Murano via the island of the dead

It was a grey day today. I pottered around with some art ideas in the morning. I brought an R2D2 toy and included it in a giant panoramic picture taken from the Rialto bridge. I worked on the image for a few hours. I wasn't sure about this image and spent the day being rather negative about my current ideas. I think this was partially to do with having a hangover and waking up very early. I am beginning to feel like I am melding into Venice. Become part of this unusual furniture. Later in the day I visited the Island of Murano via an island cemetry, which I want desperately to visit soon. Marano is famous for its glass. It was a strange place like a small Venice, full of squares with giant amorphous glass sculptures. It, or I, felt quite dislocated from the world here. A long time ago in a place far away. I realise how cruel, over the years, I have been about myself, my self worth and my attitude to my own work. This day is tiring to the core. The boats keep me afloat as I drift towards my temporary home. Back at base I make some pasta with local vegetables and I watch the Sopranos. I fall asleep. When I awake I feel that I should make amends for something. For something that shouldn't be missing from the world and it's seems I have spent too many years drifting away form this long forgotten note, this mysterious message in a bottle, waiting to be opened.

Uno rosso, due rossi...

Woke up very early, 5 am. Watched the sun come up on the Rialto Bridge. It was one of those seminal moments similar to when i witnessed the opening of a zen temple in kyoto at a similar time. I wanted to take a photo at this time and had to scout out whom would be there at this time. I was transfixed by this moment. I saw someone feeding some seagulls. Crazy swamp of life entering my simple vision. Had an expresso in a nearby bar, where an old guy took the mickey out of me and everybody laughed. I remained motionless, and I think this made these people feel uncomfortable! The pleasures of incomprehension! I took some photographs, which may be used for future artworks. Later in the day I met Alan, his partner Nic, and their two very cute boys, which were really adorable. They showed me around the Jewish Ghetto quarter, where the word 'Ghetto' gets it's name from. We went into a wonderful bar where i ate amazing vegetables and we listened to some local musicians. Alan told me a story about a man whon got turned to stone, for giving someone some bad fabrics. I saw a statue of said man and felt his heart beat. I told alan that i didn't feel it, as i wanted to keep this a secret for myself! He had a big wooden nose! I spent the evening talking to Alan. It's evenings like these that make life worth living...talked about music, art and life. He is a true artist. I can't wait to spend more time with him and his family, as they really are so kind and hospitable. I feel lucky to know people like this.

At night

Met up with lovely people whom are also artists in residence with the Emily Harvey Foundation,

It was Fleche's birthday!!!

Myself, Fleche, Puanani, Demosthenes and his family, had a fine time, dining and eating. Waxed lyrical about the world. It was lovely watching some of them speaking in French. The food was perfect.

February 25th...Pollock doesn't move her...bad felt tips do move me...

It's raining. I went to the Peggy Guggenhiem Gallery this morning. I was in a room with some of the most important Pollock paintings and I asked the gallery assistant what she thought, she said 'they are good but they don't make me feel, they don't move me'. I thought afterwards that it's really quite simple, what art should do. She knew, It should move people. The big problem is everyone is moved by different things. But, thank heavens for that. It makes the world a richer place. I brought some felt tips that didn't work very well, but I really didn't mind that much, as I tried to squeeze as much colour into my day as I could. I brought some wine for 2 euros in a refundable bottle, it tastes devine. I'm going to buy a R2D2 fabric toy tomorrow. I have come to the conclusion that I don't make art. It makes me.

Drawings, Venice, 2010

Drawings, Venice, 2010

26th February...Giorgione was Lord Byron's old lady

Allegory in my brain, allegory in my veins, allegory sailing down-stream. I spent some time with a distinguished fellow called Domo, he’s another artist doing the residency with the Emily Harvey Foundation. He lured me into the fine complexities of his mind. His ideas trickled like water over my attention. He spoke of historical Venice. Of an artist called Giorgione, whom was a humanitarian and turned his head away from religious art towards a truer expression of ideas. He created fantastical landscapes which were constructed from many ideas and view points. Domo also talked about a printer who invented the idea of a book and how he was likely to be a companion of Giorgione. He filled my mind with ideas surrounding Allegory and what it might mean to create a new kind of art. Or a new way of viewing the world. Domo also invited me to drink an expresso (these are what I live on now) by the canal, and we waxed lyrical about the world and art. What a wonderful man, full of interest in how we humans look at the world. It’s really nice I think as I watch this man, whom looks like Picasso to me, that I can learn something from someone whom really understands the world and isn’t full of bullshit intellectualism. It’s a refreshing change to the usual type of artist types I meet. Domo is open to collaborating with me, which fill me with joy.

