I have never been a tidy person. I leave a trail of destruction behind me where ever I go. I have accepted this aspect of myself now at the grand old age of 46 and even though I make a token effort to limit my mess making in the house, it is a totally different matter in my studio. I totally destroy the studio when I am making the work and there is barely a surface left untouched. Once the work has been bisque fired, the studio becomes even more cluttered, as I do final stage decorations on pieces that couldn’t be decorated as I made them, either because they were too fragile unfired, or because I forgot about them and the clay had dried out too much to risk applying any underglaze colours.

In the studio I only have to answer to myself and now as we speak, I am at the pointy end of a making cycle. This table with the labelled clutter is actually my main large work table, I finish off my slip cast cups on one side and roll out large slabs of clay for platters on the other side, where that pesky bowl of rocks sits. At the moment the worktable is covered with stuff, that was essential in the making process, but now that I am about to glaze, it is all clutter that is in my way.

As long as there is a dinner plate sized space of clear table left to work on, I can still work happily enough, this photo shows me at the decoration stage of the work. I only have to decorate a few pieces as all the decoration and mark making is done as I am making the work. Once the work has progressed past the “leather hard” stage and onto the “too dry to do anything else”  stage, I have generally lost interest in it.

Now it is crunch time, my deadline is looming and both worktables need to be clutter free in order for me to glaze the work. I have to make some new glazes and my standard stock glazes which sit under the table in ten litre buckets all need to be stirred well and then thoroughly sieved. A very messy job.

The studio will be all sparkly and clean for about an hour today and then the process of creative destruction begins again as I make a hell of a mess glazing.

I have procrastinated enough dear internets, and will be (mostly) incommunicado for the rest of the day, as I knuckle down and get ready to fire this latest kiln load of work.

Also for those interested, here are the paint brushes that I make with my hair. I just sticky tape the hair onto a wooden skewer.

And here is a photo of the marks these paintbrushes make on the work.

Today is the day my lovelies.

I am not nervous today at all which is a blessed relief. On Tuesday I was extremely nervous and  every time I thought about The Shave my chest would tighten and I would have to concentrate on my breathing until the moment of minor panic had passed.

With the ever useless gift of hindsight I can now see that it was the scheduled trip to hospital on Wednesday that was making me the most nervous, not the impending shave. Though I am having a little hyperventilate now *gulp*

Tonight at approximately 7.30 (ish) I will be shaving all my hair off.

I wont be shaving my hair off in a quiet corner of a locked bathroom somewhere, oh no that would be far too easy.

I will be shaving my hair off in the middle of a roller derby match.

How did I get here? How did I go from thinking, “Jeez I am sick to death of my fucking hair”, to “Let’s shave it all off in an arena  chocka blok full of strangers?”

I blame you.

I lay the blame squarely at your feet, internet.

It is all your fault.

You make me feel like I am ten feet tall and bullet proof.

You make me believe that I can do anything, that my harebrained schemes aren’t that harebrained after all.

Every single one of you that reads this blog, or leaves a comment, or sends me an encouraging email.

This is all your fault.

And I thank you from the very bottom of my heart.

Together we have raised over THREE THOUSAND DOLLARS and my total meter thermometer thingy, on my fundraising page is flashing and blinking and saying GOAL ACHIEVED with a shininess that hurts my eyes.

So any Hobartians out there reading this blog, you should come along to the DEC tonight, it promises to be a fun night and all proceeds go to the Leukaemia foundation. The doors open at 5pm (cash sales only though) and the first bout starts at 6.10 pm.

Scott Bacon MP will be wielding the clippers and I will lose my locks at about 7.40 pm.

Scott Bacon is the Minister for Tourism,Hospitality and Veterans Affairs and I will be sitting with him before the shave. It amuses me no end that I will have my very own hostage, I mean politician in the box with me tonight. So any questions you want asking of the local member for Denison you have about 5 hours notice to email them to me and I will engage the minister in polite conversation.

Veronica is coming along with me as my personal photographer and I hope to have some photos up on the blog tomorrow.

Thank you all so very, very much and hopefully I will see some of you at the DEC tonight.

In four days time someone from the Leukaemia foundation is chopping off all my hair.

