Tuesday, February 20, 2018
Sunday, February 18, 2018
Art
Last year I sold several paintings on Trademe.
I photographed a few of them before they were sold:
Here is a painting I did of the neighbors' dog (it was given as a Christmas present):
And finally, here is my favorite painting at the Christchurch Art Museum. It's called "Cass Station" and is painted by Rita Angus. I love the dreamy Narnian trees and whimsical cloud shapes. She's managed to catch to dry gold colors of the tussock grass and the blue gray of the mountains. The sole man contentedly smoking his pipe gives the setting a sense of tranquility:
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| Huia |
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| Goldfinch |
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| Profile With Pounamu |
 |
Blue |
Here is a recent painting I hope to sell soon:
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| Playtime For Kea |
And finally, here is my favorite painting at the Christchurch Art Museum. It's called "Cass Station" and is painted by Rita Angus. I love the dreamy Narnian trees and whimsical cloud shapes. She's managed to catch to dry gold colors of the tussock grass and the blue gray of the mountains. The sole man contentedly smoking his pipe gives the setting a sense of tranquility:
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| "Cass Station" by Rita Angus |
The museum recently reopened after quake repairs were complete. It is a fantastic place to go and I adore the beautiful museum store filled with sparkly arty things.
I bought a set of gouache paints there and started experimenting with them. They're a type of watercolor but they dry opaque. I like their bold colors but they can be difficult to mix for color gradations. I've made several small paintings and tucked them around the house. I may post some pics of those a little later.
Saturday, February 17, 2018
Bets & Regrets
Yesterday I returned to the uni to buy a hideously overpriced parking decal. My righteous indignation was compounded by the fact that the place was crawling with bright eyed and optimistic soon-to-be first years touring the campus for orientation week.
Damn them with their youth and promise and... youth.
Our uni vice chancellor is an out-of-touch former tech company CEO who decsended from on high to take over the management of our little institute of higher learning after the quakes.
What I first learned of him was detestable to me; he tried to stop my friend from speaking out on rape culture because he said some people with ovaries had already talked about women stuff earlier that year and that was enough.
He also decided to jack up the student parking fees to $400 a year.
He said it was to encourage us to use alternative means of transportation.
Some of us have children to deal with and can't just load them all up on a bike.
Some of us also live more 30 minutes away from campus with said children.
He also claimed the hike was to improve the current parking situation.
I call bullshit.
I've been at the uni for three years and there has been no work to improve or add to the current parking offerings.
The decal doesn't give you the right to park it merely gives you the "right to hunt" for a place with hundreds of other stressed out students who have all arrived at the same time.
And woe betide you if you should visit the uni without this decal. Your vehicle will clamped by our overzealous security staff, a large infraction notice will be taped to your driver's side window and you will be required to pay an immediate ransom of $50 to have it removed.
This will involve a walk of shame back to your car and a short wait while the security staff disembarks from their golf cart and fumbles with the clamp.
It's bad enough when it happens to students but it has also happened to several distinguished resident scholars and visitors who were never informed of parking protocol or provided with any visitor parking. It's a very bad look for our school.
But none of this bothers VC Rod Carr.
He doesn't have to worry about such things and he earns far and away more than anyone at the school so even if he did...he wouldn't.
A huge poke in the eye was an article in The Press the other day where they interviewed Rod and he mused over the lack of radical action from his students nowadays.
At the beginning of summer I met with a professor who challenged me to research Rod's authority and write a letter of complaint to him about the price hike of the fees. I was to request a lowering of the fee and if that didn't work, the professor and I would seek a judicial review.
I spent hours pouring over city statutes and ordinances. I came to the realization that Rod was pulling rules out of his ass and betting that no one would challenge him on it. The fees the uni is allowed to charge the students for levies and tuition are legislated, the fees for parking are not. The control of such things rests with the University Council of which Rod is a member.
The fees that Christchurch City charges for the most egregious parking violations are $10 less than the get-out-of-clamp fee charged by the uni. Also, the city penalty is payable in various methods over a period of time unlike the uni where you must pay then and there or have no access to your own vehicle. I seethe when I think of all the emergencies and health and safety issues this might raise.
