Bringing it all together

This is the house

This is the malt that lay in the house

This is the roof hungover the malt that lay in the house

This is the stairs sat under the roof hungover the malt that lay in the house

that Jack built

This is the man who had the plan who married the girl who built the walls who worked all day who drove all night who finished the house that

Jack built

This is the girl who had the plan who married the man who built the pipes who worked all day who drove all night who finished the house that

Jack built

KF

Life is a fairy tale.  Bringing it all together is satisfying. Working on a shared dream and vision brings out the artist in us all.  A full rich life doing the thing you love the most for as long as you want to is it. K

Like sand through...

...the hourglass.  We're stuck in traffic on the bridge over The Ganges River in Varanasi... for over 2 hours we're part of this metal crush of horns and screeching bikes.  There's people everywhere, like nothing else we've seen ever.

Thoughts cross your mind... we think nothing, then we get impatient, frustrated, then back to nothing, check in on the time, still nothing, get impatient again, frustrated... again and again.  Finally, we make a decision and we bail out of the taxi and join the queue on foot.  For nothing other than the fact we're actually doing something about the state we've found ourselves in here on this bridge.  Looking down, it's a long way to the dirty water and I don't know how strong these pylons are into the ground.  We head out on foot for our 3.5km walk back to our hotel.

We see a lot along the way... I think this is life changing actually.  I know it's gonna be hard but we're moving.  We try both sides of the bridge, at first moving with the flow of the crowd, till we're stopped by  a wave of motorbikes coming our way.  We cross over, hopping over tow bars and squeezing between tuk tuks and cars, and busses... who drives things that size in this place. At the end of the bridge, there's a rubbish dump running down to the river and a cow chewing on something in a plastic bag.  The smell is terrible... bit like cow sht, but dusty.  There's pot holes everywhere, roads crumbling away and wheels hanging off the edge as if they don't value their safety at all... and in this position, we do the same.

Further along, we see stall holders sitting in puddles of mud, shoes strewn beside pots of boiling grotty water and plastic bags full of deep fried everything... at least they're wrapped.  Theres kids, old people, families all trying to get across the bridge and no one gives an inch... and yet they're calm.  Some even wave at us and the eyes we meet share an understanding... we've been here too.

It's mind blowing this walk... it's as if we cannot have ever imagined ourselves in this situation from our couch.  Between dodging puddles and protecting my toes, we talk about this... how to travel the way we want to, even when you can't go anywhere... it's pretty inspiring.  We ring the tour guide to opt out of the fire show that night, there's no way we can get back across this bridge... Don't worry he says, I've found another way, we'll pick you up in an hour.  Another driver picks us up... the first is still stuck somewhere in town, and we drive through this village to the riverbank to board a boat.  The flat sandy plains of the Ganges eek out in front of us and he waves the boat driver over.  As he approaches, he cannot pull into shore and we need to walk out.  I've read this, that it's like holy water in this river... well to them it is I guess but to me it's kinda gross.  The guide takes his shoes off, rolls his jeans up to his knees.  Brendan does the same.  I slip my jandals off, tuck my dress up and he offers me a piggy back.  The old me would've said yep, I'll take it thanks.  "no" I said "thanks but if you're going in there, I will too" and off we go.  Water laps over our knees... and ashes, presumably from the mornings cremations.  But it's ok.

Very nasty

I can't tell very

Sometimes 

Nice

Traveling has filled this restlessness in me.  To see life in such unique and diverse ways is pretty epic.  We're off to South East Asia in a couple of weeks... and that will be very nice. K

Days of our Lives

There we were on the beach, dreaming as usual. New York seemed impossible until it wasn't.  We took a little Flight of Fancy to get there and happily, we walked Times Square.  It was always this mystical place I'd dreamt of for like ever... till it became this big noisy city we've seen.  Like snow in the subway, these are the days of our lives...