I will no longer be able to dramatically fling my plait over my shoulder for emphasis when I am being flippant.

Numerous people have told me How brave I am being, I don’t consider myself brave at all.

It is a good cause and I am losing my hair by choice, not necessity.

My hair will grow back, and in the meantime, if I am too horrified by how my lack of hair makes me look, well I just won’t look. I will look instead at the lovely long list of generous sponsors.

I will avoid mirrors and when I do see myself, I will  refuse to think  about my appearance. Scarlett O ‘ Hara was right on the money when she said, “I will think about that tomorrow.” As I find that philosophy works wonderfully well, especially when combined with rigorous avoidance of  reflective surfaces.

So today, I am determinedly not thinking about the Worlds Greatest Shave, instead I am thinking about food.

I didn’t realise how much food I had scattered about  my house. A banana in the fruit bowl, muesli on the shelf, dark chocolate in the cupboard.

Everywhere I look there is some sort of foodstuff.

And I cant eat any of it.

Today I am fasting and purging.

Tonight I will be horrendously grumpy.

Tomorrow I am scheduled for a colonoscopy.

I have been on the waiting list for this procedure since October 2009. My GP joked that if my symptoms were indicative of bowel cancer I would be dead by now.

So there is that, at least.

This week is shaping up to be a big week, all I need for the trifecta is a pedicure and I will have had something done to the top, middle and bottom of my body.

I would never in a million years deliberately align myself  with a brand like Nestle. The evidence of poor corporate practice is far too overwhelming for me to ignore and the thought of supporting a brand like Nestle is anathema to me. I lump Nestle in with my other least favourite brand Monsanto and I try to avoid any purchase of their products. It can be quite tricky trying to work out exactly where their corporate tentacles are tangled. So you might find this post  an interesting starting point.

I am an adult living in a first world country and as such I have the advantage of being able to pick and choose my lifestyle choices.

I am standing on my soapbox today, NOT to make anyone feel bad, but to ask questions that bother me.

I am baffled by the silence from a large number of bloggers that attended the bloggers brunch yesterday. I  know that there were bloggers at this brunch who I respect and I am interested in their thoughts. Why the silence on twitter yesterday? Did you miss the conversation about Nestle on twitter? Are you still working out how you feel? Or did you respond and I missed it?

The bloggers brunch is now a familiar event in blogland. Bloggers get invited to a brunch. An air of exclusivity is maintained which make the invites to these events highly sought after. Brands representatives  turn up and throw buckets of freebies at the lucky bloggers and the blogger in turn goes home and tells their  friends and readers how wonderful said brands are.

Everyone is happy happy joy joy.

Except me.

Watching from the wings and tweeting my displeasure about the fact that Nestle was one of the brands at the most recent bloggers brunch held in Sydney yesterday, my thoughts were Nestle? Really? Then I thought that maybe people didn’t know about Nestle’s atrocious corporate record, so as the #bloggers_brunch tweetstream started to flow I tweeted this tweet using the #bloggers_brunch  hashtag.

Just to make things easy for the bloggers attending the brunch I tweeted a link to the Nestle Wikipedia page. The controversy and criticism section makes an interesting starting point.

By this time other people had tweeted their displeasure at Nestle being involved.

I was at work at the time so I wasn’t following the twitter stream too closely, but I was very surprised by the absolute silence from the bloggers at the brunch.

So I started to poke at the organiser a bit by responding to her Nestle tweets with rather provocative replies of my own.

Deathly silence.

poke poke poke

I am sure there are bloggers out there who don’t want to ripple the bloggy gravy train by saying anything negative about the wonderful brands who were at the bloggers brunch. And from some of the instagram photos the brands were very, very generous. But I do wonder, is a bootload full of plastic product and free samples of  milo and tim tams really worth that much? Is it that easy to become so caught up in the hype and power of  brand events that it doesn’t matter what companies are giving away the free stuff as long as it keeps on being free?

I would like to finish up by stating very clearly that it is not my intention to start throwing stones, or to make people feel bad. I am trying to start a conversation about how we consume, not just the products but the message from our corporate masters.

The message I get from all these brand events is one of  rampant consumerism an any cost and honestly people the planet cant really take much more punishment, but that is a post for another day.

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.