Jun 092009
 

This is one of my favourite photos that I have ever taken, though I realise that it is entirely for personal reasons, rather than for any photographic merits (after all, it was taken back in the days of manual focus). It is a picture of my Grandfather’s hands taken on a very happy day; a 51st birthday celebration for my own father, almost twenty years ago.

This was not a surprise party, but my arrival was unexpected, as I had been away from Australia for many years, and it is one of the very few times that I think my family actually pulled off a genuine SURPRISE. Security leaks spoiled any subsequent attempts (although those later celebrations were still fun). However, the operation went smoothly on this occasion, partly because I didn’t tell ANYONE that I was coming home to Australia from France, after 4 straight years abroad.

It was the middle of winter and just a few days later it snowed (I have some shots from that same trip of the Baker family home covered in white, which is unusual in my home town) but on THIS particular day it was just about the most beautiful weather, and so the celebrations took place outside, at tables set up in the garden behind the house that I grew up in.

I was sitting opposite my Grandfather on that day, and couldn’t take my eyes off of his hands, (unless it was to look up at his cheery old noggin) and, happily, I had the presence of mind to snap a photograph of them back then, because seeing those hands had a similar, mesmerising effect on me again, on the day that I re-discovered this photo of them. Almost 20 years after the picture was taken and 10 years since my Grandfather died.

There’s as much history, character and expressiveness in hands as faces, but we don’t often look at them. In fact, I think that hands tell a story that faces do not because, relatively early in our lives, we learn to mask the feelings on our faces, but our hands often show what is really going on inside of us (this is the animator in me talking, now).

These rough old hands, that spent a lifetime working with horses and in rural stables, and their dirty yet somehow delicate fingernails ever-so gently caressing a fancy drinking glass, say so much to me about the many aspects of the lovely man who was behind them.

Mar 282009
 

Last year, during a conversation about the delights of Mexican food (between Rhode, Ted and I), someone hit upon the idea for a TACO TRUCK CRAWL; an epic journey from taco stand to taco stand, in quest of the best Tacos. Many months later, the idea came to fruition, as a group of EIGHT of us, Rhode, Ted, Myself and 4 others (Julia, Sherrie, Elaine, Jeff and Anita) wandered down International Boulevard in Oakland, stuffing our faces every few feet. The entire route was walk-able and cooked up ahead of time by the well-organised mind of the formidable Ted. The milestones along the way, where we all dutifully put food into our necks, were as follows:

1. TACOS ZAMORANO (Taco Truck) The Carnitas at this truck were afterwards voted the best of the entire crawl… however, I can not comment on that assessment, as at this first stop of the day I had me a CARNE ASADA taco, which was a great start to the proceedings.

2. EL GORDO (Taco Truck) Here, I shared a tasty CARNITAS taco with Rhode. We went halves thereafter, in the interests of pacing ourselves. There was a lot of eating yet to be done!

3. EL GRULLO (Taco Truck). This is where I had my favourite taco of the day; a CHORIZO taco, that was a little greasy but very tasty nonetheless. Oh yummy yum.

4. LOS MICHOACANOS (Taco Truck). This place offered hand made tortillas (on weekends, anyway) and also offered BIRRIA (goat) which I tried and enjoyed… The Goat was quickly chased down my throat by a pig… in the shape of an AL PASTOR taco.

4A. CHURROS RELLENOS (Churro Cart). Next, Rhode led us all to his favourite Churro cart. His belief is that a churro needs to be eaten fresh (I have the same opinion when it comes to donuts; cousins to the churro) and this is the place to get a Churro made to order; battered in front of your eyes and then stuffed with the flavouring of your choice. I had never heard of stuffed churros before and was dying to try one but I wanted to hold off on the sweets until I had eaten my fill of tacos first. Ted was of the same mind, and so we high-tailed it away from that Churro cart, lest we would be tempted to break our steely resolve.

