Leon Joseph Florentin Bonnat 1833-1922

I had a strange experience which I've been meaning to write about for a while now. It is nothing grand or overwhelming but certainly something that jarred with me and caused me a moment's wobble, so to speak. 

A good friend of mine was reading Gustave Flaubert's 'A Sentimental Education', and the image chosen for the front cover was 'A Self Portrait by Leon Bonnat'. I was sat opposite her at the time and could have quite literally ripped the book from her hands because of the strange effect the picture had on me.

Have you ever seen someone in the street, and though you know nothing about them or what they may be like, wanted them? Have you ever wanted to kiss someone upon the moment of seeing them for the first time or craved to know everything about them without any real reason for wanting to do so? That's what I did... 

But what do you do when it's a painting?

The slight young man with sad brown eyes, glancing curiously over his shoulder made my heart skip a beat. Every detail of the painting made me instantly sorry that I do not and will never know this person. I wanted to ask him why he was sad, what the tiny gold ring on his little finger symbolises or who he was staring at behind him. I wanted to touch his tousled hair, feel the roughness of his beard, hold his narrow artists hands. 

It became quite the joke that I had fallen for a dead guy in a painting, and quite rightly so... It is, after all, ridiculous. But, my god, I have never been so instantly hit by something as simple as an image. I couldn't stop looking at it. I felt like a bit of a secret psycho everytime I googled the image or looked up the book in a nearby waterstones just to see the front cover. He quite simply took my breath away... I think the hardest thing is being captivated by something that no longer exists. I guess it's how paleontologists must feel, having studied prehistoric life, seen the fossils or exposed the past, all the time knowing they will never actually see a living, breathing dinosaur.

Leon Bonnat is my dinosaur... May we meet in another life so I may pour all my questions into your ear and ease my frustration at never having known you. I wonder where you are now?

x

Miranda...

It's incredible how quickly something can take hold and become a global phenomenon. If you had asked me two months ago about "Miranda sings" I would have had no clue what you were talking about. Now, she is internationally famous through something as simple as Youtube and word of mouth and I (and everyone else it seems) can't stop watching her. I love the guerilla style of it all. Well done lady! 

Colleen (Miranda) is in London and performing with us this evening in a Naked Boys/Miranda double bill and I could not be more excited. She is the loveliest person and completely beautiful. 

Rehearsals were so strange. She'd stand there looking lovely and then switch into Miranda mode and her whole face would change... I felt completely girly giggly that she was there with us.

This is going to be a day to remember I feel!

Thank You Elsie and Frances...

One of my fondest childhood memories is spending hours at a time, hanging around the bushes at the bottom of the garden, waiting to see fairies. 

I know... "How did this boy not grow up to be a heterosexual?" I hear you say. But that is beside the point. I was six, possibly seven, and had become utterly seduced by a book my mother bought on the subject of "strange and unexplained phenomena." 

In it was a detailed account of the "Cottingley Fairy" case, in which two girl cousins (Elsie Wright and Frances Griffiths) hoaxed a series of five Fairy photographs using paper illustrations copied meticulously from a children's picture book. The "hoax" part of the chapter had little to no effect on me. I was far too young to even attempt reading the journalistic piece. All I knew, there in plain black and white print, was photographic evidence that fairies existed and it thrilled me down to the bone. It was my first taste of addiction.

I must have spent hours searching for the tiny, winged things that leaped about the pictures, willing them to appear.

I would sneak to the very end of the garden, scale the compost heap, climb though a broken panel in the garden fence and wander around the neighbouring woodland. Eyes alert for signs of magic.

On one occasion, I found a tiny scrap of pink fabric caught on the branch of a low growing thicket. I kept it for months under my bed, believing it to be a fairy garment of some kind.

As an adult, I understand that this may seem like a pointless subject to write about. But those fairy photographs left as big an impression on me as, years later, a tattooist would leave on my skin. They were what fueled my creativity and love of storytelling and suspended disbelief. They distracted me from the fact that I most certainly did not fit in at school. I was always the slightly odd child that others puzzled at. They provided me with endless intrigue and delight and carved out my love of the "left of life."

In my older years, the fact that the Cottingley photographs have long been proven fake, makes absolutely no difference to me. They are real in the sense that two little girls were gifted with a secret that no-one else knew about. The pictures were nothing more than paper cut-outs taken on a shaky camera but they fooled an entire nation. They even fooled the likes of Harry Houdini and great thinkers including Sir Arthur Conan Doyle into becoming avid followers of fairies and folklore.

Before she died, Frances admitted the hoax to a magazine reporter, BUT, she only admitted to faking four of the five pictures. The fifth picture, known as 'the sun bath' and the only photograph to feature neither Elsie or her ten year old cousin, she swore was genuine. I guess we'll never know.

This blog is simply a nod in the direction of Elsie and Frances... The delightful tricksters... Thank you ladies, for putting a tiny bit of magic back into the world x

The Granny...

Let it be known, I'm having a blog affair...

It's sordid and has left me scarred but I can't help it. It feels so wrong and yet so right.

I used to keep another blog. It was intense and it was fun, but you know how it is. After years of love we just stopped talking and my eyes wandered to bigger, better blogs.

I have copied this piece from my ex-blog. It's something I'm fond of and thought I'd give a little place in my bright and shiny new blog. It's a little strange but I swear that each and every word of it is true...