Elegant streak

unzipped

Take a peak

There's something I forgot to tell you...

One mere sniff of gold in this place is enticing enough to boil over the pot and scream 'fire in the hole', while dunking another shot from the mountain goat.  On the way up high, the stairs'll trip you up at any turn, leaving just enough room for you to catch your breath and have another puff.  This magic town echo's so much, it voids tickets in the shape of fish and swings marshmallows from over chimney tops head... allowing a monstrous sized bomb to explode inside... if you've got the guts.  I have to say, I love it here now, made more enjoyable by our absence from the role.  Another party favour from the traveler on the loose... take 2 with food.  And swallow. K

Note to self... keep going.  More of the good stuff.  Enjoy the ride. K

A spirit leaves

I know what to say

Theres a well up ahead

Take me there now

Not right here instead...

I close my eyes and wonder where you're walking to right now

Is it light I want to know I need to ask you how

Imagine you are back with us you'd see your body still

Maybe there's a want in there but not a bloody will

It's gone a little quiet now I need to hear your voice

Your little cough assures me it never was your choice

Stop... I understand it now, you had to swing my way

To leave us all behind you knew you had to go today

Well I'm not very happy with this choice we didn't make

We have to come together for just every bodies sake

Punching in the numbers in my phone I had to break

Some news I'd rather turn around and throw into the lake

I'm going to take you with me if you'll only stick around

There ain't no way we'll ever leave you lonely underground

Your smile will return someday a younger looking face

It's there for you to wear again... well you know, just in case

I know what to say

There's a well up ahead

Take me there now

Not right here instead

KF

A very difficult poem to write.  And I have acknowledged it.  It's incredibly difficult to see a parent sick, even harder to see them go.  I'm proud of how it has brought us all together.  I'm proud of how we've all coped.  I was told by a friend to give ourselves time to get through this.  Time, it's a precious thing. K

What a star

I've spent hours in galleries pondering... and hours in my gallery while others ponder.  I don't like sitting still.  I don't like being centre stage.  I don't like talking about my art while I'm trying to sell it. I think it pays to be honest with yourself.  Do what suits you, what works for you and what sits right.  Everything is food for thought, to be chewed up and spat out.  When my brains not traveling it's busy eating itself... 

Ears pricked up and on alert.  Filling in space so delicate it shatters it's own record.  A filter of light...

A powerful thunder from the devils throat... standing in awe of the sound.  Buying another...

A sketch so clammy on the high seas... leaning over to take one for the team.  Journey on...

A true blue from the palette of Professor Peacock and Miss Scarlet.  Shining in the wonder hall...

Drizzling in smoke, pants on fire, a breath of fresh air... what Popeye would cough up from sea...

A mouthful of mist, chewed up and spat at from every wise bud on tongues floor...

A kind of mesh, not sure if it's coming or going.  Slipping in from the outer nether regions of stars eye...

An icy surprise on grass so green it lends ink to the mint for refinement...

What a star... somewhere between super and duper... sprinkling everywhere, sparking another flame, chewing through blue like butter through knife, chop chop. K

Everything is inspiration to me... everything. 

Dam, well... spill

Back to the shore, where the waves roll in

Back to the gentle winds, of warm tropical lands

Rarotonga is calling

The drums are gently beating

Warm smoke lingers in the trees

and the day passes without a care

The gentle waves roll in, as they crash on the outer reef

The sand is moving sideways

and tiny hermit crabs are running

The wind rushes through nearby trees

Dancing through the fronds

Changing tempo as it ducks and weaves its

way around the leaves

The gentle way of life we need awaits us from the shore

It won't be long, we will be back

To enjoy the shore some more

KF

Walking around Edgewater Resort in Rarotonga amongst our artwork was truly magical.  Hanging just above reception is the first of many paintings we sent over for our commission.   One painting for every island in the Cook Islands. Such a learning experience and we found our artwork all over the resort... from the day spa to the conference room, it was a pleasure to be part of their story. K

