It was time to return the mooting trophies so they could be presented to this year's winners.
My ego will miss their shiny presence in the lounge.
Sigh.
My ego will miss their shiny presence in the lounge.
Sigh.
Wednesday, May 9, 2018
Monday, May 7, 2018
Arty Weekend
Somehow I convinced Nick to go with me to the 15th anniversary celebration of the Christchurch Art Gallery. Alex and his red pea coat were also in attendance.
The place was packed with arty types.
Nick looked handsome though mildly uncomfortable in the crowd.
A stage had been set up for live music and a nearby table held two Technic turntables. I wandered over to stare at them covetously.
This was Alex's first visit to an art museum and I wanted him to see the Rita Angus paintings. We went up the steps and into the gallery but not before a docent told me to make sure he didn't touch anything.
Like I would let that happen.
We stood in front of Cass and to my great happiness he said, "You have that."
I've been reading through several books on the life and works of Rita Angus so he's seen a lot of her paintings.
"This is the original," I said.
When we left I told the docent he hadn't touched a thing.
"That's a good boy!" she said.
Alex and I hopped down the grand staircase and passed the owner of the shop in Lyttelton that carries two of my paintings.
"Hey sweetheart," she said.
"I thought that was you," I said.
We're cool on the stairs.
We made our way into the gallery where artist Tony de Lautour's recent works were on display.
I was so happy at Alex's wonder in the museum that I didn't sneer as much as I would have had I been with other adults.
Instead, Nick scoffed and rolled his eyes and said it looked like something produced by a bunch of sixth-form kids. After deciding this take down had been unfair to sixth formers, he lowered the grade to third form.
All the whispered faux awe of the artsy types trying to impress each other by seeing who could fawn over the works the most missed my ears.
I followed Alex's little red coat around the room. One of the paintings had colors that reminded us of the gummy worm lollies he likes.
Nick could hardly contain his resentment at the assault on his senses. He launched into what amounted to a pretty fair and competent critique. Not bad for a west coast boy who claims to nothing about art.
It was nice to get out and I got this cool picture of me and Alex sitting on the marama.
The place was packed with arty types.
Nick looked handsome though mildly uncomfortable in the crowd.
A stage had been set up for live music and a nearby table held two Technic turntables. I wandered over to stare at them covetously.
This was Alex's first visit to an art museum and I wanted him to see the Rita Angus paintings. We went up the steps and into the gallery but not before a docent told me to make sure he didn't touch anything.
Like I would let that happen.
We stood in front of Cass and to my great happiness he said, "You have that."
I've been reading through several books on the life and works of Rita Angus so he's seen a lot of her paintings.
"This is the original," I said.
When we left I told the docent he hadn't touched a thing.
"That's a good boy!" she said.
Alex and I hopped down the grand staircase and passed the owner of the shop in Lyttelton that carries two of my paintings.
"Hey sweetheart," she said.
"I thought that was you," I said.
We're cool on the stairs.
We made our way into the gallery where artist Tony de Lautour's recent works were on display.
I was so happy at Alex's wonder in the museum that I didn't sneer as much as I would have had I been with other adults.
Instead, Nick scoffed and rolled his eyes and said it looked like something produced by a bunch of sixth-form kids. After deciding this take down had been unfair to sixth formers, he lowered the grade to third form.
All the whispered faux awe of the artsy types trying to impress each other by seeing who could fawn over the works the most missed my ears.
I followed Alex's little red coat around the room. One of the paintings had colors that reminded us of the gummy worm lollies he likes.
Nick could hardly contain his resentment at the assault on his senses. He launched into what amounted to a pretty fair and competent critique. Not bad for a west coast boy who claims to nothing about art.
It was nice to get out and I got this cool picture of me and Alex sitting on the marama.
Wednesday, April 25, 2018
Recent Painting
Today I completed a painting that was inspired by the works of Rita Angus.
I'm happy with the results and keeping this one for my own collection.