Later in the day I travel for the first time on the ferry buses and my heart saws as I again realise how breathtakingly beautiful Venice is. I travel by river to the Galleria dell’ Accamamia, where I pass the house that Lord Byron once inhabited (pictured here). This sharpens my eyes and ears to why Byron was such a great poet. He lived here. A place where it’s impossible not to drift into poetry, venice is poetry. At the gallery there’s the finest examples of renaissance Venetian painting. Including two Giogione Paintings. One of which is missing. The Tempeste (pictured). I titter inside, as this is the only painting missing from the collection and only 1 hour before Domo was telling me how wonderful it was. I know that now, it doesn’t matter if I see it or not, as Domos passion already filled this gap! Next to this missing painting is a painting of an Old Lady (pictured). I am awstruct at its realism and explosive and emotive force. She scares me in a good way.

I look around and somehow everything looks more incredible. I think to myself that the world is full of mysery and magic. I look at the women in front of me, she smiles. I notice she’s wearing flairs and this fills me with joy and I realise that Venice and these flairs are made from the same spirit. Godlike and shimmering from within!

24th February...Walking and walking...

I've been walking and walking and walking some more. So many small streets. This city is romantic like me! We are already becoming inseparable. The expresso's are giving my feet the energy they need. Everyone here seems excited to be here. The small ferry boat made my mind go giddy. I enjoyed how unpredictable it felt. San Marco square made me a little sad. A monument to power and prestige. It made me feel small and closed. The shops around here are vultures to a world I never signed up to inhabit and I'm getting a little sick of seeing shops with masks in. Despite this San marco square was so dreamlike it allowed me to travel back in my mind to a time before these places with masks in, existed. There were some statues of lions wings. I wish I was a lion with wings and then my feet wouldn't hurt so much! I also discovered a street that took my breath away. (Above)

by night

I have just been out into the square at night. It's even more dazzling than before. I love the sheer age of the building dripping with history. I was doing some people-watching and couldn't help noticing just how beautiful italian people are. They have a certain healthy look, but both dark and mysterious with it. I'm going to take my drawing materials down there tomorrow and start jotting down ideas and perhaps make some new drawings. I have realised that i'm feeling so relaxed now that I have some time to do exactly what I was put on this planet to do. I was so full of tension from working and busying myself back at home. thanks Emily.

23rd February, a city submerged

I arrived in Venice at one o'clock to be greeted by the wonderful Alan Bowman. We have a glass or two of succulent red wine in series of delightful understated but gloriously fine bistros and then I'm guided through the raggle-taggle back streets of Venice, over the Grand Canal on a see-saw gondolier, and finally to the Emily Harvey Foundation Office. Here I am met by the lovely Sylvia whom with Alan and I, are led to amazing apartment in the center of the city, I feel like a cat that has not only got his cream, but the canal itself is overflowing with it. I lap it up with my eyes.

I am awestuck at Venice’s charming streets and natuaral beauty. Overwhelmed by the knowledge that I’m going to live here for five weeks. What a thrill, I only hope I can be inspired to make some great artwork here. I speak to Alan about his surreal new work, about making dens and how cities can get under a persons skin. The northern city I have lived in the last ten years is so very different from here. This city is floating and carved out of chaotic stone.

I think about my very own chaos and how I wish a certain friends were here by my side. But there will be other times, when we may jump and jaunt in similar streets. The sun goes down and I return home proud in the knowledge I have found a good shop to buy my weekly food. The comfort of the familiar. Finding the things we need. What will night bring and what will this thunderous playground offer up. Is this city a distant and mistrusting soul, is she a jilted lover, is she kind and friendly, or a fox dazzled by the flash of a camera.

I feel happy…really happy.