Thursday August 17th 2006

"I experienced something truly remarkable this evening.

One of those tiny, human moments when all bridges are fleetingly crossed and strangers can connect without the daily bonds of language, creed, social status or origin.

I had finished work for the evening at the Lyceum Theatre, selling ice creams to glassy eyed tourists wearing "Lion King" t-shirts. Tired and wanting to get home and out of my work clothes, I slumped my way to Embankment subway station and onto a train. Westbound Circle line to be precise! Notting Hill and home, here I come.

It was quiet! There were probably about twenty people scattered sparingly along the train carriage in which I sat. I sat silently and a little grumpily opposite a middle aged woman, buried in her 'Hello' magazine, and a little, Italian Granny.

The old woman (we are talking as stereotypical an Italian granny as you can picture) was reading a book. I truly have no idea what she was reading but quite unexpectedly and very loudly she burst out laughing. Her laughter was amazing.

She boomed with such a deep, hearty, from the belly style guffaw that everyone in the train carriage turned to watch. The funny thing is, she didn't stop. She was in absolute hysterics.

Noticing that the middle aged woman next to her was giving her a slightly odd look, the old lady started trying to explain to her (in Italian and between loud, unstoppable cackles) why she was laughing.

The middle aged woman clearly spoke absolutely no Italian. She shrugged at the granny but was noticeably affected by the infectiousness of what was happening. In a matter of seconds, the middle aged woman was also in hysterics and she had no idea why!

Next the two women turned to me. The granny started trying to explain to me why she was laughing but I have no idea what she said. I could feel myself starting to lose it! The middle aged woman was almost crying by now and I soon joined her.

The old woman's laughter was so loud and contagious that, once set off, I couldn't stop either. It was then that I looked up the train car and saw every single person had started laughing, one by one!!

I laughed all the way home and still have absolutely no idea what I was laughing at.

It was such an amazing experience. I feel so uplifted that in this time of war and heartbreak, something like that random subway ride can happen!! It brightened the rest of my week!"

 

That's all... Just a little story! x

The 'N' Word

Nudity...

Talk about a good way to begin a new chapter of self discovery. I have just opened in a nude review show in London, so I thought I'd spare a few words on the subject of baring one's body to a scrutinising audience.

The most notable of occurrences on the night we first stood naked before a crowd was the "What will the audience think?" wall that hit you in the face right before you undressed. It's an inevitable part of the human psyche I guess, to be concerned about the judgement of others.

There were the obvious worries. ie. "Am I too fat, am i too thin, am I ugly, is my manhood the right size/shape/colour?"

But, something brilliant happens right in the split second before all comes off and you are left with nothing to hide behind. It's not so much that you scale the "What will the audience think?" wall, it's that you abandon all hope of ever getting over it. It's way too high and there's barbed wire across the top... So I'm told. 

Instead, you settle at the foot of that great, big wall and cast yourself adrift on the notion of "There's nothing in the world that I can do about it... So I don't care!"

It's the most liberating feeling. Down the line, I've come to massively enjoy the nudity in the show. I actually look forward to it. The audience, through some strange osmosis, seems to absorb our discomfort. Instead of us, it's them worrying "Am I looking too closely, what if they catch me sneaking a peek Southwards, am I enjoying this a little too much?"

I was always a bit of a secret nudist, opting to spend much of my alone time at home in my birthday suit, but I thoroughly recommend it. Public nudity has made me feel more at ease with myself than I have ever felt. It allows you to see your own strengths and weaknesses and deal with them through accepting the universal truth that you can't stop people judging or disliking or opposing, you can only accept that they do and let them continue. With or without their consent, we are quite simply... us!

That's enough from me! x

The Difference Between The Sprout and The Bean...

Sprout... 

 That's me... 

In the grand, old beanstalk of life I am currently ticking the "sprout" box. It's not something I'm necessarily very good at... being a sprout! I haven't quite found my place to grow fully and enjoy sproutliness to its full potential. (stay with me, it make sense in my head!)

I was great at being a bean. Some would say I was even blessed with a beanliness that few could have hoped for. I was a dreaming bean. A bean completely seduced with the adventure of putting out feelers and roots and the wonderful potential that feeling provided. Ticking the "bean" box felt like I had ownership over an embryo of endless possibilities that I guarded like a protective parent. In fact, the odd thing is, when I was a bean I couldn't wait for the day I would open my eyes and discover I had become a sprout.

Now I'm here. 26 years of well cultivated growth. I've loved, lost, loved again, worked, worked harder, worked harder still, cried, fought, laughed, played... slept?!

All was going smoothly... I was sprouting and it was exciting! 

I have suddenly found myself however, at a bit of a "blank canvas" stage in my life. I'm suddenly single for the first real time in almost six years, I've just moved house, I've recently lost weight, work is looking up and I'm feeling good. Could this be the gift of a renewal?

'Here I am. Hello! Nice to meet you!'

I'm taking it upon myself to go back and rediscover the things I possessed when I was a bean. I guess, though I didn't know at the time, I was very a lucky bean indeed. experience and excitement were things that, thankfully, stuck to my adult youth like old friends. Had I known what I now know, I would have cultivated and coaxed them to remain closer to my side over the past few years. They have grown somewhat distant and I suddenly realise how much I missed their presence.

Second Chance... Coaxing commencing!

This blog marks the beginning of discovering "The Difference Between The Sprout and The Bean." 

Here goes x