I'm happy with the results and keeping this one for my own collection.
Also, two of my bird paintings are currently on display and for sale at a charming shop in Lyttelton called "Sweet Thursday" after Steinbeck's novel of the same name.
Friday, April 13, 2018
Progressive Parenting
I'm always going on about not making toys and colors gendered but when it came to buying my son a winter coat, I was cowardly.
I went to The Tannery to buy a hard-to-come-by book on Rita Angus and, as I always suspected I would, got lured in to buying other things.
The shops are some of the best in Christchurch and they're all right next to each other.
I tried not to be seduced but I failed.
I got my RA book and then noticed a flower shop with a large cactus that I immediately fell in love with.
If you are the type of person who keeps what you would call a "prized cactus," just know that I get you. Totally.
I wandered into a store with a selection of reindeer hides and found one that was white with a few grey spots. I gazed lovingly at it for a few minutes before images of Alex spilling things on it and tramping dirt into it filled my mind.
For the first time in New Zealand I found what looked like jadeite and the lady who owned the store told me they call it "milk glass" over here (which explains why nobody knows what I'm talking about when I ask for jadeite). It wasn't Fire King so I guess another company has started making replicas. I bought some lavender soap instead.
I bought some fancifully-scented melts at another shop ("Asian moon" was the name of one) and almost made it out alive but for the children's clothing shop right at the exit.
Alex needed a new winter coat and I found a beautiful red number right by the register. The only thing that gave me pause was the lining which contained little sprays of roses.
"That's a girl's coat," my sub-conscience said. "Nuh uh," my conscience answered.
I needed validation. It was so pathetic of me. I wanted the saleslady to tell me it was okay to buy the coat for my son and as it cost $140, she was happy to oblige.
I bought it and immediately started imagining the conversations I would have with Nick and Alex's daycare:
"Look, it keeps the boy warm. He's not going to care."
At not-quite-four, Alex has already started coming home and telling me certain things are "boy things" and others are "girl things" which I always tell him is nonsense. I say those things are for whoever wants and likes them.
But conversations at home aren't the same as public displays of non-traditional "gender specific" items.
I took the coat to Nick at his work site. I told him not to get all red-blooded West Coaster on me.
"Our son's going to look like Paddington," he said.
I'm fine with that. The bear was a snazzy dresser.
Anyway, here's the coat:
I went to The Tannery to buy a hard-to-come-by book on Rita Angus and, as I always suspected I would, got lured in to buying other things.
The shops are some of the best in Christchurch and they're all right next to each other.
I tried not to be seduced but I failed.
I got my RA book and then noticed a flower shop with a large cactus that I immediately fell in love with.
If you are the type of person who keeps what you would call a "prized cactus," just know that I get you. Totally.
I wandered into a store with a selection of reindeer hides and found one that was white with a few grey spots. I gazed lovingly at it for a few minutes before images of Alex spilling things on it and tramping dirt into it filled my mind.
For the first time in New Zealand I found what looked like jadeite and the lady who owned the store told me they call it "milk glass" over here (which explains why nobody knows what I'm talking about when I ask for jadeite). It wasn't Fire King so I guess another company has started making replicas. I bought some lavender soap instead.
I bought some fancifully-scented melts at another shop ("Asian moon" was the name of one) and almost made it out alive but for the children's clothing shop right at the exit.
Alex needed a new winter coat and I found a beautiful red number right by the register. The only thing that gave me pause was the lining which contained little sprays of roses.
"That's a girl's coat," my sub-conscience said. "Nuh uh," my conscience answered.
I needed validation. It was so pathetic of me. I wanted the saleslady to tell me it was okay to buy the coat for my son and as it cost $140, she was happy to oblige.
I bought it and immediately started imagining the conversations I would have with Nick and Alex's daycare:
"Look, it keeps the boy warm. He's not going to care."
At not-quite-four, Alex has already started coming home and telling me certain things are "boy things" and others are "girl things" which I always tell him is nonsense. I say those things are for whoever wants and likes them.
