Light reflected

What you get when you allow the late evening sunlight to shine through a tiny distorted, west facing window and reflect upon the chrome ashtray of a Telecaster and then up onto the bedroom ceiling which may or may not require a fresh coat of paint. It all gave me quite a start. This phenomenal glimpse into a parallel universe only occurs once in a thousand Jurassic years or just after Halley's comet has been discussed somewhere in a dusty room in the hushed tones of those who treat science and it's many mysteries with the reverence that it all truly deserves. There's a photo of an equally blinding chalky equation scrawled on a blackboard that explains it all quite clearly but I've lost it now and I didn't understand it anyway.

Tomato jungle

In the wild jungle of tomatoes things are starting to stir, the colours are changing, the sun is turning them red and the slow ripening has begun. I've probably not looked after them too well, not enough cutting back of unnecessary growth and careful attention but it's still looking like a good crop albeit the tomatoes are not large, but maybe that's just the variety they are. The labels on the seeds were in Dutch and long gone. The main thing is that they're edible, hopefully.

Totes London

Coming back to Scotland from London by train it's possible to suffer a kind of jet lag. A slow deflation and acclimatization that's almost painful. It's an ambience and atmosphere thing, a strange stirring, a foreign and rich but hostile place that's also magnetic and as attractive as a sweet shop or a quiet rustic pub. Get in and explore before you're found out, found wanting. But it's a million messes of people and poverty, unfairness and inequality and the constant reinvention that someone like me from the sticks finds both exhausting and intriguing. It's all too late now, back home to the muggy unpleasant heaviness of summer and the warm and familiar homestead. The cats are rescued from the cattery and the fridge and washing machines are churning full  after our break. Services are resumed, phones and posts and bacon rolls. This is home but an away sortie is fun once in while.

Colours of Summer

In London it's summer, probably is all year round. Back here we have a kind of fake thing going on, a poor man's summer if you will. We're at least ten degrees colder and a lot damper but...we still have a few colours on offer that we can enjoy and keep warm with in this hardened, harsh climate.

Non-science fiction

Self explanatory really. As the month of July draws us inwards we contemplate our stone age past and ages passed. Then we wonder about what is to come, what grey dark end times or nuclear desolation might there be? Chipping and smoothing stones, water our only lubrication, patience and energy, elbow grease and determination. We work on until an arrow head is formed. In time we'll attach it to a wooden shaft and fire it into the blue yonder. The kill? A rabbit, a bird, a fox, a deer maybe...but that's along way away and there's still proper food in the freezer. Now we're whistling old tunes by Crosby, Stills and Nash.

A bit like me

This is a bit like me this morning, looking for the cats. Or could it be a bit like everyone out there trying to make sense of life, science and religion? You know that way you never quite see the deeper significance of things in paintings, films or books until somebody else explains it or you or until you happen to watch some "ten things" listing clip on YouTube (or you actually get an education).

Anymore

The all seeing eye sees, burns the image in, rides the wave of weary headache and then reflects upon the sight. Some things have a point to them, some are pointless, some are worthwhile and some fall into a more confusing category whereby the actual value of the act or deed is unclear. For a moment the all seeing eye is confused, there is an anomaly here, a question that only leaves an empty feeling than somehow cannot be seen. So what if we just stop everything, stop doing anything, allow the grass to grow, the weeds to shoot through, the rot to run riot and to stop even caring? The all seeing eye says that the all stopping solution is unthinkable and so it is, for the time being.

Fishing

The Great Scottish Summer continues on in it's own bitter sweet way. Occasional snippets of sunshine followed by long periods of low cloud, drizzle and full blown rain. What better time for a quiet spot of fishing in one of the local fishery ponds? We lasted about two hours before the weather and the downright cold was enough and this was the fourth of July. Last year's fourth of July was spent across the pond (also at another pond) where the weather was nearly 100 degrees (F) and the flying insects were out and the hot dogs were sold out. The star spangled banner flew in the skies and the prospect of an orange and wrinkled oaf of a president being in charge seemed unlikely, almost unthinkable. Now we've moved into that strange world of increased chaos and uncertainty. None of that has changed the perpetual gloom of the Scottish summer however and of course the fish are still stubbornly refusing to bite (as they did in Florida last year). Better things are of course, just around the corner I hope.

Wetwall

When a large section of wetwall meets drywall and two regular doors. This isn't at DIY project, it just seems like one. Having said that it's far better when materials arrive early rather than arriving late. In an ideal world of course they'd arrive just in time but that predictable, steady and safe world doesn't exist anymore.

Waterfall Day

Today is Fraser Drummond's birthday, Fraser's no longer with us in person but his music has never left, nor has his soulful style and unique spirit. Here's a short video of Confushion in action, shared by consummate musician John Farrell, who's also featured on guitar.

Faces in things

Puzzled young tomato says, "how come you only water us once in a while, leave us out in the chilly weather and only give us plant food once a week? Where is this all going to end?" Me, "well Mr Tomato, the truth is that it's all going to end in a salad one fine day." (Please note that I deliberately did not mention his rather obvious blemishes, I've no wish to start some kind of controversy but he may well miss the salad part but hit the soup).

Artwork of the day

Virgin, by Joseph Beuys, April 4th, 1979.

This came up in my Twitter feed and, strangely for me, I really liked it. Normally this type (?) of artwork leaves me cold as a fish finger in a freezer. Today it's fine. The question is, if I saw this for real in a gallery would I feel the same as I do seeing it as a flat image?

Not from these parts

Porsche IMS bearing ex 2003 996 with a mere 84k on the clock. This recovered bearing is still running smoothly as is the new ceramic one now residing in the depths of the engine. So the old one has now been re-engineered into some kind of Darwin Trophy courtesy of Ebay and Gorilla Glue.