Most of all I resent having to take this on by myself.
I'm already trying to fight against a wrongful conviction that a friend of mine is dealing with and researching parking issues and running the risk of pissing off the man who controls your school is emotionally exhausting.
Basically, wah wah, why does it have to be me?
I know I could do it but it's so much work. I need to start a Facebook movement but I hate Facebook, Twitter and all the rest, refuse to use them and so I'm cut off from potential support.
I just wish I could sit this one out while someone else takes the wheel but in this respect Rod seems correct- there aren't a lot of students ready to take radical action (or any other kind) against the wrongs of the uni.
Can't someone else have an epiphany that the school is there to serve us and not the other way around?
Damn it!
Why don't some of these damned youthful kids get in there and let an old timer like me take a knee?
Also, get off my lawn, in my day we did thing better, the kids today don't know, etc.
Damn them with their youth and promise and... youth.
Our uni vice chancellor is an out-of-touch former tech company CEO who decsended from on high to take over the management of our little institute of higher learning after the quakes.
What I first learned of him was detestable to me; he tried to stop my friend from speaking out on rape culture because he said some people with ovaries had already talked about women stuff earlier that year and that was enough.
He also decided to jack up the student parking fees to $400 a year.
He said it was to encourage us to use alternative means of transportation.
Some of us have children to deal with and can't just load them all up on a bike.
Some of us also live more 30 minutes away from campus with said children.
He also claimed the hike was to improve the current parking situation.
I call bullshit.
I've been at the uni for three years and there has been no work to improve or add to the current parking offerings.
The decal doesn't give you the right to park it merely gives you the "right to hunt" for a place with hundreds of other stressed out students who have all arrived at the same time.
And woe betide you if you should visit the uni without this decal. Your vehicle will clamped by our overzealous security staff, a large infraction notice will be taped to your driver's side window and you will be required to pay an immediate ransom of $50 to have it removed.
This will involve a walk of shame back to your car and a short wait while the security staff disembarks from their golf cart and fumbles with the clamp.
It's bad enough when it happens to students but it has also happened to several distinguished resident scholars and visitors who were never informed of parking protocol or provided with any visitor parking. It's a very bad look for our school.
But none of this bothers VC Rod Carr.
He doesn't have to worry about such things and he earns far and away more than anyone at the school so even if he did...he wouldn't.
A huge poke in the eye was an article in The Press the other day where they interviewed Rod and he mused over the lack of radical action from his students nowadays.
At the beginning of summer I met with a professor who challenged me to research Rod's authority and write a letter of complaint to him about the price hike of the fees. I was to request a lowering of the fee and if that didn't work, the professor and I would seek a judicial review.
I spent hours pouring over city statutes and ordinances. I came to the realization that Rod was pulling rules out of his ass and betting that no one would challenge him on it. The fees the uni is allowed to charge the students for levies and tuition are legislated, the fees for parking are not. The control of such things rests with the University Council of which Rod is a member.
The fees that Christchurch City charges for the most egregious parking violations are $10 less than the get-out-of-clamp fee charged by the uni. Also, the city penalty is payable in various methods over a period of time unlike the uni where you must pay then and there or have no access to your own vehicle. I seethe when I think of all the emergencies and health and safety issues this might raise.
Most of all I resent having to take this on by myself.
I'm already trying to fight against a wrongful conviction that a friend of mine is dealing with and researching parking issues and running the risk of pissing off the man who controls your school is emotionally exhausting.
Basically, wah wah, why does it have to be me?
I know I could do it but it's so much work. I need to start a Facebook movement but I hate Facebook, Twitter and all the rest, refuse to use them and so I'm cut off from potential support.
I just wish I could sit this one out while someone else takes the wheel but in this respect Rod seems correct- there aren't a lot of students ready to take radical action (or any other kind) against the wrongs of the uni.
Can't someone else have an epiphany that the school is there to serve us and not the other way around?
Damn it!
Why don't some of these damned youthful kids get in there and let an old timer like me take a knee?
Also, get off my lawn, in my day we did thing better, the kids today don't know, etc.
Saturday, February 3, 2018
Tiny House Anger
Each month I look forward to the new issue of NZ House and Garden. I love getting lost in the sumptuous interiors of other people's houses.