But conversations at home aren't the same as public displays of non-traditional "gender specific" items.
I took the coat to Nick at his work site. I told him not to get all red-blooded West Coaster on me.
"Our son's going to look like Paddington," he said.
I'm fine with that. The bear was a snazzy dresser.
Anyway, here's the coat:
Wednesday, March 28, 2018
Jordan B. Peterson: Brave Defender of the Status Quo
Recently, Canadian psychologist Jordan B. Peterson has been popping up in media all over the world.
Who is Peterson?
He's a clinical psychologist and a much cited expert in creativity in individuals.
He got his first taste of fame after he pitched a tantrum over Canadian legislation meant to promote the use of preferred pronouns with trans people.
The legislation apparently failed to take into account Jordan Peterson's God-given right to pretend that trans people are fakes who are only seeking attention.
Later, Peterson said he might consider using a preferred pronoun if a trans person were to ask him nicely (preferably on bended knee with a hand across their heart and using the term "my liege.")
He's a hero to frustrated young white men who are afraid women and minorities are going to take away the privileges they've never had to work for.
He once called Disney's Frozen "propaganda" because it dared to have a strong female lead who isn't married off at the end.
He denies the experiences of women and trans individuals so he can redirect the conversation to the true victims; white dudes.
He claims great bogeymen known as postmodernist neo Marxists are trying to undermine Western Civilization and the "natural order" of things. The natural order of things is men being manly men who control everything while women stay silent and home bound.
The kind of masculinity he promotes requires a femininity that is nonthreatening and easily dominated. In order for men to succeed, women must fail.
He recently wrote a little folksy tome called "12 Rules for Life: An Antidote to Chaos" (Alternative title:"Chicken Soup for the Soul, eh?") In it he extols the virtue of "standing up straight with your shoulders back" and petting street cats.
It may seem like harmless life coach stuff but it's so much more than that.
The book basically erases structural violence and the existence of the patriarchy and puts the onus on individuals to fix themselves. It smacks of the bootstraps argument well off people use to throw shade at the poor.
His view on posture also brings out his odd admiration of lobsters.
Zack Beauchamp of Vox writes:
"This is classic Peterson: He loves to take stylized facts about the animal kingdom and draw a one-to-one analogy to human behavior. It also has political implications: He argues that because we evolved from lower creatures like lobsters, we inherited dominance structures from them. Inequalities of various kinds aren't wrong; they're natural."
As we've seen time and again on National Geographic Explorer, the humble lobster often rises up from the muck of the seabed, straightens its arthropodic exoskeleton, adjusts its tiny fedora and marches off to exert its terrible will on the lesser lobsters.
Tapping into the outrage of young men who feel they've been robbed of their dues has been profitable for Peterson. People on the internet give him money to keep posting You Tube videos about how feminists and Social Justice Warriors are ruining the world.
Like Trump, he's attracted followers who admire him for his overt misogyny and Islamophobia. Unlike Trump, Peterson has impressive degrees and academic titles. This makes certain people view his theories as legitimate and has led to several fawning profiles.
Others aren't fooled.
A writer for the Los Angeles Review of Books referred to Peterson as, "A Messiah-cum-Surrogate-Dad for Gormless Dimwits" while journalist Tabatha Southey called him the "stupid man's smart person."
Pankaj Mishra of the New York Times wrote:
Closer examination, however, reveals Peterson's ageless insights as a typical, if not archetypal product of our own times: right-wing pieties seductively mythologized for our current lost generations."
When Peterson discovered Mishra's criticism he responded calmly and rationally by calling him a "sanctimonious prick" and saying he would slap him if they were in the same room.
Real men slap other men when words fail them.
Alpha lobsters bitch slap each other all the time to settle disputes. It's science.
Like the great edgelord Milo Yiannopoulos before him, Peterson days in the public eye are likely numbered.