Sing me a picture

My brain is singing a quiet tune, today it's soft and mellow

A quiet peaceful thoughtful tale of yesterdays tomorrow

Up the tempo, turn up the sound, I feel like I'm exploding

Got to get those beats out or my brain'll start imploding

Paint a beat and paint a note, streak music across the board

I find it from my catalogue, which in my head I hoard

Listen even with no sound, there's music in every place

It's taking up... each and every... little bit of space

I must go back to sing my song, quietly with brush in hand

And see those little drops of paint, and see just where they land

Each one must tell a little tale, a little part of us

A little part of journeys had, all crammed inside the bus

The music in the art we see, it never sleeps or rests

What music we ourselves must hear, well that is ours to test

KF

I grew up with music, a lot of classical music, and a lot of comedy.  Dad was always so passionate about anything he was listening to at the time... and I loved winding him up about rap or heavy metal.  Just seeing his reaction was amusing and he'd almost be exploding with opinions.  I think I inherited this trait for sure, as I got older I would love to study different music and genres.  I've always thought of writing poetry as writing songs, with a certain rhythm you can expand on words, round them out and keep the flow going.  Same thing with painting, but in a different way.  

I had to explore this, and I started thinking of paintings as songs, the exhibition an album.  Not an original idea by any means, I'm sure others have thought the same.  But by listening and channeling ideas through my brain while painting, subconsciously creates an interesting and often totally random result I'd never be able to plan, or replicate.  Bit like flooding your mind to dam, well... spill.  And spill it did. K

The Deep Water

She goes everywhere when she dreams... in a quiet lounge, on the plane, at the shops, she goes everywhere.  Sometimes she paints a thread of light, sometimes she paints nothing at all.  Why do people do that, she wonders.  Why do they feel the need to do that.  She paints another moon, or is it a liquid sun... time will tell...

And this place she goes, and she does go there, is raging and calm.  At the falls, she stands close to the edge.  She reaches out to find his hand there as always.  Standing free to absorb the wind, he lets her have her moment.  She loves the feel of his palm in hers.  It feels safe...

She feels the sea dripping lush thoughts into her every pore.  She feels him there.  What a day, she's part of a team now, and it matters what she does.  It really matters...

The wire.  It's hard to balance up here, he reaches his hand, steadies her shadow, and not looking down, she walks his line.  Another circus, a golden touch, she's free to dream.  She walks this often, into the sunset... it's where she goes when she paints.  It's her other world, and both are wonderful.  She is another person here, when she dreams, in pictures, she is authentic.  A soul exposed to the light, melting fast... I didn't catch your name she said, it's... 

Alright... there, in the breeze, in the light, in the fire... she paints up a storm.  Lovely flame.  Shall we... they slide through the night, like a bonfire on a deserted beach.  I believe in you, she said.  I believe in you too.  You haven't painted for a while, yeah I'm having a little break, it's a long story.  Don't make it too long, what the story or the break... hahaha you've got this...

Anyway, pubs gonna close soon... last drinks.  Time for a last dance, any requests... yeah that one about, you know.  Against the white wash walls, it's morning.  How good was that... 

Wow, thats deep, oh yeah. I love the city in the morning, the smell of coffee, where's my shoes, who cares, just buy some more. K

I chose to have my first art exhibition in Samoa, after the 2009 South Pacific Tsunami.  It is a place very special to our family and is entwined in our own unique story.  Reflections of Samoa became a vehicle for me to pour my heart out, in a way that was colourful and fun.  Using lava lava material purchased from the market in Apia in 2008, our love of nature came to life in such an honest way.

I choose to go deeper into my art.  So deep in fact, it crosses over into every other element.

I choose to step between the two... only then do I fully grasp what I've done.  

Only then do I feel comfortable to share. 

Only then do I feel less vulnerable. 