Occasionally, the homeowners will say something mildly pretentious but mostly the magazine is enjoyable from cover to cover.
I don't know why I got so worked up over this month's issue but I have a theory that I've actually transferred my ire from the "Me Too" backlash onto an unrelated subject.
I think I've reached a point where I can't handle one more French second wave feminist saying women should do more to defend themselves and that in their day it was all just harmless flirting and sexy fun. The fact that Bardot and Deneuve want to construct an alternative reality where all the groping and objectifying that happened to them was flattering doesn't mean the rest of us have to go along with it. If we did, the same behavior would be allowed to continue unchecked and that's simply not an option anymore.
And I'm over a certain type of man who whines that he won't be able to go anywhere near women anymore because he won't feel safe. As if we are the problem- a nest of pit vipers waiting to strike over the slightest glance. In fact, the problem is with the men who have for far too long been able to touch without consent, physically and verbally abuse, leer at and demean women with no consequences. Many of these actions have taken place in the office where there is a distinct power imbalance. To stand up for oneself is to risk retaliation.
What these men are moaning about is a social change that will require them to quit acting like creeps.
Fucking boo hoo.
The February issue started out solid. The first featured home was filled with mid century modern furniture imported from Denmark and had some clever use of Orla Kiely's stem print.
Then I noticed the wall art. There's a print by JH Lynch hanging in the dining room. It features a topless woman with bouffant hair lounging in the crotch of a tree. It has a sickly green blue tint to it and appears faded, as if it were left in the sun too long.
Why? Why would someone ruin the beauty of their home with a print that looks like it was first used in a Bordello in the 70s to "class up the joint?"
But the real outrage came on page 34 where I discovered the uber pretentious Guittenit family. They were notable for building a tiny house and squeezing five people into it.
The words "minimalist aesthetics" and "harmonious interactions" are used by the writer.
Paterfamilias and native of France, Francois said "It's a pleasure to have constant connections with each other, always showing an interest in each other's lives. It works really well."
Noticeably absent from this conversation are the voices of the Guittenit's three children Poppy, Francis and LouLou.
No one asked them how they liked being stacked into three tiered bunk beds next to the tiny bathroom where the place reeks every time pa Francois does le shit.
Francis' bed is partially covered by one of his sisters so it's like a little coffin.
Directly above the children is a loft where their parents sleep. I wonder if the poor children "take pleasure" in the interactions of their dad rocking the mattress above and muttering, "Oh oui, oui! Tu aimes ca?" to their mother.
I'm struck by the fact that the potted plant in the living room/kitchen/creative hub has more personal space than the three human children.
On the same plot of land which was perfectly able to support a larger home, Francois and Sarah have an ample workshop where they can pursue whatever crafty white person wellness activity takes their fancy.
Both Sarah and Francois describe their spaces as "honest." Francois says of the house, "It's an honest space that is just as much the children's as it is ours." Sarah says of that the workshop is, "busy, honest and slightly chaotic."
I suppose the house does have a sort of honesty. From the outside it looks like it's too small for five people and the interior photographs confirm this. Honesty!
The workshop tells an honest story about two people who selfishly crammed their entire family into a tiny joke of a house and then made sure they had plenty of personal space to escape to. Honesty!
If you hadn't yet realized that the Guittenit family is better than you there is the helpful Q and A box where Sarah says, "In the next ten years I'd like to reflect on the meaningful and enriching season of balance; embrace our children's home-based education with our work/life balance."
What she should really be thinking about is what will happen when her two daughters hit growth spurts, get their periods and still have to sleep in shoe box-sized beds in a room they share with their brother.
There's limited storage space in the tiny house but I'm betting that in one of the drawers Sarah keeps a jade yoni egg that she ordered off of Gwyneth Paltrow's website "Goop."
A photo caption informs us that the house has a hidden television screen so the children can watch documentaries on line.
The young Guittenits require a carefully curated upbringing where any stray thoughts such as "is living this way normal?" and "are my parents batshit?" are kept at bay.
So my question is this: Am I really angry at these smug bastards and their minuscule homestead or am I projecting my rage stirred up by a long overdue movement?
