tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42926795678219011482024-03-13T14:37:40.835-07:00George SmileySculpture and JewelryGeorge Smileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627927822429525912noreply@blogger.comBlogger47125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292679567821901148.post-89031687125854082222018-02-10T15:54:00.000-08:002018-03-21T18:13:38.063-07:00Blood Moon<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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<span style="font-size: medium;">'Bad omen for the markets'
the old man said</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Peering out betwixt the
shutters mumbling dire prognostications</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Ere his guests had fled.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">'He had it coming or he
knew it all along that President Trump</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">And 'twasn't Mary
Marshall's cat 'Foreclosure' </span>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">-all she had left killed -
balump balump</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Dead as mutton as she
crossed the street?'</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">'Hard times, so dry the
soil blows away</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Takes rain and growth to
make it stay</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">And the sheep all hungry,
squeezin' under fences 'fore they died.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">As if. Stuff all here or
on the other side.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Should have took those
January prices</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">'Fore it hit the fan in
Yarrawonga and all those other bloody crises.'</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">George Smiley</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">"It's tough to make predictions, especially about the future." - Yogi Berra </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">This poem really was penned before the deluge, after a dinner party Wednesday in which we had looked out the window to see this once- in- a- lifetime astronomical blue/blood co-incidence. The markets had looked very toppy and Yogi's problems are easily surmounted by careful selectivity. No-one will remember your mistakes for long. But you can put your successes out there interminably and so gain something of a reputation. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">It was no great personal success however, I didn't even bother to replenish my small put option portfolio that had twice expired after equally persuasive moments and 'third time lucky' is a superstition that didn't even cross my mind - if correct there would be better opportunities to come that aren't hamstrung by some ever-expiring contango. </span></div>
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George Smileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627927822429525912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292679567821901148.post-43582137304824470222017-12-30T03:13:00.000-08:002018-02-10T15:31:17.039-08:00HOMO<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">HOMO (Hotel Mona)</span></div>
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A <span style="font-size: medium;">not-so-fictional critique/pitch/story by George Smiley </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">When you go into the MONA
portal and click 'architecture' it's all there in the discussion –
preserving the sense of place, use of unifying natural surfaces and
materials. It's a residence and a vineyard on a peninsula on the
beautiful Derwent. And now it is a museum and other things and it is
awesome and monumental precisely because it isn't. Powerful
structural details are featured instead of bare minimums hidden
behind the usual plasterboard. And most of all it isn't tall or
pretentious with acres of glass or coloured flammable styrofoam
sandwich panels or crenellated with the obligatory dozens of
identical concrete, glass and stainless steel balconies. </span>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">The floated HOMO idea (to be found 'in the works') uses similar language but it must have been conceived by someone
else. At first glance the architect's Mark 1 concept especially looks like an old
'Fantasy and Science Fiction' cover and probably won't even stand up.
Automatically the mind's eye sees bits of glass, concrete,
handrails, and tiny tumbling bodies of silvertails hiving off from
beneath. The name is unfortunate enough as to hint at hoaxer
etiquette, which is always to give a clue to the in-crowd so they can
share the joke; normally signing off their missiles with names like
Terra Nullius or Mike H***. And this one is a hip statement that
tries too hard; not even pretending to be good business like the
'Fragrance Tower'; which might resonate in close and bustling
multibillion armpit Asia but here suggests industrial strength
organic volatiles and little green cardboard Christmas trees,
dangling from rear-view mirrors, probably exuding formaldehyde
and sick-making for 15% of the population.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Initial reaction aside,
HOMO is actually a very possible build. The powerful structural
details are there for all to see. It's an inverted Sydney Harbour
Bridge turned upside down on a pedestal, tied together across the top
with all else nestled within or suspended from the arch. But as a
revolutionary design it comes weighed down with technical
difficulties. We build things like we do because it works and all the
standard glitches are history. Beyond the horrendous cost overruns
that are so much a part of statement- making, new designs are a
nightmare for the people that have to build them. As well as
mathematical difficulties fabricating curved design (remember the Opera House),
revolutionary stuff is generally difficult to seal against weather without and corrosion within (remember the Russian revolution). But
so much time and money and thought has obviously gone into it that it
has to be more serious than a spoof for enticing sycophants, boosters
or investors to pile aboard before it sinks like the name portends.