I'm betting his fragile ego and tendency to weigh in when he's out of his depth will eventually lead to a spectacular public meltdown.
Maybe then someone will send him a copy of "12 Rules for Life."
Doctor, heal thyself, etc.
Who is Peterson?
He's a clinical psychologist and a much cited expert in creativity in individuals.
He got his first taste of fame after he pitched a tantrum over Canadian legislation meant to promote the use of preferred pronouns with trans people.
The legislation apparently failed to take into account Jordan Peterson's God-given right to pretend that trans people are fakes who are only seeking attention.
Later, Peterson said he might consider using a preferred pronoun if a trans person were to ask him nicely (preferably on bended knee with a hand across their heart and using the term "my liege.")
He's a hero to frustrated young white men who are afraid women and minorities are going to take away the privileges they've never had to work for.
He once called Disney's Frozen "propaganda" because it dared to have a strong female lead who isn't married off at the end.
He denies the experiences of women and trans individuals so he can redirect the conversation to the true victims; white dudes.
He claims great bogeymen known as postmodernist neo Marxists are trying to undermine Western Civilization and the "natural order" of things. The natural order of things is men being manly men who control everything while women stay silent and home bound.
The kind of masculinity he promotes requires a femininity that is nonthreatening and easily dominated. In order for men to succeed, women must fail.
He recently wrote a little folksy tome called "12 Rules for Life: An Antidote to Chaos" (Alternative title:"Chicken Soup for the Soul, eh?") In it he extols the virtue of "standing up straight with your shoulders back" and petting street cats.
It may seem like harmless life coach stuff but it's so much more than that.
The book basically erases structural violence and the existence of the patriarchy and puts the onus on individuals to fix themselves. It smacks of the bootstraps argument well off people use to throw shade at the poor.
His view on posture also brings out his odd admiration of lobsters.
Zack Beauchamp of Vox writes:
"This is classic Peterson: He loves to take stylized facts about the animal kingdom and draw a one-to-one analogy to human behavior. It also has political implications: He argues that because we evolved from lower creatures like lobsters, we inherited dominance structures from them. Inequalities of various kinds aren't wrong; they're natural."
As we've seen time and again on National Geographic Explorer, the humble lobster often rises up from the muck of the seabed, straightens its arthropodic exoskeleton, adjusts its tiny fedora and marches off to exert its terrible will on the lesser lobsters.
Tapping into the outrage of young men who feel they've been robbed of their dues has been profitable for Peterson. People on the internet give him money to keep posting You Tube videos about how feminists and Social Justice Warriors are ruining the world.
Like Trump, he's attracted followers who admire him for his overt misogyny and Islamophobia. Unlike Trump, Peterson has impressive degrees and academic titles. This makes certain people view his theories as legitimate and has led to several fawning profiles.
Others aren't fooled.
A writer for the Los Angeles Review of Books referred to Peterson as, "A Messiah-cum-Surrogate-Dad for Gormless Dimwits" while journalist Tabatha Southey called him the "stupid man's smart person."
Pankaj Mishra of the New York Times wrote:
Closer examination, however, reveals Peterson's ageless insights as a typical, if not archetypal product of our own times: right-wing pieties seductively mythologized for our current lost generations."
When Peterson discovered Mishra's criticism he responded calmly and rationally by calling him a "sanctimonious prick" and saying he would slap him if they were in the same room.
Real men slap other men when words fail them.
Alpha lobsters bitch slap each other all the time to settle disputes. It's science.
Like the great edgelord Milo Yiannopoulos before him, Peterson days in the public eye are likely numbered.
I'm betting his fragile ego and tendency to weigh in when he's out of his depth will eventually lead to a spectacular public meltdown.
Maybe then someone will send him a copy of "12 Rules for Life."
Doctor, heal thyself, etc.
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:
 |
| Huia |
 |
| Goldfinch |
 |
| Profile With Pounamu |
 |
Blue |
Here is a recent painting I hope to sell soon:
 |
| 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:
 |
| "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.
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