5. MI GRULENSE (Taco Truck). At the next truck, Elaine, the last member of the crawl-crew, finally showed up just as I was ordering a BUCHE taco, which was my least favourite edible consumed that day. I found out later that Buche is Pig Esophagus… And it actually tasted just as unappetising as that sounds…

6. EL OJO DE AGUA (Torta Truck). This place had a huge selection of TORTAS and also some tasty AGUA FRESCAS. A chicken, bacon, avocado and ham Torta (shared with my fellow crawlers) and a mango Agua Fresca both did their part to reboot my palette after it was crashed by some malware installed by the deadly Buche.

At this point, the crawl-crew split up. Elaine was interested in the Goat taco experience which we had partaken of before she showed up. Ted and I were now ready to have some CHURROS…. Oh yes, indeed we were. So a group of churro eaters set off for the Churro cart as Rhode took Elaine back to Los Michoacanos, in quest of the Goat Taco.

7. CHURROS RELLENOS (Churro Cart). Fortified by my share of the huge Torta, I was now ready for some sweets. I bought one of each of the stuffed Churros on offer at the magic wagon I had seen earlier; VANILLA, CHOCOLATE, CARAMEL, STRAWBERRY and one good old PLAIN (unstuffed) Churro…. They were all good but, in my opinion, the Vanilla was the best of the flavours. Tears of joy flowed freely as I chewed on that healing Vanilla Churro. Sniff… I shared my bounty with the rest of the CHURRO AWAY TEAM as we headed back to rendezvous with the GOAT TACO AWAY TEAM.

7A. LOS MICHOACANOS (Taco Truck). Elaine was enjoying her goat taco (as I knew she would) when the rest of us showed up with the sweets. This would not be the first time (or even the last time) on our mission, that people who were already complaining of being “full” reached over for something else to stuff in their neck-holes, double-handed. After some reflection, we realised that we needed a place to sit, unwind and drink….

8. LA PIñATA (Restaurant). This fine restaurant in nearby Alameda was crowded when we showed up at day’s end. Thankfully, we found a table out in back of the huge, maze-like place. We ordered some drinks and some bacon/shrimp guacamole and proceeded to amaze ourselves by guzzling it all, even though we all were quite full when we sat down. Thereafter, conversations flowed about such diverse subjects as naked clowns, super heroes, Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids and other such nonsense…

At the beginning of the day, some of us knew each-other well, some of us knew each-other only via the internet and some didn’t even know each-other at all but by the end of a punishing day’s worth of eating and laughing, we had all bonded, as anyone on a grueling, yet rewarding, mission is likely to do. Crawl-Crew Unite!

Thanks to my fellow crawlers for their photos (my camera battery died after the first truck).

Mar 172009
 

There has been a meme going around the Facebook community whereby people write an autobiographical list of 25 factoids about themselves. Mine took a while to type (I am both a windbag and a very slow typist) so I thought I may as well post it here too, for posterity:

1. I have been on the fence about doing this 25 THINGS thing… First, I was going to ignore it, then planned to make up 25 facetious things, but in the end just decided to do it. That internal mental tussle between different options, that ends in doing nothing new at all, is the state of my mind at any given time; passionately ambivalent about most things. The wheels are spinning constantly but forward progress (if there is any) is slow.

2. I am the first member of my family (on either side) to be born outside of Australia for 4 generations, which is very rare down there, where most people have shown up rather recently. I alone was born in Scotland. My parents met at university and had moved to Edinburgh while my dad was completing his studies and, once he was done, they moved back to Australia where the rest of my siblings were born.

3. As far as I know, even though my family has been in Australia for quite some time, there is no convict in my ancestry. This has supposedly been verified on my father’s side; a point of pride for my dad but actually a great disappointment to me… I haven’t given up hope that a long hidden cut-purse or pick-pocket will someday fall out of my mother’s side of the family tree if I shake it hard enough.

4. My earliest memories are from growing up in Tasmania, some from possibly as far back as 2 years old but it is hard to date them because there is nothing in the memories to place them into a time-line. The first memory that CAN be positively dated is of my baby sister Rachel, from when I was 3 years old, because she died when I was 3 and a half. I remember that day too. My father and I are the only two people left in my family who have any memories of her. If she had lived she would have been 42 now.