Who will want to tell the kids, friends or neighbours they stayed
there? Maybe they'll change the name but for 300 mil you still have to clear AFTER operating expenses....the back of the envelope says close to 100 thou per day BFITDA (before Interest,Taxes, Depreciation and Amortization, which is paying the principle back along with the Interest). And really good business isn't making a statement, it's
selling one for consumers to make – THEY are supposed to be the
bunnies ponying up cash for the privilege. </span>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Whether you are selling
apartments or renting hotel suites it's a competitive game which
begins with capital outlay and its usual baggage of interest rates.
They are still pushing zero or below at central bank level over much
of the globe after an unprecedented long and lame 10 year recovery
from the last major disaster and recession that motivated central
banks to provide working capital essentially free when corrected for
inflation. That's fine for borrowers in theory but in practice it
is a driver for over-investment in every field and the easy money is
a leverage trap should rates normalize. At the same time no-one on a
national level has any interest rate ammunition left to cut and
so stimulate economies and thereby bail too-big-to- fail financial
institutions. After having to bail them directly in 2008 it became
obvious to a number of national governments that they too might be
faced with failure next time. The ex- governor of the Bank of Canada
later admitted that ALL the major Canadian banks had been technically
insolvent. So Canada, the EU, and the USA have since legislated
'bail-in' provisions where bank depositors aka 'creditors' may well
be shouldering much of the burden in some future replay of 2008 in
return for shares in insolvent institutions. </span>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Wherever we are in the
business cycle, principles are the same. First a developer needs
connections in local government where others with similar interests
are sure to be found. They take turns recusing themselves from votes
pertaining to their own financial interests which are then seamlessly
passed in their absence. Contrary to popular belief these are not
men of taste and vision; and the POTUS himself is proof positive. The first step
is to latch on to a property 'steal' and the easiest way is by tying up what you want in
a conditional contract subject to zoning changes. When your superior
connections and the architect's sales pitch wangles the impossible that priced your bargain-basement acquisition of
Boardwalk, the project is a guaranteed winner regardless of cost
blow-outs, local rage and fruitless opposition as the owners of
lovely homes in quiet suburbs find themselves viewless, sunless, and
pressed over rates, traffic and parking. So your average developer
doesn't hire an architect for his design skills, rather his ability
to hype and get some piece of crap through the hurdles. Aside from
the rationale about jobs, development and prestige, projects are
designed specifically to maximize the return per $ invested. And
the best way to do that is stack cheap and nasty little rabbit
hutches on top of each other as high as you can go; hype them with
the architect's name in lights, and build to maximum size on minimal
space to minimal standards. </span>
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<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">How do I
know all this? Unlike other critics such as Prince Charles and Paul
Keating I am eminently qualified, having built a lot of it over my life; most recently scuttling around with the other dumb-dumbs
hanging doors and installing joinery all over the city during
Sydney's great Olympic building boom, starting with the Raffles Tower
above Grace Bros. Believe this. None of those boys will ever stay
there but expect to be back in ten years ripping out and replacing
all the fittings in major renovations. And in relative terms they
weren't that cheap, just that they aren't good enough to maintain
grace and ambience with age or be worth repairing. Nor were we
hourly employees as dumb as we looked. Every subcontractor I worked
for was LOSING money even at the height of the boom. General
contractors are also subject to the laws of competition and they get
several quotes from each trade for every stage of every project. It is inevitable that
amongst the queue of estimators, some wild optimist will make a
mistake and his employer is stuck with the job. Some try to recover their losses by pushing the limits
of legality; on one of my jobs a subcontractor beat
the system by packing imported Korean stonemasons like sardines into
low-cost rented accommodation. They were ill-fed and underpaid; kept
in the dark on wage entitlements and slated to be sent home before
they wised up, thanks to our enlightened foreign worker legislation.
