Bitch on the Blog

June 18, 2017

Shades of white

I am no good at drawing. Which is rather surprising since I come from a long line of people who actually made their living painting.

My father who inherited that most remarkable talent – though never made anything of it because he was more interested in pursuing other interests, once helped me out. I was about twelve. Our art homework was to do a portrait of a pirate (water colours no less – the smudge’s devil of all inventions). We had a few days. The worse and the more dreaded the task the more it’ll spoil not only your life in the interim but you’ll put it off to the last minute (deadline by another name). (Un)fortunately my father passed my desk (Sunday afternoon) as I was putting the finishing touches to a half hearted attempt at conveying both the cliche and the menace of a pirate (Johnny Depp my creation wasn’t – it was before his time). So, in a moment of charitable (or was it) intent, my father chucked my effort into the nearest waste paper basket and conjured up the most magnificent pirate ever. Took him zero time – not that he meant to ram home that I most certainly had betrayed the creative family line (on both sides). Not at all. He was far more interested in taking all my essays and other writings apart – even if they rated A* by assorted teachers. You want to know what my father called my teachers? Don’t. Repeating it would be flying in the face of my genteel upbringing and the manners my mother instilled in me.

So Monday was grand. My art teacher’s face lit up. He studied my father’s effort in detail. He was chuffed. He smiled. At me. After an artfully executed theatrical pause  he said: “Do tell your father that, on account of fraud, I’ll only give him a two” (a one being top mark). After that I can’t remember anything. Other than that I was always tops in the theory of art and art history. Brush to canvas? Forget it. Why would I? Know thy limitations.

Not to sell myself short and as befits my temperament, I did and do passable caricatures (of people). That’s about it.

As Karma has a way of biting you unawares,  most nearest and dearest to me, friends and assorted family, are masters of their chosen art. Occasionally forced to remind them, ever so tactfully, we can’t all be artistes. Some of us have to be the appreciative audience. The ones who do the clapping, the stroking of ego, the catchers of tears, the slayers of tantrums, the ones who write the critiques, facilitate you, marketeer your stuff.  And, BUY IT.

Whatever you do, please do not talk to me about gallerists. It was Basel/Switzerland, ca. 1997, when I fell off my chair on learning that a gallerist (the marketeer and provider of large swathes of wall and the monied) will take a  cool 66 % off your sales for services rendered.

Titanium white greetings,




February 6, 2011

That Woman – Take One

Synopsis: That Woman – CONsorted trials and tribulations of a sound box in urgent need of rewiring

Location: A  make shift court in a forest, preferably one with a clearing to receive echo (Note to sound technician: Echoes will never bounce back intact- so do allow for errors and omissions).

Props: A rope

In the dock: That Woman

Defence for the defendant: None

Witnesses for the defendant: Currently auditioning

Prosecution: Con and GM

Witnesses for the prosecution: GM and Con

Surprise witness for the proscecution: Barath whose testimony is hoped to squash That Woman faster and more efficiently than you can say balls

Gallery: Ashok. It’s his day off and he is hoping to learn something from proceedings dating back to the dark ages

Traffic warden: Looney

Jury: Outstanding

Stylist: Nick

Court Jester: BHB

On stand-good bye with get away car: Magpie

Administering last rights: Ramana

Understudy: Jean

gaelikaa: Bum job – court reporter (keep it short)

Cameo Appearance: Count of Monte Cristo

Other roles: Minor

Note to production assistant: Make sure Con and GM get full credits for original idea (Source: Fag end of R’s Walker comments)

Back to your trailers.


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