Number 33 for Cloud Park Corner

It occurred to me the other day that I have been thinking about heaven a lot lately. 

Don't worry; I'm not about to go all Natalie Portman and sprout wings and go all cray-cray at Mila Kunis. Nor, sadly, have I transformed into a statuesque blonde with the ability to intimidate loan-sharks a-la 'Angela'. I should also point out I remain staunchly agnostic about religious matters, and I am not questioning my mortality or seeking existential answers any more than usual. But still, there is this recurring fascination with a child-like interpretation of that fluffy place above us. 

My notion of the Hereafter is probably more like a sort of metropolis-come-funfair. I like the idea of angels with less-than angelic behaviours (not unlike Neil Gaiman's character Islington in 'Neverwhere', though perhaps not quite so malicious). Mine would have vices aplenty, and you'd find them doing all sorts of unseemly things, like scoffing whole bratwursts behind the moon, or relieving themselves as their cloud passed over Tom Cruise, or using their friends' halo as a basketball hoop. 

Very probably, Heaven would be a bit like London. It wouldn't just be angels that lived there, but all sorts of other characters too (though of course, I would love to see a Cockney chimney-sweep angel, that would be fabulous). There'd be bridges made out of rainbows, and mice on the moon, and cows mooching about in the Milky Way. Mary Poppins would be up there too, a pleasantly dotty old biddy with no teeth, carrying on about cough-syrup and her diabetes. Everything would be edible too: the clouds would taste of marshmallow, and each colour of the rainbow would taste of something different (the orange would be marmalade, and you'd think the red would taste of strawberry, but, FYI, it's chilli).

I always imagined my character the Cloud Princess lived in Heaven, or somewhere very like it; maybe a few thousand feet below in Cloud Land, or Fluffy Town, or Fairyflosstopolis. I had a lot of fun creating her character and, though I am long sold out of the small edition of 20 prints I made of her two years ago, I am still asked about her all the time. And so, I thought it was high-time to revist her.

As some of you might know if you follow my adventures on Facebook and Instagram, I am a relatively new slave to two Beaglier puppies, Sandro and Lily. At 5 months old they are quite the handful, and of course, I couldn't imagine what life would be like without them, and their sweet droopy faces. I have affectionately named these characters Princess Lily and Sandro Spottydog in honour of them, and I hope that I have conveyed just a little of the love and warmth between these two friends. 

The Cloud Princess, as I imagine her, loves to bake all sorts of cakes, but macarons are her absolute favourite (and not, incidentally, mine too!). She and Sandro have nipped up the shops for a few foodie supplies, and now are waiting for the Starbus to take them back home to Cloud Park Corner. The sun is just about to set, and Princess Lily always cooks her best macarons by the light of the moon!

I learned so many new things creating this piece, and I am particularly pleased with the slightly eighties, acid-wash look of the light on the clouds. All the best characters came out of the eighties for me: Lady Lovelylocks, Rainbow Brite, Strawberry Shortcake, and these were just a few of the inspirations behind Princess Lily's look. As always too- piles and piles of hair. And why not? Heaven hath no need of hairspray!

 

I hope you like this heavenly duo as much as I did making them.

Have a gorgeous day,
Mel x

Miss Krystal's Kitty Whiskers

Until very recently, I was a dyed-in-the-wool crazy cat lady.

It's not my fault; as I say, my Mum is cat-mad, and her mother before her. Probably the women in my family have been mad feline fussers for centuries now. Probably we are actually part cat- God knows I shed hair like one, don't much care for being dirty, and have long fingernails the thickness of sheet metal that completely contradict zero interest on my part to look after them at all. As of yet, no whiskers, but I'm sure that will change in another 3 years or so when I hit 30.

I can hardly remember any cat I've ever met that I didn't like. When I was very, very young, my Mum taught me how to approach a new cat: slowly, with hand outstretched, and at their eye-level. Only when they chose to come closer to me, and had been given a few minutes to have a good sniff, explained Mum, should I pat them. As I grew older I learned that there are a few things cats almost universally love: getting scratches on the spot where their spine meets the base of their tail, having their noses rubbed, and a very gentle tug on their tails as they slink past.