Although they would never or could never speak to you, the CFMEU found out anyway
and they got their wages in the end.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">It happened to
everyone. My boss on the same project tried to stiff us on our
hourly wage by putting us on ridiculously low contract rates. I and
two Irish guys had a word on the legality of this with the union
steward while the biggest of our supervisor's three English drinking
buddies who he called his 'Main Men', stood behind the shop steward. He must have been especially assigned to follow the steward around and he stared fiercely and meaningfully at us, making throat-cutting gestures. Within
minutes our phones rang and we found ourselves carpeted in the
basement. We were exiled out to the far-western suburbs for the duration, fixing up a
gutted pub with no beer, floors or doors. Out there people couldn't
keep their mouths shut either, and the publican's man, a newly-wed,
besotted young Lebanese or Greek insisted on sharing his wonderful revelation about giving oral sex. The normally loquacious Irishmen and
myself, who had spent days rehashing the entire history of English
perfidy from the Battle of the Boyne to Pyrmont Cove
were dumbstruck and embarrassed. Union intervention is only frowned upon by management and while r</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: medium;">ough language is everywhere on
site, </span>the topic of love is strictly forbidden. </span>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">After our re-education we
were brought back for the end of the next phase, a lower-rise
Italianate wonder almost beneath the bridge. Under might have
been better as all the ornate exterior cornices and general gingerbread were
made of yellow plastic foam and slated to be destroyed by UV in the
long term or the next major hailstorm. We were almost immediately
carpeted (again) when our Judas went crying to the boss that we
wouldn't speak to him. We were split up and I spent a day gluing
incongruous white melamine craftwood shoe stands in the vast walk-in wardrobes of
Renzo Piano's Macquarie St. masterpiece. At quitting
time I walked out through the endless, ugly yellow timber-
panelled lobby and passed Renzo's uniquely contemptuous snook at local
authorities, customers and poseurs; a pair of giant, perfect white marble
testicles, each the size of an ambulance. I had damaged my own a few weeks earlier during an
awkward lift, while my offsider broke his wrist simultaneously by
falling into an empty swimming pool; in separate incidents it should
be noted. The union got us both patched up satisfactorily, he with a cast and I was stitched up internally with something like an onion bag and went
to work elsewhere. </span>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">My new employer was
Sydney's most venerable joinery company. As I was installing their
custom factory -made units at a small bar/club casino redevelopment
there were waiting times and to avoid censure the lead hand and I were always seen hard
at work – with the help of occasional 'foreigners' (piecework jobs
for others) I had sourced which means you double your money AND appear to be
keeping busy; so much better than the pokies that were yet to be
installed. We finished the Concordia Club job about the time the
last races were run. Sydney died then and I was let go. Several years
later the joinery firm was itself wound up after a century
in business. The Concordia in Stanmore was abandoned too, after surviving numerous ups and downs since its inception during WW1 by local Germans hoping to
be seen as Aussie patriots and general good guys. Then came more
marvels, like raising the roof on the Leichardt Cathedral, right on busy
Norton Street to fit new soundproofing at government expense for the
change in Sydney Airport flight paths. The century -old
centimetre thick black dust layer in the attic had been analyzed and
remarkably pronounced free of asbestos and lead. Sound proofing was
done for everyone along the flight path along with double glazing too,
and the Tasmanian government should take note, it will be relatively
cheap to do this for the folks at Sorell. </span>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">So that's construction,
the second rate, down and dirty underbelly of agent and architectural
hype and it ultimately may not be the driver of general economic
growth and good fortune it's cracked up to be. Will or can HOMO be
the salvation of Berriedale and Glenorchy? Of course the boosters
will climb on board – any growth feels like a plus for local
business. For a few months the young apprentices on the project buy
their meals of Red Bull and Dagwood Dogs at the local milkbar but
everyone else packs a lunch. There is no actual reason to stay there
other than going to Mona, which is always worth a day but Hobart is
where everything else is and a better place to spend a night. If the
misspent part of my youth hadn't flown just as surely as the
responsible and meritorious bits and I were once again eighteen years old and the
proud owner of a worn but hot twin carby Datsun 180b I wouldn't
even stoop to doing blockies in Berriedale. Not even on warm summer nights when you hang your arm out the window and
absent-mindedly thump the door panel with your thumb when passing a
pretty girl so she might notice your tattoo and how the motor will
rev. But any time of the day or night it would be hard to resist a
look in the lobby of a new hotel if there was something fabulous to
see; like a beautiful rotary stainless steel on white nylon machine
that cuts the heads off chickens; sequenced after they have been killed and auto-plucked </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: medium;">which is unfortunate for art</span> but it </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: medium;">simplifies the project considerably</span>.</span>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">That is a serious offer.
