome and Autism don’t make for happy daydreams.

I try not to think of the long term ramifications of my daughter dislocating her good knee yesterday. I try to block memories of a particularly harrowing post, written by my bendy cyber daughter in England from my mind, as the thought of a dislocating trachea is just too horrible to contemplate. Yet it happens to my bendy girl and I worry.

I must not allow myself to dwell on all the medical problems that beset my family, my sons anxiety, his high blood pressure at 17, his pain. The fact that my husband at 48 years old, requires slow release morphine patches  in order to walk, and as I wrote those very words on this blog , The Spouse came into the kitchen to say good morning and as he kissed me, his right hip dislocated and then his left decided to do the same. The Spouse has gone back to his bed to lie down until his morning nausea abates, then he will get up and push through his pain barriers and finish building his new garage, from timber he milled himself. And I will gently chide him for working too hard, knowing that his pride will not allow the pain to win and also knowing that tomorrow he will be in slightly more pain that he was today.

I need distractions from my reality otherwise I too will begin to fall apart.

And this is where you come into play, internet.

You are my escapism.

Twitter provides me with countless hours of escapism. News links to all the current events that interest me. I follow the Occupy Wall Street movement closely, I keep an eye on various anonymous news feeds, I follow human rights abuses here and abroad. I subscribe to prostitutes and politicians, skeptics and believers, anonymous street artists and the world’s great museums and they all keep my mind occupied.

My Die Churp Die twitter revolution, complete with its own #occupychurp hashtag and catchy graphic designed by the inimitable Zoey from Goodgoogs, is an attempt to entertain myself, whilst not so subtly pointing out that I think my fellow tweeters are worth much more, than the few cents churping  promoted tweets will provide.

But this is only my opinion and my opinion is only one amongst the millions. If you don’t like what I am saying on twitter, please unfollow me rather than send me snarky emails with dodgy hotmail addresses.

My dislike of the principles behind churp are as inconsequential in the scheme of things as my love of Zombie Klout. But if pressed, I will admit that  it is the complete lack of originality in the churp churp logo that offends me the most.

I am a hypocrite of the first order as I will ask you to give me a +K for Zombies and I will tweet those links at the same time as I will use a Die Churp Die avatar. I will retweet links condemning Klout for creating Klout profiles for unauthorised minors, at the same time as I will declare that I am The Great White Crocodile Hunting Zombie Film Maker on Klout.

Why do I do this?

I do these things, simply to amuse myself, internet.

To take my mind off the things that grieve me.

To give myself a few minutes relief from the things in my life that hurt.

It is that simple.

An alternate title could be, “Killer Cigarette Lighters Used in Artwork” or “Nothing is Disposable Really”

But I will stick with “Fired Up” because it is the title of the show.

I have been asked to participate in a group ceramic show in the north west of the state in early March next year, the title of this show is “Fired Up.”  The Curator has asked us to produce, up to ten pieces of work that will demonstrate what gets us fired up, what we are passionate about.

I have known about this show for quite some time now but I have been deliberately only skirting the edges of the idea, as I had four exhibitions all falling in the latter part of 2012 as well as a wedding (15 days people) to occupy my thoughts.

The last time I dived headfirst into something I swam alone with my memories for weeks. I obsessed, I picked mental scabs, I cried a lot and you my dear internets were subjected to an awful lot of posts on the subject.

I think that is why I have been holding back from fully committing with my heart as well as my head to the Fired Up project, as I am a little bit frightened of where the obsessions will lead me this time.

Today I formally begin the process of really thinking about the work I will make for “Fired Up”and I have yet to tell my husband. “The Spouse” also suffers when I am in the throes of an obsession, as I am emotionally absent when I start to swim with the creative sharks and I am only half focused on the real world. It isn’t until the work is done that I start to come back to myself and realise how hard I have been to live with. My minimalistic approach to housework flies out the door and I make more mess than usual in the house. This time though I will try and be tidier and not leave piles of things everywhere.

These cigarette lighters came out of the stomachs of Laysan Albatross Chicks on Kure Atoll, Hawaii in June 2009. The Laysan Albatross Chicks died just before they were ready to make their first flight out to sea.

I am not sure what I am going to be making yet but these lighters will feature prominently.