It's so hard to tell.
Occasionally, the homeowners will say something mildly pretentious but mostly the magazine is enjoyable from cover to cover.
I don't know why I got so worked up over this month's issue but I have a theory that I've actually transferred my ire from the "Me Too" backlash onto an unrelated subject.
I think I've reached a point where I can't handle one more French second wave feminist saying women should do more to defend themselves and that in their day it was all just harmless flirting and sexy fun. The fact that Bardot and Deneuve want to construct an alternative reality where all the groping and objectifying that happened to them was flattering doesn't mean the rest of us have to go along with it. If we did, the same behavior would be allowed to continue unchecked and that's simply not an option anymore.
And I'm over a certain type of man who whines that he won't be able to go anywhere near women anymore because he won't feel safe. As if we are the problem- a nest of pit vipers waiting to strike over the slightest glance. In fact, the problem is with the men who have for far too long been able to touch without consent, physically and verbally abuse, leer at and demean women with no consequences. Many of these actions have taken place in the office where there is a distinct power imbalance. To stand up for oneself is to risk retaliation.
What these men are moaning about is a social change that will require them to quit acting like creeps.
Fucking boo hoo.
The February issue started out solid. The first featured home was filled with mid century modern furniture imported from Denmark and had some clever use of Orla Kiely's stem print.
Then I noticed the wall art. There's a print by JH Lynch hanging in the dining room. It features a topless woman with bouffant hair lounging in the crotch of a tree. It has a sickly green blue tint to it and appears faded, as if it were left in the sun too long.
Why? Why would someone ruin the beauty of their home with a print that looks like it was first used in a Bordello in the 70s to "class up the joint?"
But the real outrage came on page 34 where I discovered the uber pretentious Guittenit family. They were notable for building a tiny house and squeezing five people into it.
The words "minimalist aesthetics" and "harmonious interactions" are used by the writer.
Paterfamilias and native of France, Francois said "It's a pleasure to have constant connections with each other, always showing an interest in each other's lives. It works really well."
Noticeably absent from this conversation are the voices of the Guittenit's three children Poppy, Francis and LouLou.
No one asked them how they liked being stacked into three tiered bunk beds next to the tiny bathroom where the place reeks every time pa Francois does le shit.
Francis' bed is partially covered by one of his sisters so it's like a little coffin.
Directly above the children is a loft where their parents sleep. I wonder if the poor children "take pleasure" in the interactions of their dad rocking the mattress above and muttering, "Oh oui, oui! Tu aimes ca?" to their mother.
I'm struck by the fact that the potted plant in the living room/kitchen/creative hub has more personal space than the three human children.
On the same plot of land which was perfectly able to support a larger home, Francois and Sarah have an ample workshop where they can pursue whatever crafty white person wellness activity takes their fancy.
Both Sarah and Francois describe their spaces as "honest." Francois says of the house, "It's an honest space that is just as much the children's as it is ours." Sarah says of that the workshop is, "busy, honest and slightly chaotic."
I suppose the house does have a sort of honesty. From the outside it looks like it's too small for five people and the interior photographs confirm this. Honesty!
The workshop tells an honest story about two people who selfishly crammed their entire family into a tiny joke of a house and then made sure they had plenty of personal space to escape to. Honesty!
If you hadn't yet realized that the Guittenit family is better than you there is the helpful Q and A box where Sarah says, "In the next ten years I'd like to reflect on the meaningful and enriching season of balance; embrace our children's home-based education with our work/life balance."
What she should really be thinking about is what will happen when her two daughters hit growth spurts, get their periods and still have to sleep in shoe box-sized beds in a room they share with their brother.
There's limited storage space in the tiny house but I'm betting that in one of the drawers Sarah keeps a jade yoni egg that she ordered off of Gwyneth Paltrow's website "Goop."
A photo caption informs us that the house has a hidden television screen so the children can watch documentaries on line.
The young Guittenits require a carefully curated upbringing where any stray thoughts such as "is living this way normal?" and "are my parents batshit?" are kept at bay.
So my question is this: Am I really angry at these smug bastards and their minuscule homestead or am I projecting my rage stirred up by a long overdue movement?
It's so hard to tell.
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