I acquired it on a whim; it was gorgeous, an absolute bargain but far
too big and heavy for my living room. With a simple 'sixties
industrial' fabricated stainless steel support structure and safety
grill, stretchy silicone rubber chicken corpses and drive mechanisms there would
hardly be room for the sofa. And even 'as is' my wife thinks it has some
unsuitable 'je ne sais quoi' which means she hates it but doesn't
want to hurt my feelings. But there is room overhead for a matching
chandelier of detritus from the same process line, with cast lead
crystal birds suspended by their legs. </span>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">There is something wrong with humanity. This stuff not only
passes for art but is sought after, at least to look at. For a
practitioner the process is a gas - there are endless technical and aesthetic decisions to make, and at the end it has to work every way in 3 dimensions.
But weeks or months of hard labour are consumed by voyeurs in an
instant. Ho hum and we move on to the next cheap thrill, our chicken-
killing virginity assaulted, erased and neither better nor worse for it. The average
middle-class urbanite was clueless about the industrial life and
mechanized death of their $8 piping hot barbecue paprika chickens and
now is not. In
offering a passing frisson from some banal revelation, the idea of modern art
acquires a significance in our lives not matched by the work itself, competing as it does with endless soundbites
and magic toys. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Squirrel monkeys in captivity have been observed making arrangements of sticks. When a lively intelligence is deprived of the immediacy of danger and competition it has to do something for stimulation and it needn't be significant. And for plodding, domesticated homo sap. everything is temporal now, today's I-phone is tomorrow's fishing weight. But we aren't yet devoid of our inborn, ageless intuitions: frivolity, amusement, and diversion have always been the only
reasonable pursuits in plague years. Flying share markets via free
money and even digital money madness proliferates while garbage kills
the seas and continent wide land-clearing kills the koalas, which are
sort of cute and interesting but not especially likeable. Nor would
it help them if they were. They are the vanguard in the planetary
march to oblivion, being followed, not so obviously as yet by us, who
can be similarly described.</span></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">As the seas rise and the
Derwent Estuary grows to a broad and stormy harbour, the Tasman
Bridge will submerge for much of its length, and perhaps drowned
Sandy Bays will re-establish higher on the slopes of Berriedale and
Glenorchy. Rising ever higher, storm waves smash long- abandoned
remnants of walls and windows while salt water strips the rebar from
rotting concrete foundations. And on some stormy night the HOMO palace itself will tip from its ruined pedestal into the sea and float - an ark,
devoid of guidance, hubris, self-indulgence or sexed pairs of wannabe survivors. If it
doesn't founder on the rocky bluffs of the Botanic Gardens it will
float out to sea with the tide, past the crumbling sea- stack of the
Fragrance Tower where the little handfish grope in the deep
dark below. These will survive further upstream, breathing the
oxygenated river water. Having backbones too, they are way ahead of bivalves or lobsters in the race to slither up from the ooze one day and begin their long journey to take our place. Out to sea in
slower, deeper waters the shales begin to be laid down from silt and
topsoil scoured from the blistering land by swollen
rivers, augmented by algal hydrocarbons drifting down like snow, unconsumed
through the suffocating murk. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheTvqS6z3iD8YBI-j1x9pF6KPM4RKLyKwPHZPi5MULkieGw5FktLhvFa6Ov9MgEqGqg_HGVGUdWFkGA5Z_q4w4dWlncISdIrszxMVBkGNGXlW7t7oeRLU5jcOl47aDvUnyAbmTk1RNQ_H3/s1600/CSIRO_ScienceImage_10_The_Endangered_Spotted_Handfish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1181" data-original-width="1600" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheTvqS6z3iD8YBI-j1x9pF6KPM4RKLyKwPHZPi5MULkieGw5FktLhvFa6Ov9MgEqGqg_HGVGUdWFkGA5Z_q4w4dWlncISdIrszxMVBkGNGXlW7t7oeRLU5jcOl47aDvUnyAbmTk1RNQ_H3/s320/CSIRO_ScienceImage_10_The_Endangered_Spotted_Handfish.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">It happened before in the
truly great extinction 150 million years before the asteroid. Much
of the Tarkine forest grows on those greasy black pyrite-rich shales and after
the trees have been stripped off or died we may yet turn it to our
advantage by strip mining the stones themselves, grinding and cooking
it in giant retorts to win the precious hydrocarbons. If the usual millions of dollars of public money are forthcoming to make it viable it will be the a jobs bonanza, twenty maybe which will be enough to carry Circular Head electorally.