Burger me

Once I was a vegetarian, a drunken fish supper soon ended that phase. Now I eat meat, red occasionally, fish maybe once a week and chicken a little more (if I can get to it before the cats). I suppose a burger counts as red, this one is from FiveGuys or 5Guys or perhaps 5iveGuys. I failed to take in much information during a brief visit. It was pricey for a simple burger (IMHO) but tasty and the bun and the textures were right. Still eating meat bothers me a little, just a bit, there's a tiny voice telling me about animals and environment and methane and slaughterhouses and the future. There's also voice telling me I'm an omnivore and carnivore and crashing bore (a bit like the film). Bloody vegan voices and meaty choices and living things onwards ten times before. So if god didn't want us to eat animals why did he make them out of meat?  But then why did he (appear to) make them conscious and give them personalities and big soulful eyes and so on? Also why did he make the best hangover cure a chilly or reheated Big-Mac and not a hearty bowl of salad? Why is it that even in my maturing and slightly decrepit years these life long puzzles and mild sources of torment remain unresolved?

Aberdeen Fashion Week

Some conceptual art and artwork stolen from the fledgling Aberdeen Fashion Week and an empty flat in Dundee city centre. The East Coast holds all the best images but maintains them in a fashionably low key way.

Kimchi at Mamafubu

Mamafubu is a pan-Asian restaurant in Glasgow. It may be elsewhere. They do weird stuff. Kimchi is Korean pickled cabbage, very popular. Vietnamese coffee, very sweet and slow. Bubble tea and bubble cocktails, very bubbly. Chicken and rice, all very chicken and ricey. A wee, slow and reasonably priced treat that's almost exotic.

Cumbernauld

It's wrong to kick a town when it's down, I know that. So I'm not about to kick Cumbernauld, I'm just nudging and judging. Still this portion of a modern (?) building, as see from a passing bus, must be about the ugliest building anywhere. Of course the design may suit some function or purpose I'm failing to understand. Maybe it grew organically as needs arose. Whatever led up to this doesn't really matter, it just exists now. Some sort of tribute to what you get when you stop caring but still need a structure for your business. "Bravo Cumbernauld!" is the best response perhaps.

O Grade Dr Who

Usually physics leaves me flummoxed, even the most basic stuff. That kind of made last night's Dr Who a challenge. Of course I failed miserably to connect and had to sleep on some of the concepts. Stuck on a space ship 400 miles long and on the edge of a black hole. At the front of the space ship, nearest the black hole, time moves on slowly because of the intense gravity of the black hole. At the other end, further away from the black hole time runs at a different speed (more quickly) as the gravitational pull of the black hole is less. There is an ultra high speed elevator for transporting the crew that runs between both ends of the space ship. 

So I get what happens at both ends regarding time being out of kilter. (An interesting feature was that those in the rear end were able to watch those in the front end on TV and observe their very slow time in action running in parallel to their "normal" time). So then, what happens to those who choose to use the elevator between the two areas with their different times and journey either way? I'm sure the writers will either answer or ignore this query next week. One way or another it was actually a pretty good episode of a show that I seldom watch these days. Mind you I never liked the Cybermen, lame villains in my view, albeit this current story about their genesis has a bit of an edge to it.

On top of Fife

Sometimes I don't really know what I'm doing but just do things anyway. Usually that works out fine. Today myself and this old bird and some unafraid and precious passengers did a few laps of Knockhill, Fife's premier road racing circuit. It wasn't really a race, they weren't really laps and the weather wasn't very good but I liked the steady growl that came from the exhaust when a gap opened up and I challenged her to get in there. So that was that. Another highlight was a fine set of Stephen's filled rolls that we feasted upon will hiding out from the elements in the media centre whilst guzzling free coffee and watching Quentin Wilson rabbiting away on a big screen. Then back to earth with a bump as I came home and applied putty to the house windows as part of the lengthy summer maintenance programme.

Contemporary Arts

Something about the term contemporary arts has always made me uneasy, maybe I just didn't understand it or was not  sure quite what it applied to. Perhaps it was too vague for a person like me who likes his labels and genres to be neat and tidy. It could be a 60's BBC2 (as was) or Sunday supplement stigma of elitism that I've applied to it. It could be I'm just a bit dumb or stubborn when it comes to certain terms and of course the world of art is full of them and is up it's own arse for a great deal of the time anyway. My poor education hasn't helped. I strangled my own arts career at birth thanks to failing to listen and failing to act as a teenager, you don't easily get over that. Then, when I finally hit a college there was no art in sight, just the saner and steadier worlds of statistics, accounts and law underpinned by a dose of management theory and beer. In retrospect I learned next to nothing and relearned only how to be  comfortable in a cocoon of relative ignorance. There I was almost happy. 

Now I'm past all that, easy in my own skin and though not well read I'm slightly better read. Truth and knowledge have dripped down onto me like some steady Chinese water torture. All I had to do was be still and let it run past me. Time alive is the best education and so when I sat in a Contemporary Arts Centre yesterday, supping weak tea from a tiny cup and fancy little tea pot I felt no pain or shame. I just blended in, bemused by the backgrounds, the unfinished nature of things, the gift shop mentality, the posters and bills for shows I'll never attend, the glossy pamphlets and flyers, the eager young staff, the conversations and illicit encounters. It's all washing over my head like a life only dreamed and not lived but I'm comfortable with that.

Graduation day, Caird Hall Dundee. Last time I was there Led Zeppelin were playing and it was 1971. Time passes way too quickly I'm afraid.