5. Most men have experienced a time in their childhood when they felt bullet proof. I never had this feeling myself. Although I feel childish now as an adult, back when I actually WAS a child, I felt like a feeble old man. Water terrified me back then, probably due to an episode when I was kick-boarding in the sea at around the age of 5. When the kick-board was flicked out of my hands by a wave, I went from misplaced confidence to abject terror within two gulpings of sea water. Thankfully, my dad spotted me going under and was able dive in and fish me out in time. Consequently, I didn’t learn to swim until I was about 17. That is very rare in Australia where your typical kid can swim almost from birth.

6. I look atrocious in a Speedo.

7. Many years later, when living in Japan, I was at the most crowded beach I had ever seen in my life; an absolute sea of humanity covered the sand. I went up onto the heads for a better view from which to take a photo of the crowd (otherwise nobody would believe such a scene back in Australia). Just below me, a group of little kids was out in the deep water with kick-boards. No sooner was I reminded of the day that I lost my own kick-board many years before…. than one of the kids was caught in the backwash of a wave coming off the rocks, lost her kick-board and went under the water. She was a long way from shore and the life-guards. So, without pausing to take off my shoes and clothes, I jumped in and grabbed her. It was impossible to clamber back up the vertical rocks, so I swam for the shore, which was hard going due to the extra weight of my sodden clothes. Anyway, I got her to safety. This is one of my proudest achievements, certainly the one where my presence on planet Earth made the most difference to someone else.

8. I am not sure who is the more cruel; Father Time or Mother Nature.

9. I have a wine coloured birthmark on my back that I didn’t even know about for years, because it is in my blind spot and nobody had told me about it. I got quite a fright when I saw it in a mirror for the first time, as a self-conscious teenager.

10. My role as the eldest child was to flush out all my parents’ bad genes to spare my siblings from asthma, excema, allergies, high blood pressure and who knows what else… I’ll probably be bald in a year or two whereas all my 4 brothers have hair thicker than coonskin caps. Despite all that, I have very good eyesight and excellent teeth. At least, I did last time that I checked… I haven’t been to the dentist since 1997 nor the doctor since 1998. I don’t like medicos and their negative trip; “you have high cholesterol” “you have an enlarged prostate” blah, blah, blah…

11. I am agnostic about everything I can think of. When other people emphatically state anything with absolute certainty it mystifies and even annoys me… However, I must confess that I am a bit jealous of the self-righteousness that must be the dividend of their dogma investment.

12. As a small child, I used to believe that we all went to some “real” place when we dreamed. According to my childhood cosmology, if you saw someone in a dream it was because both of your minds had actually met each-other in some fantastic dream-place, a sort of sleepy-time heaven. I now realise that this is utter bollocks but I still like the idea anyway. Sadly, I rarely remember dreams any more. Maybe only twice a year. I’ve always had trouble getting to sleep, and once I have gotten there, also have great difficulty in waking up. Despite (or perhaps because of) those two facts, sleeping is one of my favourite things to do. Also, perhaps related to this lifetime of sleep deprivation, I have a really bad case of Yoda-eyes.

13. Speaking of him; Star Wars changed my life. The Phantom Menace changed it back again.

14. I can tolerate more than the average amount of filth and chaos in my apartment, or my work space, but I like the emotional spaces I inhabit to be minimalist; tidy and free of clutter. I have a hard time dealing mixed feelings or divided loyalties… which is something I need to work on. I am only just realising that life is about achieving a balance between opposites rather than purging one for choosing the other.

15. Anyone who says that I have a fear of emotional commitment clearly has not seen me hold a grudge; till death do us part.

16. I have definitely been in love at least once- either that or it was Stockholm Syndrome- and it is probably true what they say; that true-love never dies, but what they don’t tell you is that the permanence is actually the worst thing about it.