I have shared this space. 

And I will again.  K

Out of the Deep

Rising up and out of the ocean

A wave, a mountain, a dream

Rising up and out of the deep

A hope, a reality, a new life

We are what we remember

We are what we do

Time marching forwards

Carrying us along

Mystery, depth and spirit

Always there beside you

Grab it and embrace it tight

And let it be your guide

KF

A tango in the night

Lost in a gaze... a rest in the music.  The thoughts flood in.  It's so good to be free, free of what, carefree, fancy free, footloose, just free, are you free?  I'm free.  I like your suit, she said, it really suits you... sorry, couldn't help myself... these boogie nights.  I love your little tango...

Who is that piano man anyway?  I haven't seen him before.  But this place, it's cool.  I really love this wine bar.  Shall we go have a drink, she whispers.  Yeah sounds good, another cherry riot.  Ooh you know me too well...

She lights the kiln, fires up, drapes herself in clouds.  It's a beautiful day today, a light and airy day, and she's enjoying the moment.  It's how it should be, it's how it is, it's how it always was, in her dreams.  A place of light, a piano melody, a bursting star, another fire, lit.  A call for song, she plays that tune again... and walks over to her canvas...

A significant sentiment.  Let's grab a bite, I know this great little place down the market she goes,

they have the best food this time of night...

We're on the pier, a calm and peaceful evening, leaning together against the railing.  A first love, the dreamy innocence of a sweet gesture.  Words mingle with air.  A strong and loving wrap, around shoulders...

He grabs her hand, they walk into the club... come on then, let's hit the floor.  Weaving through the mash of bodies everywhere, the walls are swaying... they're in their own world.  A delicate, strong and intimate world.  They're flung around the dance floor in time with the steps, she's spinning, like a light under his arm, he's twirling her around.  She collapses on his arm... his shoulder is hot, he presses his nose into her neck, she giggles, presses her fingers into his side... exhilarated, infatuated, ambiguous ride.

Art from our Dreams... A tango in the night. K

The Art of Story

Part 1...

Another bedtime story, the light fades to mauve.  They share many stories.  She tells him about her first job making sandwiches.  She's made a lot of sandwiches since then...

He tells her about the city lights he's seen from the driving seat.  She listens intently, his every word transcending...

And in a field of gold, they drift.  K

Water under the Bridge

It mattered then but not no more, at the time it seemed

New rivers always flowing forth, from mountains, paths and streams

The river and the path it makes, A constant on the land

Just like lines and fingerprints, all covering the hand

And so the river comes from way up high up on the ridge

To bring with it new drops and drips

And water under the bridge

Before it disappears and flows its way towards the sea

I stop and look down from the bridge

And it looks back at me

KF

I have a lot of words and artwork to unravel and it's all part of our journey.  Getting there with a little help from my friends lol... 

Part 2...

Taking a pause, the shining moonlight pulls the tide higher.  An emotional surge through the depths, as if the ocean is waving their name...

It takes a lot of courage to stand in this place.  A lot has gone down here, or is that the river settling after all the rain...

There's an understanding between them that requires no words.  Like an epic journey, they've traveled a long way to be.  Hear.  K

Lifes little pieces

Amazing little moments, carrying through time

Fitting altogether, and slipping into line

Echo into silence, forgetting not a one

Enjoying lifes little pieces, and freezing them in time

I will not see you crying, I will not be afraid

Another little piece of life is sitting in the fray

If time was but an hour and its time upon us had

Would pieces fall lie floating leaves, and cover up the land

I hold lifes little pieces, I hold them in my hand

To fill my heart with happiness and walk on hand in hand

KF

...finding out what makes art.  What is it.  Thats the real question in life for me.  There are times I cannot paint, and times I cannot write, as much as there are times I paint and write profusely.  Its effortless.

Art can heal, as your heart is breaking.  Its important.  We need to share.  

Art can heal. K