Last night I had mosaics class again in Gawler. It took about an hour to get there and around 45 minutes to get back. Being my second class, I’m still the newbie — and that’s one thing I think I’ve genuinely mastered in life. I went to eight schools and worked in around seventy temp jobs, so being the “new girl” is something I’ve become very accustomed to. I honestly don’t mind it at all.
The other ladies in the class all seem to be from Gawler or the surrounding areas. Because I’m new, they act as though they’ve all known each other forever — making little in-jokes, using nicknames, and over-emphasising their familiarity with one another. One woman, who I suspect has only been going for a few months herself, was really leaning into it. After the teacher introduced me, she said, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on her.” I didn’t say much. I’m at a stage in my life where I don’t have anything to prove to anyone, so I tend to just keep to myself.
Most of the ladies are mosaicing flowers or paisley patterns, and one is working on safari animals — all of which look great. As for me, with my very basic mosaic skills, I decided to start with a small pot, which you can see below. My idea is to have a strip of patterned tile — the purple set — running through black tiles. I’m also thinking of bringing in some blue.
Below that image is a quick snapshot I took at the mosaic warehouse where our classes are held. Mosaicing a mannequin is something I’m also very interested in exploring.
It’s funny: I’ve been trying arty things my whole life, yet I’ve rarely finished anything. But in a way, that means I’ve been training to be an artist my whole life too. And now, I’m finally going to follow through.
This is huge news for me — the best news I’ve had in years — but because it’s only happened twice, I’m trying not to get my hopes up that the problem is truly over. Still, waking up early made me remember all the simple things most people take for granted, like having breakfast… or even lunch.
Because she’s over 55, the salon owner can buy melatonin over the counter, but anyone younger needs a prescription. She gave me more than ten tablets, but I knew I’d want extra, so Mum picked some up for me from the chemist. Doctors are always so hesitant to prescribe anything related to sleep. My old surfie doctor gave me melatonin years ago, but all the younger ones treat me like I’m asking for something outrageous. They have absolutely no understanding of how debilitating my sleep disorder is.
So my plan is to take melatonin for a month, then try life without it. And if I can’t sleep without it, then I don’t care what the side effects are — if there even are any — I’ll find a way to take it every day of my life. I’ve been living like a vampire: unable to work, unable to participate in life like a normal person, unable to do anything. If something as simple as melatonin can give me my life back, that’s completely life-changing.
I’m going to wait a couple of weeks to see if it keeps working. And if it does, I’m sending the owner of the salon a huge bunch of flowers to thank her for thinking of me — and for changing my life forever.
Being up so early this morning meant I was finally able to go into the South Australian Museum with Mum to see the Waterhouse Prize exhibition. I’ve intended to enter the Waterhouse for a long time, and I already have a number of ideas for the next one, which I’m planning to start working on in January 2025.
One thing I’ve noticed about the Waterhouse Prize is that there isn’t a lot of contemporary art, and not a lot of bright colours. I want to create something that represents the natural world but is contemporary, edgy, bright, and colourful.
The first piece that caught my eye was Not All That Glitters Is Gold by Emma Young. I loved that it appears beautiful at first glance, but the subject is prickly pears — which, according to the description, are a prolific weed. It’s a kind of cactus. I don’t know much about it yet, but I want to read more.
The work is called Tjukula Itikira Itikira. It represents rockholes that are interlinked and serve as an important source of water during the dry season. Knowledge of these rockhole sites is passed down from generation to generation, and, as the description says, they are revered by all Pitjantjatjara Anangu people.
I’d heard there was a species of cicada that went underground and resurfaced 17 years later. I went to a formal dinner with my parents — I wasn’t on their table, but I was seated next to one of their friends who was a relatively important man.
We didn’t have much to talk about, but I told him about the cicada and how I wanted to create a necklace with some dirt in it, place the cicada down when I turned 23, and let it resurface in my 40th year. He went on to say how wonderful the idea was, but I hate to think what he was actually thinking. I think 19 is young enough to be forgiven for saying something so bizarre.
I still think of ideas like that, but I never say them — especially to my parents’ friends. Not that I have anything to do with them, or ever really have.
I don’t know enough about the artist to say whether the price is reasonable, but even if I were a wealthy woman, I don’t think I’d pay $10,000 for it. In saying that, there is jewellery I would pay that sort of money for.
When I was travelling in 2012, I met two international artists — Tim Noble and Sue Webster. We stayed in touch for a while, but we haven’t spoken in years. I always keep an eye on what they’re doing, and I recently discovered they have a jewellery line.
I really like the silver necklaces and bracelet called “fuckingbeautiful.” Here’s the link — have a look. They are definitely the coolest people I’ve ever met. https://www.louisaguinnessgallery.com/artists/31-tim-noble-and-sue-webster/works/
This piece was highly commended, and I really do like it. If I were a wealthy woman, I’d buy it for $6,000 and send it to someone overseas.
I like this chair. When I first saw it, it reminded me of Marcel Duchamp’s Fountain (1917), which is a porcelain urinal signed “R. Mutt.” When I say I want to be an artist, I mean a conceptual artist, so while this piece wasn’t my favourite, it immediately caught my attention. I thought it might be conceptual art.
The artist, Jake Mercury, created this piece and named it “Buller Chair.” I’ll write the description below:
“Referencing a ‘Buller’s drop,’ a process by which a single spore suddenly separates from the gill of a mushroom with tremendous energy, Buller Chair is a work that invokes reflection on impermanence, and the nebulous quality of memory.
By counterpointing mushroom mycelium with steel, and through the use of furniture as a metaphor, the artist invites us to reflect not just on presence, temporality and domestic life, but also our relationships with everyday objects and the ways in which they transcend their material nature.”
I don’t think it’s conceptual art. While it invites us to reflect on our relationships with everyday objects — the chair, in this case — the piece itself isn’t about the chair. And if it were conceptual art, it would be about the chair. But now I feel confused about this, and I’m going to contact the artist to talk more about what it means.
Well, it’s now just after 9:00pm. I’m fasting because I have a blood test in the morning — or at least I hope I’ll be able to take it in the morning, depending on whether the melatonin works again tonight. I’ve also decided I’m going to keep fasting indefinitely until I lose some weight.
It’s been a great day. I cherish the morning — I really do. The Waterhouse Prize exhibition was awesome, and it was lovely to see it with Mum. The only criticism I have is that there wasn’t a lot of colour. I’m going to take my melatonin at 10:00pm tonight and hope it knocks me out.
Fingers crossed!