I love that a cat's respect must be earned. Which is totally fitting, since most of the time mine make me feel like a glorified handmaid whose sole purpose in life is to feed them when they're hungry, cuddle them should they be feeling particularly magnanimous, but otherwise, to just sod right off- especially if I've just vacated a pre-warmed seat for them to jump into.

I also love the way cats play with complete abandon. My normally very dignified and often quite pompous bobtail Willow was only twelve months ago an ungainly little ball of legs and tumbles, falling all over herself to chase her rattly ball. Or climbing the clothes-horse like a regular chimp, just because she could.

Cats are the most self-serving, narcissistic creatures we congratulate ourselves for 'domesticating'; just because they don't scratch our eyes out on a daily basis and occasionally plop themselves in our laps for a bit of a purr, doesn't make them any less calculating. I love the sheer audacity of cats: even when they are caught in the act of doing something naughty, they will still look at you like you are a complete halfwit. 'Do you mean to say I shouldn't have my face buried in your dishwater? Perhaps you shouldn't have made it so tasty by flavouring it with spaghetti sauce from the pan. I am merely cancelling out your wastefulness here.'

And not an hour later, when I am in bed and peacefully snoozing, I will feel a little paw on my nose; not unlike someone knocking on a front door. This is Daisy's code for: 'Mummy, be a good human and lift up the blanket so I can take advantage of the bed you have spent time warming for me. You may scratch my belly also, but put some effort in or else I'll just get sick of you and jump off and guilt you for not being properly devoted to me.' And what can I say- I fall for it every single time. 

All said, R-Patz had it almost right: fluffy kitty bellies are like my very own brand of heroin, albeit a more health-conscious choice and a little hairier. So without further ado, here's a fun little tribute to everything I love best about my meowing machines, and the crazy cat-lady that lives inside me.

 

If you've got any stories about the cats in your life, I'd love to hear them!

Have a brilliant day poppets,
Mel x

frida

Well, hello possums! I hope your weekend is a veritable orgy of fun frocks and frivolity, or, at the very least, a welcome reprieve from the warfare of work and other necessary mundanities.

I have been a busy little bee this month past. Perhaps you might have caught a few of my W.I.Ps on Facebook; though I sometimes feel like using it  is synonymous with selling my soul to the devil, it seems this is where I am getting the most feedback for my work these days! Still, my stats do tell me there are a dedicated few of you who still read the blog, and this is a good thing, because probably I would go mad if I couldn't write. Facebook is brilliant when used responsibly, but as I've said before, I feel too often that Facebookers can forget about the real feelings attached to the real people on the other side of a comment. It leaves me a bit glum sometimes.

I am not a bit sad, however, to share my latest addition to the Etsy shop, 'Frida'. She is probably the lady that needs no long-winded introduction, and I can't lie- I  don't actually know all the nitty-gritty about her anyways. Like most people, I find some of her work hard to look at. If I'm being honest (and before you storm my house with pitchforks, do remember this is just my opinion!) I don't think all of it was strictly good painting, and perhaps more accurately, it doesn't really suit my aesthetic sensibilities. All the same, there's no denying Frida Kahlo's work was utterly compelling.

 

I'm not sure how many of us can really identify with the sheer volume of her many personal struggles. The streetcar accident and the crippling physical pain that haunted her long after, eventually causing gangrene and the amputation of her foot; the continued heartache of her miscarriages; even the tumultuous relationship with Diego Rivera- any one of these things can and do break a person.

In my teaching days, I would mention Frida Kahlo to my students, who would continue to look at me blankly until I showed them a picture of her. They knew then, exactly who I was talking about ('the chick that looked like a dude' I believe one of my more astute charges described her). I think I am drawn to Frida Kahlo because her pain is written in her face, and there is such a strength in the hard set of her jaw, a fierce sense of self and unflinching honesty that transcends the monobrow and the mo and is, quite simply, beautiful.

There is a very famous photograph or two of Frida in some sort of alleyway, cuddling a deer, and this is how I think of her: both wild and barely contained, fragile and stronger than perhaps she could have known, and beautiful in her refusal to corset herself in the times and expectations of her sex.

