I make myself laugh. Re-reading last night’s post where I suggested the judge in Sydney might come to my art exhibition out of curiosity. He absolutely would not. To suggest otherwise would be totally delusional. The only reason he would even know my name is because I wrote him that insane letter.
The paintings of Lady Justice are an idea I’ve had for a while, but I’m going to shelve them. Firstly because I can’t paint, and more importantly because I don’t want to go down that rabbit hole again and again. This judge issue hasn’t been a day-to-day problem slowly eroding my life and sanity; it’s more cyclical. I always seem to cycle back to it.
I think this time it’s because I put together the book of oaths for the Chief Justice and then wrote to him again, telling him how much he inspires me and how much I like him. The fact that he didn’t respond brought back how vulnerable I felt after I wrote that absolutely crazy letter to the judge in Sydney. I felt incredibly exposed, as though I’d made a huge mistake that I couldn’t take back. I should also clarify that I didn’t give the Chief Justice the opportunity to respond. I don’t know whether he would have, but I think I would have preferred his feedback to not knowing what he thought of the oaths.
I’m not going to let this madness repeat itself again though. Every time this happens, the intensity is less than the last time, and hopefully this really is the last time.
I think if I don’t want to feel vulnerable because of a judge, then I need to stop writing weird letters to them. And if I don’t want to keep going down the judge rabbit hole as a way of escaping reality every time my life gets hard, then I need to find something else I like.
So no more judges, letters, oaths, Lady Justice, or anything to do with the law. There is so much more to life than this bullshit. I even ended up with a criminal conviction because of my inability to face a judge in court — and yet there I was again, writing two overly familiar, audacious letters to the Chief Justice.
As well as being sick of judges, I am also sick of being fat. As for that, I’m going to continue aggressively getting rid of it, and hopefully by my birthday on 16 August I’ll feel a lot better about myself. I became fat years ago due to genuine circumstances outside my control, and it has been very hard to drop. I am really fat — badly so — and I’ve made the decision that I’m going to lose weight and get fit because I think my life will be better if I’m not fat. I don’t need to be stick-thin, just a healthy weight.
The other thing is, I’m sick of saying what I’m going to do. I’m just going to do it. A little less conversation, a little more action, as Elvis Presley would say.
I had the most bizarre phone conversation with my brother on Friday night. When I saw his number come up on WhatsApp, I almost didn’t answer. That’s because he’s usually so aggressive and is always having a go at me about something. After we talk, I almost always hang up the phone feeling bad about myself, or about the world in general.
But on Friday night, he wasn’t calling for his usual doom and gloom. He first asked me whether I still did origami — specifically paper cranes and origami aliens. I said that I did, but that I’d cooled it significantly, as I think I’ve done so much of it over the years that I’ve started to give myself arthritis or carpal tunnel.
He then went on to say that he thought I should start up an origami business. While he was on the phone to me, he used Google Gemini to mock up a design: a white frame divided into squares, with a different origami design in each one. He made a few variations — some featuring ocean creatures like origami whales and turtles, and others with safari animals such as origami lions and elephants.
They looked kind of cool. But then I went on to tell my brother that origami designs are actually regulated by copyright law. Traditional designs are generally free for anyone to use commercially — things like cranes and some flowers. But modern origami designs, like my favourite alien, which were created by individual artists, are protected by copyright and can’t be used commercially without the designer’s permission. And honestly, what designer would give a random person permission to use their work to make money?
Eric, my brother, said I was wrong about that and that I didn’t need to worry about the legal side of things, he said he’d get his lawyer to take care of it. He then suggested I should have all the origami manufactured and the whole thing done somewhere like China.
I recently ordered 1,000 miniature coffins to be fabricated from Alibaba for a project I’m working on, and I don’t feel bad about that, because the work is about repetition and uniformity. I’m also going to spend considerable time modifying the coffins — gilding and painting them — so it’s not as though I won’t be putting any work into them. In that context, outsourcing the manufacturing almost makes sense.
But with this origami idea, it doesn’t feel right to have it mass-produced. The whole point of origami is the love and effort that goes into folding each piece individually.
Aside from all of that, I have no idea why my brother is so enthusiastically trying to convince me to start an origami business. With the plan he has in mind, he could just do it himself if he wants to have it manufactured. He said to me that I could sell one of these framed pieces — with origami animals or fish or whatever arranged in squares — for $99.
I said to him that it all depends on how you want to do it. You could put together a mass-produced piece of origami artwork and sell it for $99. Or you could put a little more heart into it, hang it in a gallery, and sell it for $10,000. He said he preferred his idea, because I could make more money by selling as many of the $99 pieces as I wanted.