</span>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">And one day under the red
sun a crawler with a hydraulic breaker will be mining the shale
slopes of the Derwent Uplift. Sunlight glints in the operator's eyes
from the quiet and distant sea and the smoking retorts stand behind
him. It's boring repetitious work that makes a complex mind wander and he
almost misses something nearby, poking out from the uniquely poisonous bottom layer that defines the orebody. He pulls it gingerly
out with the big arm, rattles it gently with his breaker and the
stone falls away in layers. Whatever it is, it is vaguely
cylindrical and shines in the sun and for a moment he is transported
by its mystery and complexity, but his mind is swiftly reclaimed by
the practical demands of the moment.</span></div>
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“<span style="font-size: medium;">Cripes, that'll be
worth a quid or two. But the boss will bloody want it.”</span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-size: medium;">Flummoxed, he scratches
thoughtfully around his vestigial caudal fin, and then his opposite
index finger pokes the air triumphantly. He climbs back in the
machine with a clear plan and with the long arm he scrapes dirt over whatever it was for future retrieval; </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: medium;">surreptitiously, </span>maybe on the weekend.</span></div>
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George Smileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627927822429525912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292679567821901148.post-7851382686712523772017-09-03T19:59:00.000-07:002017-09-03T20:20:59.514-07:00Colin Suggett, Arthur Boyd and Others <br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">When in London I make a
point of going to the Courtauld. Which is a grand way of referring
to a sleep-deprived nightmare in cattle class on the way to see your
extended family for two or three more visits before you die. The
Courtauld is a palace along the Thames embankment and you can take it
in in an hour or two. It's the legacy of a fabulously wealthy
industrialist who enriched his life with the very best. One day
Mssr. Courtauld's agent informed him that Gauguin's finest work had
become available and he should have it. It's Te Raireoa (The
Dream), and I go to stand in front of it and weep like you're
supposed to do in front of a Rothko. Nothing else of his (Gauguin or
Courtauld) quite does that and especially not Rothko who you can see
elsewhere augmented by dimensions, lighting and lavish elbow room in
prestigious space; none of which are enough (for me) to wet a
tie-dyed hanky; mine or Mark's.</span></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">On those odd occasions we
proles get to see the best there is but sometimes it isn't. Wyeth's
'Christina's World' at the Museum of Modern Art in New York looks
like a $10 Wal-Mart print in harvest tones. Somehow it falls
disappointingly short on the glowing pink dress that makes it happen
in the reproductions. It might be lighting, the flatness of egg
tempera, persistence of memory or the genius of uncelebrated
printers or fraudsters who know exactly how to make the tiny
corrections that a major 'Water Lilies' or an extra 'Irises' require
to really make them sing. Well, painting is a bitch. Even if you
can recognise a masterpiece it doesn't mean you can paint one. It's
not as forgiving as the monkeys with the typewriters doing Webster's
Dictionary in the life of the universe: once you are committed you
can't go back to repair the composition or the colour harmonies even
if you could divine what it needs during those standing - back
appraisals towards the end. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">During the pre-olympic
millenial boom I was working on construction on the Sydney high
rises, spending weekends organizing an exhibition, and circulating
around the art market and world to schmooze and learn whatever I
could. And in consequence I acquired an agent; Stephen Hersh. He
was a little Jewish guy in his eighties, secular, irreverent,
energetic; a five foot two or four Hollywood cliché of wise cracks
and panache who would go around the galleries with his portfolios
making a nuisance of himself on our behalf. He liked me and my
style; and worked like a drover's dog representing 20 artists for a
stinking 3% commission. He must have been living on his pension and
savings because our sales wouldn't have paid the rent on his parking
space. But then he hit the relative jackpot. Macquarie University
art maven Di Yerbury discovered Peter Griffin who was taken on by
Wagner Galleries. Peter's work was Kandinskyish, reliably modern,
repetitive and the flip side required for serious collections; always
identifiable as his own. Of course the first thing that happened was
either Wagner's or Peter decided Stephen should be cut out. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Some time later I was half
of a two man exhibition in Sydney he had organized and lived at the
gallery on the north shore for the duration. One night I attended
one of Jane Bennett's openings with my patron of the moment and Jane
informed me that Stephen (and by extension his stable including me)
had been blacklisted across the local art world. It seems my poor
old agent was a very bad man, a liar and fraud who was billing
himself as an ex-trustee of the Art Gallery of N.S.W. when he had
actually been only a tour guide. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">'The horror, the horror!'