What do you think?

Mel x

astrid

Hello, hello, and happy Tuesday grumpy stars and pink galahs!

I have had a beautiful week with my latest Wallflower, 'Astrid'. I love the sound of this name; the soft hiss of the 'As', and the muted thud of the 'id'. I have a bit of a love-affair with the way certain names sound, I must confess; like a Robert Frost poem, there's something about the way that names are said that brings them to life and gives them three dimensions.

 

'S' sounds in particular give me little goosebumps. Just for a bit of fun, have a read of this poem. Then read it out loud (for best effect, try to maintain the iambic rhythm if you can!).

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

-Robert Frost, 1923

 

I think this is my favourite poem mostly because I feel like I've been somewhere else when I read it. It haunts me in a beautiful sort of way; long after I've finished reading I imagine echoes of snow falling and feel a sense of, I suppose, delicious loneliness. The little snowflakes around Astrid are a sort of tribute to this aural beauty, and in contrast to the daisies in her hair- because, this is a joyous and happy picture after all!

 

And, quite fittingly, her name means 'fair, beautiful goddess'- suits her very nicely, don't you think?

 

Speaking of all things divine, 'The Goddesses of Small Things' opens this Friday night at 6pm, DVAA, Woods Street, Darwin. This little flyer was designed by my fabulous and very clever friend Marita Albers, and you can come grab yourself one from my Mindil or Parap Market shops, or from Jacksons Art Supplies. This little gem of a show is all about miniatures: beautiful little things for you to love, and small enough to make your wallet smile too! Really looking forward to seeing you there.

 

Have a brilliant rest-of-the-week!

Mel x

introducing eva

Well, hello hello, dots and poppets!

Romeo raised a interesting, semi-existential question I reckon, in his monologue about roses smelling just as pretty if they were called another name. Vis-à-vis, do you ever meet people, and they tell you their name, and all the while you're thinking: 'That is just not the name that fits you?'.

I suppose I can relate to this, since the various stages of my growing up were clearly delineated by the names that people have called me. My parents named me Melissa, because they didn't want anyone to shorten my name. Quite predictably, they were the first to shorten it to either Liss or Lissa, and the rest of my family followed suit. As a teenager, my friends called me just Mel, which I have kept as an adult. I like that it's short and sweet and a bit informal; it feels like my idea of me.

Now don't get me wrong, Melissa is a very pretty name, and I wouldn't say it doesn't suit me, but at best I feel it's probably a bit too elegant and grown-up for the way I see myself most of the time. It is historically also a clear indication that I am in deep shit with the parents, should I be called or referred to by my full name. And, for this reason, I have always felt somewhat squirmy and uncomfortable in the past when employers call me Melissa (worse, is when I have tried to introduce myself into a workplace as Mel, and people think they're being polite by calling me Melanie). 

Because of all of this, I see the names of my characters as the final flourish to my work. Sometimes I have to sit on a piece for a few days until I strike upon the name that they are meant to fit, the one that is quintessentially them. Sometimes I ask Dave for his thoughts. In fact, when he asked me what I planned on calling this particular character, and we both said the same name, we knew it was absolutely right for her.

And so, without further ado, I'd love to introduce you to the second character of my 'Wallflowers' series, 'Eva' (as in 'AY-vah', not 'EE-vah').

Eva is of course the Latinate variant of the English 'Eve', and inseparable from the idea of life. I have been working towards creating characters that are a little older, and perhaps a little more in touch with their sexuality, which is perfect for a character that is so vital and sure of herself, and, let's face it- a little bit booby!

 

 

I think hair also says a lot about female sexuality, and like all of my characters, Eva has piles of the stuff. Renoir knew the power of the plait: it is both a revealing of a girl's femininity and a binding of it; a bit of a tease, really. Look at his bathers: charming lady-bits and very sweet, unaffected mannerisms. Yes, they're almost totally naked, but somehow sexier, and unavailable because of their elaborate hairstyles: they're still retaining some mystery to unlock. It works just as well in real-life: the most attractive people are almost always largely unaware of how lovely they really are.



Have you got any stories to share about people and the names they have or should have? I'd love to hear your thoughts!