17. Drawing was an escape for me when as a kid. Sadly, I’ve lost that aspect of it now that it’s a job that I get paid to do but my fondness for both it and animation (which I’ve had as long as I can remember) has not diminished even after working in the industry since the age of 17. If I wasn’t working in Animation who knows what I would do…. My current outlet for personal expression, outside of my professional work, is making comics in my spare time… which combines a love for drawing with a recently discovered interest in telling stories. The problem I am dealing with now is reconciling the desire to say something with the fact that I have nothing very original to say… which leads to a curious blend of feeling both full and empty at the same time. But Auden said: “Art is clear thinking about mixed feelings.” so maybe there is some fuel for material there after all…

18. There is so much focus on winning in our culture; stories about winners and how to be one… but it is the stories about losing and losers themselves that I am drawn to. I think that it is funny when we call other people “loser” as an insult. By definition, there is only one winner in any event, which makes all the rest of us losers. I learned to identify with being a loser years ago and I have a lot more peace of mind now because of it.

19. I have done hardly any traveling in my home country but way more than my fair share elsewhere in the world. I lived out of a backpack for about 5 years straight, during which time I travelled throughout Asia (while working over there in various animation studios) and also explored both North and South America and did a bit of looking around Europe. I still have a mental image of myself as some global hobo, but the sad fact is that I am fairly sedentary these days. I still have some adventures that I want to go on, so I may strap that backpack on again sometime soon….

20. During a backpacking adventure trip through South America, myself and my childhood pal Peter narrowly avoided jail time when we discovered that some rat-bags had been smuggling drugs under our seats. After our intercity bus had passed the security checkpoint outside Lima, searched from end to end by fierce-looking guards bristling with weaponry, the two shady characters sitting behind us pulled about 8 bags of coke (or heroin or god knows what) out from slits under OUR seat cushions, flashing the two gringo patsies some shit-eating grins as they left. By the time we figured out what had actually gone down, they were off the bus… It was a sobering moment when we realised what would have happened had the guards found the stuff… I would be Facebooking now from a Peruvian prison.

21. My palate can only hear foods when the volume is turned UP; Indian, Thai, Hunan… and some of my best friends are carbohydrates. The smell of baking bread, or any pastry, is irresistible to me.

22. I’m a late starter and slow bloomer in just about everything. I still cannot drive. I am not at all acquisitive; by the time I buy the “latest thing” it is already old news. I don’t own much and the stuff do I own I’ll keep for years. While working in LA a few years ago, a friend referred to me as an “LA quadriplegic” because I didn’t drive or have a celphone. When my old analog TV dies, after the switch to all digital broadcasting happens, I probably wont buy a replacement.

23. Though raised in a rural area, I am a city person at heart. Sure, cities are the orifices of the planet and disgusting sometimes… but orifices are the places where you have the most fun.

24. I have never understood poetry. I know that is a deficiency in me. I like the use of the word, as in ” that movie was poetic” but, although I enjoy lyrical, poetic qualities in many other things, I cannot connect with the real thing at all. Poetry always seems like a song that is missing the music, to me.

25. Being ironic was once the way to go; I looked up to people who always ” took the piss” and could see through hypocrisy, the manipulations of the media and whatnot. That approach still has its place… but after I realised that detachment is my natural state anyway, and that I need something in opposition to my over-active Bullshit-Detector to achieve some balance in life, I am now grateful for those rare books, artworks, music, experiences and people that burn away the fog of sarcasm once in a while, and allow me to truly feel something.

Feb 142009
 

When Friday the 13th falls the day before Valentine’s Day it seems like an omen… but of what? NOT to be dating perhaps? On a weekend where supernatural serial killers traditionally stalk the streets (well, the movie theatres anyway) maybe your romantic candlelight dinner will be the prolog of a horror movie? Perhaps it is safer to stay at home? At the very least, its a good excuse to reflect on the darker and creepier side of love.

To wit; when someone that you can’t imagine ever living without then becomes someone you can’t even stand the very sight of… well, how does that happen?