as Joseph Conrad once wrote and it worked in darkest Africa but fell
flat somehow in 'Apocalypse Now' and more so in Sydney 2003. But
then I was born in America where everyone is still a relic of the
Great Depression, locked in a dreamworld myth about 'making good'.
Stephen's brother Morris did arrive and became a patron of the arts,
immortalized in a modernist portrait hanging in the Ian Potter
Gallery at Federation Square. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Either Stephen's purported
fraud or simple anti-semitism explained the Wagner Gallery affair.
Arts in the big city was uglier yet far more righteous than I had
imagined; a kind of greyhound racing with aplomb- where sociopaths
and scumballs transition to 'colourful identities' after which they
get away with almost anything. It's the Gucci effect where being
shamelessly and publicly fleeced and seen to enjoy it is a big part
of social bluff for the nouveaus. There's a wink and nod to these
takers but not to you or I or a little Jewish immigrant who escaped
the ovens, trying to claw his way up from the bottom, unbroken, still
knocking on doors unto the end of life with all the heart in the
world. His breach was imaginative and I was impressed – being
allowed on a premises to do volunteer work implies trust even if they
don't let you take a flutter on the dogs. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">But my old agent is here
because he had a story. He probably invited himself, but he went to
see Arthur Boyd at Bundanon, and Arthur showed him around the studio
where he had a slew of similar canvases lined up like some kind of
assembly line. “This is for the dealers,” he said. And in
another room he had something else going; “and this is for me.”
</span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I believe it now because a
friend who was leaving to try and reconcile with his wife and family
in Melbourne gave me a heavy box; many years worth of auction house
catalogues, beautiful thick glossy art books and I thought I had hit
the jackpot. But going through them was embarrassing; each one
across so many sellers and years and auctioneers was almost
identical. Always a burning Tim Storrier rope or hay bale on a dark
ocean beach, a white Arthur Boyd 'Bride' floating over a sullen
aboriginal, a dark and banal rat-faced Dickerson charcoal portrait of
no-one in particular and so on. I gave all the books to the
polytechnic; they could be distributed around the art class and
everyone could have it all, just like in Point Piper and Rose Bay.
So the spirit of Henry Ford lives on in the most unexpected places,
and this is why you should always stop at MONA whenever you are in
Hobart; because Boyd's 'Melbourne Burning' is always there whatever
else pot luck might offer. He painted it for himself and you'll
never see it or anything better of his again although it has lost
elbow room recently and consequently something more.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">There must be quite a
number of unknown masterpieces out there that should belong to the
world and everyone who stays with it long enough may well produce one
in their lifetime if only by accident. Sometimes it is enough to
make a reputation, but without a providential name or agent and
another confirming triumph it probably disappears in the market or
gets worked or painted over or ends up hanging anonymously on some
suburban wall. If it remains unsold it must eventually get hauled
out with the other trash at the behest of some distraught or relieved
widow. Widowers are more sentimental, more often patron than victim
they resignedly and affectionately stack her crap on ceiling joists
in the garage. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I had seen another
masterpiece; just made for MONA and not long ago I phoned the artist,
Colin Suggett, curious to find out where it was. He lives south of
Melbourne, retired like me and at some stage you start considering
posterity. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: medium;">What's going to happen
to your children?” I asked.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Colin is a very literal
man. “I don't have any kids.” </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Of course I meant his
flawless constructions in mixed glass, wood, metal, plastic,
fibreglass and electronics– super imaginative though often (to me)
a bit light on and amusing but there was one piece especially. It is
deceptively simple; a plate glass (Belgian bronze) box like a fish
tank; in the middle of a dark, empty room. The bottom consists of a
diorama of a new and unsold building block in Werribee. In near
darkness, it is newly fenced, curbed and guttered. There is a small
do-it-yourself galvanised iron toolshed by the driveway and a
realtor's sign fixed to the fence. It is lit by a single streetlight
on a tapered, curving standard with a shaded diode at the top. The
attention to detail is incredible; even to an airbrushed fluorescing
fuzzball of light centred directly beneath the streetlight;
diminishing perfectly as it illuminates more distant parts of the
street, verge, gutter and fence with a ghastly yellowish- green glow.