 

Have a beautiful weekend,

Mel x

good things in threes

Me again!

 

For all of you who are chomping at the bit to snavel yourself a copy of 'Aurelia', she is now available for sale in my Etsy shop: hurrah!

 

And, on the subject of my Etsy shop, I've created a little coupon code for all of you who just can't decide on your favourite character. Choose any three prints to the value of AUD $50 for only AUD $120. You'll only pay for shipping once too: AUD $8 within Australia or AUD $12 anywhere else. Once you've popped your three favourites into your shopping cart, just enter GOODTHINGSINTHR33S once you're at the check-out.

 

I know a lot of you come back and continue to support my work and do yourself out of all available wall space, so this is a little thank-you ♥ 

 

Have a beautiful weekend!

 

Mel x



aurelia

Hullo dots and poppets!

Hope your week has been nothing short of splendiferous. Mine has been a busy one. Mindil Beach Market being cancelled this Sunday past was cause for a bit of a celebration in our house, since it meant a much-needed 'night off' for both of us. By 'night off', I do of course mean 'a night of drawing, beached on the couch, trash on the telly, in close proximity of inspiration (the coffee machine and fridge) nary a care that I am a slob at heart and nobody is around to raise an eyebrow at my leggings holier than a blessing from the Pope on Christmas Day'.

 

Among other things, you might infer from this little monologue that I am very much the homebody. Working from home is a dream come true for most people I think. But it is certainly not without its challenges, and I am learning everyday that it's not easy to be disciplined and eliminate distractions. It is always quite wonderful though, when I can synthesise all of the qualities I love and admire about the artists whose work is on my wall, and use it to inspire me to create better work and develop my own art practice. I am so happy to say thay it's very hard for me to be away from my pencils for too long at the moment, and I'm using almost every spare minute away from the market shop to draw.

For all of you who follow my adventures on Facebook or Instagram, you'll already know that I've been on a bit of a roll these past few weeks sketching out a whole heap of imaginary portraits. It is totally indulgent work that I am really loving: beautiful girls with sweet demeanors in gorgeous clothes.

And so, here's a few pics of my latest effort, and the first finished piece of my 'Wallflowers' series: 'Aurelia'. Her name means 'golden', which I thought was kind of fitting for her caramel-coloured eyes and Nordic tresses. Aurelia loves purple and was especially delighted to find this little eighties number crop up in her local op-shop. The only thing she needed to really set the whole thing off was a funky purse- cherry red to suit her lippy; salvaged this time from her grandma's wardrobe and customised with a bit of lace and an antique daisy necklace for a strap. Très chic, no?

 

 

 

 

 

I hope you love her as much as I loved bringing her to life.

Mel x

snip snip spaghetti

Well, here we are, Wednesday again! I do hope it's been a wonderful one for you; for me it is effectively a Sunday and heralds the start of another potentially awesome week of being a carnie artist and lording it at my marvellous market shoppe.

I must say I am feeling particularly chirpy and excited about this coming week, mostly because I can finally put my lovely readers out of their misery, and share the brand-new print I've been teasing you with these past few weeks!

Like almost every little girl, I loved the story of 'Rapunzel' growing up, and like almost every big little girl, I was absolutely delighted by Disney's gorgeous interpretation a few years back. Being a total geek, I've always been fascinated by the symbols and themes of traditional fairytales, and increasingly frustrated by the cotton-wool approach of so many modern interpretations. 'Tangled' is so unabashedly fun and charming in so many ways (not least the casting of the adorable Mandy Moore as the voice of Rapunzel) that you'll find few complaints from me there, harmless as it is.

In fact, this particular tale was watered down pretty much in its conception: by the time the Brothers Grimm got to it, Rapunzel was already snug in the mould of damsel in distress. Does it not strike anyone else as remotely dumb that she didn't just hack her plaits herself? Why wait for some silly prince to come along and knock her up before she decided she wanted freedom? (Oh yes, by the time the wicked witch threw her out, Miss 'Punzel was already up the duff with twins. But then, there's only so long storytellers can maintain their heroines' maidenhood with a story that is essentially about a girl trapped in a giant phallic symbol).