It is said that Love never dies which sounds beautiful but let’s not forget that the un-dead are the baddies in Friday the 13th stories… Is love a ZOMBIE? Aren’t we supposed to shoot zombies with shotguns and set them on fire? Verily,Love is a battle field

If it is true that Love doesn’t die, then where does it go? For it certainly leaves sometimes… and when Love moves out, Hate can be the tenant moving in to replace it… An old pop song said; It’s a thin line between Love and Hate as if they are neighboring tenants in a shabby building… acknowledging the close relationship but keeping them separate…. But is one actually the secret-identity of the other?… Perhaps Love puts on new clothes… and just turns into Hate? Have you ever seen Jekyll and Hyde in the same room?

For all the movies, poems, novels, fairy tales and pop songs about the Power of Love, it is frail and easily turned to jealousy or even full-blown hatred. How often is the reverse the case? Does Hate EVER become Love? Not only is Hate easier to maintain than Love, it also seems to be easier to pass on to others, more communicable. It is both hereditary and contagious in a way that Love is not. Think of those places in the world where hatred of the neighbors, or an ethnic group, has been handed down from generation to generation… now try to think of a place on planet Earth where a deep and abiding Love of a nearby people is spread 2nd and 3rd hand in the same way…. I can think of no such place…

Which is not to advocate Hate but to point out that it takes effort to protect Love. We speak of FALLING in Love— as if it is an involuntary event— yet it takes a LEAP, an action of the will, to keep it going.

In Friday the 13th terms, love needs constant medical attention if it is not to mutate into a zombie. We must give it the serum every day. Or, to use an analogy more in keeping with the symbolism of Valentine’s Day, Love is often accompanied by, and compared to, flowers, so it seems natural to see Hate as weeds; Flowers need to be coddled in order to thrive, whereas weeds need no help to flourish. Likewise, Hate does very well with no encouragement whatsoever while Love needs constant attention if it is not to wither.

A final thought: The initials for Valentine’s Day Are VD… what does THAT signify?

Jul 152008
 

On this very day, July 15th, 1986 (which ALSO fell on a Tuesday) I left Australia for what I thought would be a six month trip through Asia. I had saved for the trip for years but a fall in the Australian dollar while I was trying to amass travel funds meant that I didn’t have much spending power. In fact, it would have been better had I left a year earlier with less dollars but at a higher value. In frustration, I sold all my stuff and gave up my flat in Sydney just to be able to afford to go at all.

But because of a series of adventures, happy accidents and connections made along the way, and the fact that I hadn’t left any entanglements back in Sydney to draw me back, I wound up getting work in various countries, which enabled me to extend my trip, and here I am, 22 years later, still abroad, meaning that I have now lived exactly half of my life away from my native land.

Funnily enough, I have yet to do a few of the things I had planned when I left home all those years ago. My original plan was to visit Japan and then go to China and ride the Trans-Siberian express into Europe, find some work in London (as most Australians do in their youth) and then head home. But although I got as far as Japan and China, I never rode the Trans-Siberian.

Along the way my plans changed, and I ended up staying in Asia for 3 straight years, using the money made from working in various animation studios throughout Asia to finance wanderings around the region. After that, I came to the USA to visit friends who I had met in Asia, and then I travelled around both North and South America.

I worked in France for a year and did some travelling in Europe, but by that stage my wandering feet were getting tired and I wanted to stay in one place for a while. Thankfully I was given a job-offer to move to San Francisco and I have been living in this great city pretty much ever since.

Now I am feeling somewhat restless again… For sometime now I have been thinking that it might be time for some kind of a change, although I don’t know what it should be. Maybe I should actually complete my original travel plan by riding the Trans-Siberian express from Europe into Asia and then back home to Australia…

Mar 012008
 
A long way away from wherever it is that you live right now, there once was a tiny little cottage at the end of a long and winding trail, deep inside a forest of tall and tangled trees.
Inside this cottage there lived a family of misfit bears. There was an enormous polar bear, a gigantic grizzly bear, a huge black bear, and even a teeny tiny Koala bear.
As everybody who knows anything about bears will tell you, koalas aren’t REAL bears. This koala was even less real-er than the others, for it was actually a little girl. Though not a real bear, the little girl had many excellent bear-like qualities.