It is the coldest and emptiest thing ever. Edward Hopper was a
comparative Piker and in all directions you see an infinite
regression; hundreds, thousands of identical empty blocks marching
off into the horizon. It's all there; tomorrow's 'Jobs and
Growth', financially doomed young families sucked into the Australian
dream of forever capital gains on the housing ladder with super low-
interest mortgages, the bustle of trucks and tradies and then
nothing; just an extended scrag end of town with few amenities, bored
desperate housewives and their kids experimenting with sex and drugs
and alcohol; unemployment and a clamour for compensating
exponentially-increasing new projects; ever more suburbs or coal
mines from the Latrobe Valley to central Queensland. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: medium;">Latrobe Regional
Gallery has the lot and are housing and looking after it all,” he
explained.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: medium;">Oh. I have a son who
says he wants it all, so my stuff is going back to him in Canada,
which also gives me a trouble-and- humiliation -free pension. If
they don't give a s** about it here while I am alive and need the
money they can f** themselves when I am dead,” I answered. He must
be a man of huge social conscience on top of his many talents because
it fell on a flat silence. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Stephen Hersh once called
me something in yiddish meaning a loser who busts his backside
working for other people. That's not an accolade in Brooklyn's
Williamstown or Tel Aviv or anywhere but it ought to be. The fact
is, that's life for most people. It isn't stupid outside the 'making
good' dreamworld; the statistics on small businesses are abysmal and
the visual arts must be at the bottom. (Writers are even further
down). Stephen should have learned something from his own long
struggle; that wages are always better than uncertain enterprises,
most especially indentured unpaid labour for a gallery. Of course you
die in the end regardless and there's nothing to lose bequeathing
your work to posterity, but that would make sense only if you respect
the taste and good will of your fellow man AND there might still be
some of those in the world in another century, maybe even with time
on their hands for aesthetic interests. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I thought I had a
masterpiece once and put up $100 for the entry fee and a roll of
Kodachrome 2 to enter the City of Hobart Art Prize (Sculpture). It
didn't make selection which was unremarkable except they flew some
'name' in at great expense from London to humiliate the city and
everyone involved; the winning entry from an impressive offering was
a mismatched pair of piano trolleys; two little rectangles of
carpet-covered plywood on casters. Four years later when they had
worked through the media and came back around to sculpture, Hobart
did it again. The winning entry was a board purporting to be from
Scott's hut with dog kibble glued to it. Perhaps it was a circuitous
reference to the deaths of Scott and Oates by vitamin poisoning
because they ate their dogs' livers when they should have eaten the
dogs' rations instead. And so little Tasmania's jewel in the crown
struts proudly in the modernist vanguard along with so many other
great cities of the world, but if the judges/selectors had done that
to Courtauld he would have had them strangled. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"> </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Incomprehensible is
popularly conflated with depth by non-practitioners; necessarily
because everything is poisoned by comfortably- paid functionaries'
brazen contempt for the bourgeois concept of merit and their pursuit
of the 'controversial' adjective for their own CV's. They too are
aiming for the moon. You could laugh –but it doesn't do much to
attract public appreciation and support for the arts in general. Most people don't care much anyway, like an
under-unemployed dozer operator who has actually seen real crushed
fingers and endless vistas of Cradle Mountain as he smashed his way
towards it 40 hours a week and formless black puddles when he changed
the oil. But it's also destroying those talented and serious
wide-eyed kids loading themselves with debt to get on the ladder;
imagining there is nothing to it. It begins in grade 7; socially and academically challenged
left- handers enamored of cute pussycats or horses they could knock
out from ten years old; encouraged by parents and teachers towards an
apparently attractive option. </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But the numbers say nearly everyone
must fall by the wayside, the earlier the better so they can get real
jobs. </span>And it reaches all the way to the dux
of the class too. A friend of my son's came up with an untouched
shtick; bundles of bent and otherwise damaged aluminium irrigation