I would never go ahead with the origami art proposal my brother has put to me. He wants me to start working on it with him this week, but I have no interest in it at all. I don’t think my coffin project will damage my reputation as an artist, because I’m transparent about the fact that I didn’t physically make the coffins — I’m modifying them through other means.
But you can’t justify mass-producing origami like that. You just can’t. And I’m not putting my name to it. It’s cheap and nasty. I also find it amusing that my brother thinks he knows everything about origami, and about art in general. I’m equally surprised that he thinks he can outsmart copyright law when it comes to origami designs.
The truth is, though, that I’m probably going to have to let him down gently about this.
I was talking to Maiki about this later that night, and he said he thought it was a good thing — that my brother was, in a roundabout way, saying I was capable of producing this artwork. But I disagree. He wasn’t saying that at all. What he was really saying was: have this artwork mass-produced, hawk it on some website, and then call yourself an artist.
Eric has believed in my abilities before. Like my dad, he always thought I should be a writer. He encouraged me for years and then eventually gave up. I think he’s starting to come around to the idea of me being a mature-age student and an artist, but this proposal was simply insulting.
The flip side of the whole thing, though, is that he’s probably just trying to get some ideas going about how I could generate an income. That’s something I really do need to start thinking about — and quickly. But I also have to weigh that up against other priorities, so it isn’t as simple as just going out and getting a job.
One thing I’ve seriously considered is applying for a grant from Creative Australia. And while I’ve been talking about being a mature-age student and artist, my thirst for the written word has resurfaced — although I wouldn’t tell anyone, because I don’t like the pressure my brother and mother would put on me to finish a book.
The novel I have set in Cambodia, a light adventure romance, would actually be perfect for a $50,000 writing grant. I could take another trip to Cambodia for research, have enough money to survive for a while, and help Mum out as well. I also think that if I received a grant, it would keep me accountable — I would write rather than procrastinate. That’s one idea.
The other idea is that I’m still waiting to hear about my dream job in the state government. I’ve submitted my application and spoken to the contact person twice. About two weeks ago, she told me they were one to two weeks away from shortlisting candidates. She also said that if I don’t hear from them, that’s a good sign, as they’ll be notifying candidates who aren’t suitable.
When I first saw this job, I wanted it so badly — and I still do. I know there are multiple roles, the hours are flexible, and it’s exactly the space I want to be in. It’s all I talk about with Mum: if I get an interview, if I get the job, what I’ll say, what I’ll do. Mum has warned me about going over the top in interviews, which she says I tend to do in many aspects of my life.
I still haven’t heard from them, and if I do — and if I get the job — I think I’d go part-time at university so I could earn a bit more money. I’d study part-time for two years and then finish the degree over another two. But I don’t want the job quite as much as I initially did. Maybe I’d be better off getting a grant and focusing on creative work instead.
I’ve already bought a couple of new outfits in anticipation of an interview, but I genuinely mean it when I say that if I don’t get this job, it’s not the end of the world.
At the moment it’s 9:27am on Sunday morning. I don’t usually write at this time, but I wrote some of this early this morning. I stayed awake all night because I had my volunteer calls at 7:30am.
I’m feeling that electric current I get when I’m inspired to write, so I think after I’ve had some sleep this morning, I’m going to sit down and start mapping out my book. It’s called Under the Lotus Plants, which is a biblical reference, but one that’s woven throughout the story.
My calls were good this morning. I speak to the same people every week, and I’ve really developed strong relationships with them. I used to get given extra calls alongside my regulars, but they don’t give me any more these days. I think that’s because I tend to have such long conversations with the clients.
I usually just let the clients talk, but I was feeling particularly chatty this morning, so I told one lady that my brother and his family are coming to Adelaide from London for Easter. I told her all about my niece and nephew, and then I realised I was talking at her rather than to her. I apologised for talking so much, and she said, “No, no — thank you, I like it.” She told me that all the other callers she gets in the mornings don’t really talk to her, and that I’m the only one who chats.
A couple of other clients I speak to have said similar things, that other callers don’t talk to them. So I’m not really sure where I’m supposed to draw the line. But no one has said anything to me, so I’m not going to change my approach.
There’s another lady I often have longer chats with, and this morning I asked her whether she’d travelled much in her life. She said she’d been to Sydney and Canberra, and around South Australia, places like Mount Gambier and Coober Pedy. She’d never been overseas, but she didn’t seem fazed by that at all.
That’s the dream right there: to be happy with what you’ve got, what you can afford, and what’s possible. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to afford to travel the world the way I want to. But even if I never left the country again, I can honestly say I’d die a happy woman. I’ve been to Antarctica, Tanzania, Cambodia, Vietnam, and Fiji. I’ve also travelled around Australia, and talking to this beautiful woman this morning made me realise just how lucky I really am.
