after another year of fuck ups i decided to do something with my life. yes, living the life of an international playboy, sleeping in daily, rolling in cash, hanging out in penthouse suites and being flown internationally was beginning to grow tiresome. mostly because none of those things had happened since i left Sydney 12 months ago. now i'm in Melbourne all i was doing was getting constantly sick and struggling to trap blood in my penis long enough to keep it hard and stuff it convincingly up the prolapsing colon of some geriatric who doesn't want to cough up for cab fare
i'm going to art school. because use my life already isn't unstable enough, i want the uncertainty of being an artist. so i can finally complete the natural progression of every other inner city fag who never took responsibility for himself or grew up - hooker/dog walker/personal trainer/drug dealer/artist*
*artist = meth junkie who produced one work 9 months ago and nothing since… nothing other than joining the dots on his track marks
you can also become a dj for extra credit. add that to the list of careers that you're unlikely to go anywhere with but will keep you barely ahead in your rent and your desperate ego afloat
my roid cycle had finished and within a week became sick as a dog. i don't think my body was used to having to take care of itself. knowing i'd be bed ridden for a while i decided to scrape up the cash i made from my last month in sydney and buy a new macbook to replace the one i kicked a pint of water over. in the second week of sickness in a half-dazed haze i left the house with my window open. i came home an hour later to find my house broken into. my macbook stolen less than 24 hours after buying it, as well as my flatmates laptops, money, watches, jewellery
again my fault (FML x 4)
sick as a dog my interview with the Victorian College of the Arts went appallingly. interviews are tough
the two interviewers were from my number one choice only - sculpture - and they were the funky young chick and the slightly batty old female art teacher stereotype.
"so you've only been here a year and you're from Sydney? oh, i hear Sydney is really difficult to get around."
not quite sure how the piss-poor public transport of a city i no longer live in is relevant to my process as an artist, i ignored her statement and moved on
"what's your tattoo of?" the young teacher asked
"a snake eating some rabbits,"
"that's interesting. does it mean anything?" i shook my head not wanting to explain what it means, "what chinese year are you?"
"i'm a snake."
"ok, see i was born in the year of the rabbit so i find that tattoo a little disturbing."
she was only half joking, so again, unsure how my tattoo relates to my ability as an artist, i ignored her statement and pressed on. if you're going to be offended by a tattoo, be offended because i'm celebrating traumatising images like this, not because of your stupid belief in a horoscope
unfortunately i coughed for most of the 10 minute interview while trying to explain what my aim was. to entertain themselves while i choked, they flipped through my sketchbooks and somehow managed to always open to a page with a picture of a big fat cock.
"they were some sketches i did for mural in a gay sex club in sydney, if you open to…" she opened to another random page which also happened to be another sketch of a big fat cock. i could see them getting uncomfortable and unimpressed. "believe it or not there is some actual work between all those co… penises."
i showed them my sketches and sculpture work, and when it got time to view my photography, "i'm sorry we don't have time to see that now"
the interview was a failure. i trammed home feeling like i'd wasted my time, but i think by this time, after the shit month i have had back in melbourne i already decided not to stay here another year. it's been a not so welcomed slap in the face
a week later i had my interview in Sydney with Sydney College of the Arts. this time i was well prepared for another harsh interview. SCA is in the old Mental Hospital at Rozelle. a beautiful set of buildings that must still have years of meds seeping out of its walls, because every person i met there was exceptionally calm, polite and friendly. the interviews were structured better. information handed out in a group so you got more time for your interview. you also get representatives from your top 2 choices to better analyse your work.
i was the only male in the 3pm session. i went first
my two interviewers were another slightly batty old female art teacher type and turtlenecked bearded fellow reminiscent of David Stratton.
"so tell us about yourself."
i explained that i completed high school way back in the early 90s and have avoided the visual arts for many years convincing myself it wash't a real career, says the manwhore, but have produced works for the entertainment of myself and sometimes of others. i removed all the penises and anything porn-like from my portfolio and begun with the photography. they were impressed. really impressed. going back over many of the photos a second time and reading way more in the technical apects of each.
"so who's work do you admire the most? what work inspires you?"
"it's tough to remember the artist i admire. they tend to be more individual works than artists," and i dropped in seeing the Patricia Piccinini exhibition in Adelaide earlier this year, "but what inspires me is bad art. art that is so crap that i think ''dammit! i can do better!' that's what drives me."
after pawing through the rest of my portfolio the Margaret counterpart laughed aloud and and clutched her pearls, "oh thank god. when you said you haven't studied in 17 years i thought, oh my god, what kind of rubbish is he going to subject us to?," she laughed again as the colour briefly ran from my face, "but your work is excellent!"
"indeed," David added, "your work has an overwhelmingly sexual nature i haven't seen for quite sometime. for someone without schooling it's quite remarkable. change your preference to photography and we will be very pleased to see you study here next year."
knowing no offer is definite, but hearing them describe the work was enough to put me on a high i haven't had for a long time.
also, the 4 days i had in Sydney i raked in a tonne of cash, making up for the failures of Melbourne
then a friend of a friend offered to sublet his his one bedroom apartment with a pool in Sydney for 3 months
everything's coming up Millhouse!
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