She could dance just like a real dancing-bear. She could wrestle just like a real wrestling-bear. Also she was cranky when she woke up in the mornings, just like a real bear!
But best of all, like any real bear, she liked bear-hugs. The bears would hug her right back, though not at full bear-strength (they didn’t want to break her). Those bears loved the little girl as much as if she was a real little bear.
Even though she always cheated at cards.
The little girl felt more at home with those bears than she’d ever felt before and she enjoyed playing with them all year long.
Then one day, the first fall of snow painted the forest in white and announced to the world that winter was beginning.
The bears began to yawn. As everybody who knows anything about bears will tell you, bears sleep ALL through the winter.
The little girl did not feel sleepy. As everybody who knows anything about little girls will tell you, they DON’T sleep all through winter (unless it is night time, of course). The bears worried that the little girl would be lonely while they slept all winter.
So before they went to sleep, the bears gave her a present. They said “We will be asleep for a while. You may feel a lack of bear in your life. Open this if you feel lonely before we wake up.”
The bears each carefully hugged the little girl good night, and then they all went to sleep. As soon as they were snoring, the little girl felt terribly alone.
The little girl opened her present. It was a TEDDY BEAR. As everybody who knows anything about teddy bears will tell you, teddy bears have many excellent bear-like qualities, but they aren’t real bears.
Teddy Bears don’t need to sleep all winter (in fact they don’t sleep at all). So the teddy bear could keep the little girl company until the other bears woke up in the spring.
And best of all, teddy bears like bear-hugs. The little girl loved that teddy bear as much as if he were a real little bear.
Even though he always cheated at cards.
Feb 082008
 

On my trip back home to Australia I had many chances to reminisce with old friends and family members about childhood memories. Disturbingly, I discovered on more than one occasion that my memories were inaccurate.

One happy childhood memory concerns my favourite children’s book, THE MAGIC PUDDING. I remember being very young and my Dad reading to me from this book over the course of a few nights just before I went to sleep. In my memory he is sitting on the edge of my bed doing all the voices of the characters as he reads. At the end of each chapter he snaps the book closed, saying that the rest will have to be read NEXT time, and I eagerly look forward to the next instalment. This happy memory is one of the many reasons that I love the book. The only problem is that it didn’t happen.

I found out this past Christmas that my Dad has never even read the Magic Pudding. He was quite adamant about it. I could easily absorb the idea that he may have forgotten reading the book to me, after all he had seven children, but it is harder to ignore the fact that he has no memory of reading the most famous Australian children’s book that there is.

Where did this memory come from? Did someone ELSE read the book to me and I somehow confused them with my own Dad (unlikely) Or did I make the memory up myself? If that is true how many of my other memories are fictions? Not being able to trust your memories of your own life is a very disturbing sensation…

Nov 012007
 

Often, when I buy a big hard-cover sketchbook, I’m intimidated to even draw in it at all. Instead, I do most of my drawing on scraps of paper, and glue these into the sketchbook, using it more like a scrap book. I buy sketchbooks with the intention of drawing from life but instead I mostly fill them with doodles, things drawn from out of my head.

When it comes to drawing realism, I have always admired people I have worked with who can pull plausible images out of their minds without resorting to reference. Even when the subject matter isn’t some fantasy-land or goof-ball cartoon, I enjoy seeing a personal stylisation that informs drawings of the “real” world. I think that has made me want to be capable of the same. But I realise that part of the reason that people can draw from memory or imagination is that is that they have spent the time puting images INTO their heads first.

I can be sloppy about using reference too… Though not always out of pure laziness. I have learned that I draw better caricatures from memory than I do from looking at a photograph directly. Memory seems to record a shorthand record of a person’s dominant features and attitudes; a good place to start in doing a caricature. Seeing myself as a cartoonist rather than an artist gives me a bit more licence to exaggerate and fudge the details…


I suppose that the reason I started drawing in the first place was that it was a form of escapism. It wasn’t about representing reality but coming up with an alternative. Anyway, as much as I enjoy doodling from my imagination, I have been thinking that I need to more often feed it it with some reality; life drawing or sketching from life, or even copying images from books and magazines, is something that I need to do more of… in order to find that balance of personal style and plausiblity.