Even as a little girl the sorts of heroines I loved best were always the deciders of their own fate, and the sexier for it. Always pretty, but in an interesting and flawed sort of a way. Rapunzel is traditionally portrayed as golden-haired, but I much prefer the mysterious, exotic look of a raven-haired girl, and so decided my interpretation needed dark roots, 'dirty' roots even- I like to imagine dying her hair was the first thing she did when she escaped her tower prison and began her own little Rapunzel Rebellion. (This was mostly inspired by an enraptured viewing of old Green Day video clips showing on the blinking television set in the cheap 24 hour diner where she took refuge that first night of freedom). The regrowth is starting to show now that she's been on the road a few weeks. So too is her rose tattoo healing- she wanted something badass but decided that getting a tattoo was really quite outrageous enough, and would still have given rise to a right cracker of an argument had the old witch been there to see it, which made Rapunzel smile and enjoy the whole sadistic pleasure of being inked. And besides, Rapunzel isn't too tough to admit she really does have a soft spot for roses!

Like a typical teenager, Rapunzel gets bored waiting, with nothing to do. It must have been ages ago that she ordered. Maybe a little snip might give the waitress a hint . . .

Thoughts?

Mel x

pretty, pink and a little bit punk ♥

Happy hump-day peeps and squeaks!

Just thought I'd share a snippet of a drawing I've been working on this week . . . oh, and any excuse to fiddle around with Instagram! Only a week has passed since I finally gave in to the iPad craze and as Dave will testify, I am already addicted to those gorgeous lo-res, faux Polaroid effects!

Thoughts?

Mel x

hustle-bustle, bunnies and bowler hats ♥

Hullo there poppets, and a very happy hump-day to you all! Wednesdays of course, are sort of like a Sunday for me, and generally herald another 2am bedtime- cutting mats and framing, printing, packaging up postcard sets, cleaning tablecloths... a carnie's life is never dull!

Of course, the Dry Season markets also mean that my week is split between manning the shop and drawing. So often I say there simply aren't enough hours in my day to get everything done, and this, in a roundabout sort of way, is the very subject of my latest work.

You might recognise these images as three of the five that made up a black-and-white series in my show 'Strange Creatures, Sweet Allsorts'. In the intervening months, a lot of people have commented on the pictures I've popped up of them, until finally I decided, I needed to colour them and bring them properly to life!  Fingers crossed I'll have finished pictures to show you next week, but until now, here's a little teaser of my triptych 'Time for Rabbit-Tea'.

Mel ♥

for the love of butter

We all have vices. Anyone who says they don't is either telling porky-pies of epic proportions or else dangerously deluded.

I've kicked my smoking habit more times than I care to remember, and a month ago for the last time. I have pretty much substituted this filthy habit with an addiction for gallons of tea, which isn't so bad except I drink way too much coffee as it is and am so immune to caffeine I can fall asleep half an hour after a cup of the stuff at midnight (I honestly do just love the taste and smell of it). Dave is an excellent cook and I've been known to polish off an entire cheesecake, unaided, in a weekend. This is basically my sole reason for a gym membership and running habit. It's a dirty vicious cycle.

Most vices answer to a kind of need I think, and some of us (me) just have addictive personalities. But there are some that fly their own little freak flag; dorky vices, not really malignant but that raise their weird little heads in public situations (or, as the case may be, on a blog) to make us blush and raise the eyebrows of those who love us best.

So I'll just come out with it: I love butter. I smother the most disgusting amount of the stuff on anything more solid than butter. I eat butter with crumpets on the side. Plonk a bucket of it on a mountain of pumpkin mash and I'm yours. It's an absolutely necessary ingredient for shortbread, which is incidentally, the perfect accompaniment to my tenth daily cup of tea. It smells amazing when it gets warm and melty. When my metabolism slows down and I need the help of two fat blokes and a winch to get me out of my chair, it will be for the love of butter!

Lewis Carroll very famously used the irony of the word 'butterfly' to brilliant effect in 'Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There', creating insects made from slabs of buttered toast, who live on weak tea with cream. This sort of butterfly would be wonderful I think, but I'd have to snatch a fair few of them to slake my butter-thirst! I wanted my own to be bigger and nice and drippy; kind of like a flying breakfast.

