Noel, the local Brick Lane poet was preparing for his spoken word stint at the Queens Head in Stockwell. Happens on the first Thursday of each month. That’s tonight if you’re free.

Pete’s ex work colleague from Folkestone has just opened gallery at the top of Brick Lane. All the works are computer based, and worth a look also. Preview tonight.

And lastly, Jamie from drawing has got some work on at the Crypt Gallery…illustration based bits > zeroten

Ruby, our all American model for the night, is a bulky lass but her mottled flesh holds make for a good draw. Burlesque in style, Ruby goes off into her own little world, getting into a different character for each pose, which is a pretty unique approach to modelling, so fair cop. She was doing a naked poem session earlier on in the day. Then she mentioned to me that she’s from Dalston. It kind of all made sense from then on.

It seems that creative group brainstorms are becoming more of a regular occurrence within advertising. Speaking to a few friends in different agencies…it’s also the case. Do they trivialise the work that creative’s do? Maybe not trivialise, but undermine the point of a team? At times it feels like The Persuasionists…that advertsing sit-com from BBC2 that bombed massively. People with idea tourette’s spouting shit until something sticks to the flip chart.

It’s a formularised way of speeding up the thought process and heavily influenced by the people mediating it. They guide where the discussion / argument goes therefore it never tends to stray too far. It also irritates me that people see it as a level playing field for creation. Like creative’s setting up a planning/account meeting so we can discuss the best strategic approach?

I guess there’s no denying everything is far more collaborative now, yet the negatives of brainstorming severely outweigh the positives. Outcomes are expected, safe, budgetable, not always thought through, manipulated by the people leading it. Ideas are to be nurtured by the same passion creative’s have for their own idea.

Creative’s inheriting someone else’s half hacked idea will never have the passion that they have for their own.

Positives are that they cost little as you don’t need to book the creative’s time and account people can be sure to have a coherent response well within deadline.

Productivity in compromise of output.

An hour into the trip, we noticed a bus had rolled onto it’s side from the road up ahead. This was not encouraging…people pulling others out through the windows. As the bus drew closer a gentle tapping on the windows caught our attention. The gentle tapping promptly turned into a hard thudding which shattered two of the windows and put a big lightning crack down through the driver’s windscreen. The injured woman took cover in the isle and was immediately nursed by a flock of fellow passengers.

The bus stalled mid way through the angry mob. A sharp gulp from Fooks and myself…I say sharp gulp, but it was more like a silence where we stared at one another whilst shitting our already soiled pants.

The coach started up again and we slowed trawled up the hill out of harms way. Fooks and I leaning as far forward as possible in anticipation for the next corner.

The drivers next trick was to back the bus onto a muddy track parallel to the hill? As soon as his synapses started functioning again the rear right wheel had already sunk deep into the shit. However, instead of taking it steady, or laying some sticks beneath the rear wheel, he continued to pound the accelerator, digging us deeper into this shitty quag. The bus leant at a 30* angle until he saw sense in stopping.

Shrill cries from the women as they scurried towards the closest exit.

Fooks, eyes open slightly wider than usual, looked at me. Instinct told me to get off with no compassion towards the burkas. Fooks’ imagining he was re-creating the scene from the Italian Job.

Everyone was already off at that point.

Finally we felt safe once again, but hysterics soon turned to misery once dark fell and the sky started to piss. Our luggage safely stuck in the undercarriage, so there was no chance of wrapping up…only a mere 7hrs for the replacement bus to pick us up from fuck knows where.

We broke down reasonably close to a shepherd’s humble lodgings.

Sat cross legged on the floor we stared at a candle whilst the locals, unable to converse stared at us like meat. Seconds like fucking hours.

The rest of the trip was brilliant.

Brick lane life drawing:

Art students…all female…some international…all very young. Dressed head to toe in whatever in their dead gran-mothers wore during VE Day. Beret’s and suitably fashioned suitcases which are filled to the brim with state of the art materials their parents arm them with. They all sip their mocha-orgainc-and-suitably-farmed-fairtrade-lattes, with a dash of cinnamon or whatever. However in their defence they’re quite a lively bunch, they come in packs and don’t seem to be phased by perching on the arms of chairs as there is fuck all space in the coffee shop. It’s not a faggy affair. The lighting is mediocre at best and the model moves like she’s got alzheimer’s, but it’s a cut away from stiffness. This I like.

However, On the other hand you have…

The Royal associate’s life drawing class:

In a relatively starchy building people set up their easels. Classically trained, there is little room for expression…these guys are so up tight that they would most probably pop their clogs if you mentioned any ‘ps’ or ‘qs’. The lady who organises it, Anne, is a well pronounced individual approaching her Jurassic era. She’s keen to see young people joining the class, of which it has only been me over the last 3 years. Anne motivates people like salt motivates a slug. Saying this, the lighting on the model is a highly professional affair and you can see every nook and crevice. The model holds the poses. The old folk dribble.

I’m retarded and feel alien in both circumstances, mainly because I’m not a trendy ‘Art schooler’ and I don’t dribble whilst I draw. Life drawing is so darn cliquey!? Stop this now.

I assume it’s laziness, or ignorance towards that ‘significant difference’ one person can make. The shit we bang on about day on day. How we isolate people so it feels like it’s your fault rather than those of higher standing blah blah blah.

Make it easier for us to do something about it…instead I’m just numbed by the idea of separating tins from plastic.

The only think that makes me vaguely ‘green’ is my love for our little fake Christmas tree. Queerness aside, I think about it, especially after all the waste we create on this one highly unreligious day of the year.

The rest of them here and the quality doesn’t get any better!

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The next day we endured a solid walk on Dartmoor. One of the most enjoyable things you can do in the country if you ask me. On my return walking through Brixton wasn’t quite so pleasant. A teenager had been stabbed numerous times, blood trailing across the road… A beautifully graphic scene. Quite an alarming contrast.

1st and probably the last Tar barrel gif. (05/11/10)

http://www.flickr.com/photos/ruralist/

(bit of press too)

The twist at the end is how quickly it all can change and how easily you can be spat out of the system.

Hindsight is a beautiful thing because there are tweaks that I would have made, but I’m happy with the bleakness of the overall piece. Plus my shoddy attempt at piano

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Scribbles from Fri night

[Vimeo 15542731]

The Guardian also sung his praises and compared him to a Kubrick/Scorsese ‘trying to show us something new’…

“Gaspar Noé is one of the very few directors who is actually trying to do something new with the medium, battling at the boundaries of the possible. It has obvious debts, but Enter the Void is utterly original film-making, and Noé is a virtuoso of camera movement.”

I’d encourage you to see it.

Some recent bits of work…

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