Where does the river go?
She mused on life.
Such ripe beginnings to tempt the mouth,
The belly full with fecund growth.
The soul divided by love and hope.
The divine incarnate, the ebb and flow.
When to stay and where to go.
She wandered along the humid banks,
Immersed in silent gratitude,
The sky white-faced,
The sun wore grey.
Long leaves simply watched,
And she went away.
ART AUCTION! A collection of styles and genres, linked by my need to express something at the time. If I was being posh, I’d call it a retrospective.
You’ll find the galleries at https://jenimcmillanart.wordpress.com
This is my brilliant idea to send works out into the world before I go. I’m on my way to Europe for a year so I’m packing up my life.
The process is still fluid. You can bid over 3 days from 16h (AEST) on June 1 until closing at 20h (AEST) on June 3rd. I’ll be at my computer, responding to bids and offering any information that you need. I’ll keep a reserve price on some but who knows what bargains will come up?
You can email me at firstname.lastname@example.org
or message me via my Facebook page https://www.facebook.com/muesli.muncher
and feel free to comment here on the blog!
The sizes are below each image in the galleries but if you need a work posted/couriered, please ask for the weight as it’s a consideration, especially for overseas posting (I think that the canvas can be taken off the stretcher and rolled up for overseas.) Organising postage/courier is up to you.
I appreciate everyone who loves a work enough to make an offer. In case you’re wondering where to start, the larger works in the French series and the Athens series will have a reserve. I know this is a scary business but it’s also exciting. I hope these paintings and a few random ceramics will finds good homes but I also understand that we all have different tastes and aesthetics so I’m fine if you don’t like the work or can’t afford to bid.
PM me if you need to come by and look at the work beforehand and once the auction is finalised I’ll contact the best bidders. I leave on June 19 for a year so I’m up to my armpits in organising, packing, storing and spending lovely final moments with wonderful friends … so your help and understanding is greatly appreciated.
I have no idea if the French Consulate will approve my long-stay visa, apart from an inkling that the rendezvous was positive. In a reckless sort of way, I’ve been preparing to leave anyway. At least for three months. If my application pleases the administration I’m off for a year, with the option to renew. Holy shit! there’s a mountain of ends to tie off.
Being a visual artist is heart-poundingly beautiful. I spend my days soaking up images then pouring my passion onto canvas, computers and sketchbooks. I get to run around in the forest, chase clouds down the coast and occasionally throw my clothes to the wind. But there are some drawbacks. Stuff. The walls are disappearing behind mountains of artwork. Fortunately my housemates are tolerant.
I was dreaming up possibilities for art shows when there was a loud knock at the door. I assumed it was another parcel for New Housemate but the floppy plastic envelope looked oddly familiar. It was only a week since my interview in Sydney and I expected to wait two months. Was this a quick refusal or the long-awaited ticket to Europe? I opened it up… and I haven’t stopped smiling!
PS I really do need to move my paintings. Stay tuned.
Looking for an apparently non-existant office supplies outlet in the lunchtime rush-hour is a surreal moment when there’s a visa application to complete. It was already ten past noon and I still needed more documents downloaded and copied. The shop was no-where in sight so I needed to find my bank. It was blocks away but at least certain to deliver what I needed. The visa officer had kindly frozen my paperwork until 12.20 when the office would close. I couldn’t freeze now, this was my last chance to complete the task or wait for another month until the next available appointment. Adrenalin kicked in.
It was 12.18 when I slid the documents under the plate glass window. The officer smiled at my dishevelled appearance and added the papers to the pile. I’m still not sure how I managed to run those city blocks, get my statements printed, stamped and signed before reaching the office two minutes before closing time. Note to self: climbing the bureaucracy tree was a high but really, I’d rather be in a forest.
It was a good photoshoot. We hid the torn denim shorts that I thought were cool. Francesca, like so many women, preferred to keep her thighs under wraps. I believe that I nailed her vanity, her insecurity and her strength. This friendship was uniquely ours. Not to be repeated or understood. We came from very different backgrounds. Me, the wild Aussie girl. She, the American lost in France. We painted our world with ambition. Shared artistic passion was our glue. It didn’t make sense when Francesca wrote from her hospital bed. It didn’t make sense when she died. I only knew her full of life.
Nothing is too deep, too difficult, too impenetrable. Well that’s what I’m telling myself as I apply for the artists’ visa in France.
Thanks for the photo Tia Fereti
You have to look for the signs, said the Goddess.
Is it the snow on the mountain, I asked?
The tree Gods swayed in the bone-chilling gale,
It’s always there if you look.
I passed a glance at the cloud torn sky,
But the Gods continued to shake,
I followed the path and stumbled on rocks,
Dead leaves crackled in mirth.
It’s not so far, said the old man tree,
Watch your step, said the grass!