'brown-bread-and-buttered-flies' is available now in my Etsy Shop for you to gaze on while you munch thoughtfully on your breakfast. And, unlike real butter, this picture is calorie-free.

Blessed be those who love butter!

Mel x

time for rabbit-tea

Hullo poppets!

If you haven't already perused my 'exhibitions' page, chances are you missed this little series. I drew these last year to submit to the Illustrators Exhibition at the Bologna Children's Book Fair. Of course, competition is stiff, so like 2,000 other hopeful illustrators, mine didn't make it this year. After so many rejections, the Capricorn in me has reared it's sadistic little head and I have kept my promise to myself that I will enter every year until I can get in there- even if I'm old and grey!

Anyways, enough of that, here's the little story to accompany 'Time for Rabbit-Tea':

For better or worse, I work best after 4pm. It’s funny; after so many years working jobs that forced me into the habits of an early bird, my brain still refuses to work before midday. Early-morning starts coinciding with a shortage of coffee are so much the worse for everyone in the house!

 If I’m working on a very detailed painting, a large body of work or thinking a lot about the pace and flow of a storyboard, I find myself getting very tired after a few hours. Napping in the afternoon is the only way I can switch my brain off.

 Of course, it’s not really natural to sleep like this. Humans have something like a 90-minute sleep cycle, which goes through the motions of R.E.M., then a deeper sleep and then that sort of shallower window when you can resurface and feel refreshed; your body’s natural time to wake and use the stored energy in a useful way. Alarms interrupt all of this and can leave you feeling, well, alarmed. When I finally acknowledge the snooze button I’ve already punched in a variety of inelegant ways particular to drunks and the sleep-deprived, it is dark outside. You wonder, for a moment, whether it’s morning or night and it dawns on you that it doesn’t matter anyway since sleeping most of the day has not helped tick things off that growing to-do list.

 ‘Time for Rabbit-Tea’ is about a mischievous rabbit and the mad things that happen inside your brain when time becomes fluid.  

Have an awesome day wherever your heart may roam.
♥ Mel

the goose girl

Greetings poppets!

Say hullo to this little treasure I've shared with you before on the blog and in  my debut exhibition 'Strange Creatures, Sweet Allsorts' last December, and the latest addition to my Etsy Shop!

'The Goose Girl' was a very special drawing for me. She was one of the first drawings I did upon my return home to Darwin in late 2010 after eighteen months of living in London. I was feeling, most understandably, hot and tired and very much like a fish out of water. Coming back to Darwin wasn't really a decision we had control over, given that our visas were due to expire in early 2011 and things were already getting very cold in London- in fact, we left on the first day of snow and just in time to fly out!

I had a wonderful job at an all-girls school in the South-West, beautiful friends, a great flat and the company of my best friend Dave, who I never tired of sharing every second with, exploring our beautiful adopted city. I forgot I was Australian sometimes, and so did the girls I taught: an English accent is one of the nicest in the world and quite naturally, my nasal drawl became much nicer for the exposure to rounded vowels and semi-posh Cockney. Weekends were spent eating in Soho or with our friends Samu and Doug, who loved cooking and 'Come Dine with Me' just as much as we did. Brick Lane on a Sunday provided me with every reason known to woman to burn my savings on trinkets, or, if the weather was bad, Westfield. I spent a ridiculous amount of money on Japanese silk wool and knitted myself the maddest rainbow scarf to cheer myself up on bad-weather days. I felt like a proper Londoner.  

I was so used to feeling like a brave little snail in a strange land, being an Australian in a huge foreign city, that I didn't really know how to feel. Returning back to Darwin after so long away made me think, as I did when I arrived in London, what it means to feel 'at home'.

I'm more than happy here in Darwin, don't misunderstand, but I still feel like part of me is there, in London. I'll probably never be so lucky to live there again, though I hope sometimes soon to go back and visit.

I know now, wherever I might be in the world, 'home' is really what you keep in your heart, the bricks and mortar of memories, and maybe, the secrets in the eyes of a Greylag Goose.

♥ Mel