Thoughts about disposable lifestyles, disposable people, how our laziness is killing us, all these things are in my head but nothing is concrete yet. I am still at the stage where I am tossing around ideas to do with ceramic lighters, dead albatross bowls, ceramic balls similar to the dragon eggs bound together with brightly coloured rope.

I dont know yet.

But.

Today I have started and I have some serious work ahead of me. I only wish I could afford a cleaner.

Today I go and introduce myself to some teenagers and see if they want to make some films.

I am incredibly nervous. I have already thought up and disregarded a zillion different reason why I cant possibly go in and work with these kids.

The physical manifestation of nerves interest me and as I am typing this I am trying to work out how my body is reacting.

My hands are cold and I have a whole colony of butterflies fluttering about in my tummy. My ears feel blocked and I am a bit light headed.I have a slight tightness in my chest and I need to go to the loo, again.

Ack. Why do I do this to myself? Why do I put my hand up and say yes I can do this when I have only just worked out how to make films myself?

I feel sick.

BUT.

I am well prepared.

I am going to introduce myself and talk about my work. I have one of my ceramic shells that I am going to take in as well as one of my dead bird bowls.

I am going to talk about being a storyteller and how we all have stories to tell.

I have ten minutes worth of short videos to show as examples of different styles of film making.

Here they are if you are interested.

And then I am just going to make it up as I go along.

I am now going back to reread all your wonderful comments on my last post on this topic.

But I might just go to the loo and throw up first.

Nerves. I Have Them.

When I am stressed I cry a lot over nothing, not big ugly heaving sobs, I save those ones for when I am in bed. I am talking about those annoying stray tears that escape when I am in the middle of a conversation and always take me unawares. The next big indicator that I am extremely stressed is when I begin to forget stuff.

I drove out to visit my daughter the other day specifically to deliver a set of ceramic cups,Von is flying to Sydney soon and had offered to hand deliver the cups for me. Halfway there I realised that I had left the cups on the studio bench. The whole point of the trip was to deliver the cups, how could I forget them?

Frustrated with myself I posted this facebook status

Drove out to visit Veronica specifically to drop off a set of ceramic cups that need to go to Sydney. Forgot to take the cups. Was given some eggs to bring home. Forgot to grab the eggs.

The sneaky aspect of stress is that I often don’t realise I am stressed at all, I just wander about the place making a mess, leaving a trail of half done jobs behind me and becoming increasingly grumpy with myself.

It wasn’t until a friend rang and commented that serious levels of forgetfulness aren’t like me at all. During the course of that conversation I started to cry small tears again because I had been slightly worried I was losing my marbles. My friend gently laughed at me and told me it was just stress.

One of the indicators of stress for me is I hide in the computer. I faff about on twitter and youtube following links to obscure news items and re-discovering forgotten songs.

This week I have been making a video. The obsessive nature of video editing and sound design perfectly suits me. I am always a bit surprised by the music I compose as I don’t particularly like synthetic beat boxy type rythms but I think it fits this short video.

How do you know when you are stressed?

It is four am and I have been lying in bed for the past hour thinking about why I am having such trouble with my cardboard sculpture project. Once I started to organise the words into a coherent structure, the answer was obvious.

Cardboard doesn’t have any soul.

It has had the life force machined out of it, the process of  industrial refinement has removed any echo of the tree that once was there. The violence of the process has shattered the music into unrecognisable shards of sound.

Cardboard is a dead material to me. I cant hear its song.

I didn’t realise until just this minute, that is what I had been trying to do. I had been trying to listen to a song that wasn’t there. I had been trying to work intuitively with a material that was incapable of telling me what it wanted me to do.

Trying to catch a glimpse of the path has been an exhausting process. I have been incapable of true thought, the echo of nothing has been almost overwhelming and the white noise has been deafening.

My attempts to create anything have been ineffectual.

Simple solutions such as needing to cut a slot into the cardboard so that it will sit flush with the line of the railing, have been almost impossible to realize.

I have been unable to properly explain my ideas and this failure of articulation combined with my ineffectual problem solving has added to my frustrations.

But, a throw away line that I used in the class debrief at the end of yesterdays session, has coalesced into a practical solution to my problem and I think I know what I am going to make. Now that I have realised that I can’t work intuitively with cardboard, I have developed some momentum again.

And with these words gone from my head and given to you, dear internet, I am going back to bed.