pipes with holes blown through all over with an oxy torch. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: medium;">If I'm not famous
before I'm 25, I'll just take over running the farm,” he said. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">No prizes for the million
dollar question. Maybe he had or hadn't heard of Clement Meadmore
(Australian) who started designing Ikea type modern furniture and
during the dreamtime of my son's farming friend had brought a
collection of perfectly rendered umbrella stand to monument- sized
soggy bronze french fries (sticking out of a plinth in vertical
bundles) back to Sydney before he died. They were all over this
gallery garden; starting at $30 thousand; US currency only thank you
and touted to be almost exactly like a piece one of the actual
Rockefellers has down along his own garden path somewhere in the
Hamptons and you too...... </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
George Smileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627927822429525912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292679567821901148.post-61245751905066030992014-06-29T06:52:00.004-07:002018-02-02T21:36:59.976-08:00Washington DCWash. D.C. in sum is gorgeous beyond words compared to say New York but then its a heck of a lot smaller with a lot more per capita dollars. So its no surprise it can have a wealthier average demographic. The best part is that all the attractions here are free, compliments of Uncle. Not that the local grinches notice, who have seen it all and sport license plate messages 'taxation without representation' meaning to say they feel cheated because as a non-state they don't have crooked congressman and senators to plead their regional cause. Actually they don't pay any more than anybody else, which is less in terms of D.C.s well- kept infrastructure, unlike what everyone else has to wear by which I mean the visitors that are all you see this time of year, meandering by the thousands up and down the mall. Groups of school kids in blazers and grandparents wander aimlessly, in awe of the grandeur of their nation and its glorious history as reflected in dotted monuments to the glorious dead who have died for freedom and democracy. For which everyone alive here pays at least a token price on a day to day basis of precisely prescribed thought, word, and deed on signage everywhere in the the silent thunder of the monuments while daily motorcades of darkened black limousines preceded by a procession of cops on flashing, warbling and thundering Harleys who commandeer each intersection on the route. This is the only sign that there really is an executive branch and an underlying point to everything. <br />
<br />
Tony Abbott was here a few days ago, darling of Canada's Stephen Harper and the local Tea Party. Maybe he was given one of these, maybe he even had a couple of the empty decoy limos that all important personages require in the wild west where everyman has the right to bear arms and a lot of them are fruitcakes. Not your harmless up-front garden variety ones with signage, but crazed and vicious loners who live with their mothers and polish their automatic weapons, dreaming of the apocalypse.<br />
<br />
Even in the capitol building there isn't a single mover or shaker to
be seen hurrying to his tasks, only a circle of dead heroes
immortalized in bronze beneath the rotunda. Recent arrivals are Gerald Ford and
Ron Reagan who our guide tells us won the cold war and stands on actual rubble from same. <br />
"Tear down that wall, Mr. Gorbachev, " he said and it happened and so
we may say "this was his finest hour." Of course the Germans were left
to actually pick up the pieces after the fall nor did I see so much as a
recognizable crumb of concrete. <br />
<br />
But
it is here, in front of the building that I found my own patron saint.
A self- taught artist, Henry Schrady entered a contest and won the commission to build the Ulysses S. Grant Memorial. All the stonework of
and surrounding including the huge reflecting pool is in sawn and
polished blinding white marble. Atop the central plinth stands a grand
equestrian statue in bronze of General Grant (4th largest of such things in the world) above with a bronze bas
relief plaque on each side of the plinth commemorating the infantry.
These are similar and almost comparable to St. Gauden's masterpiece about the black 53rd Regiment that took him 15 years
to complete. Surrounding Grant are four smaller plinths, with
identical, sadly laconic resting lions. But the best parts are the
wings. On Grant's left the artillery; a team of horses struggles to
drag a gun crew with cannon across a battlefield. All the details are
perfect; Schrady studied and researched for years to get it right.
On the right is a dramatic cavalry charge. One of the upraised sabres
has been souvenired along with the barrel of a Spencer carbine which
has been replaced by a length of rusting rolled steel round. Well, this
has been here for a long time, and the artist himself is still present,
almost obscured by his cloak and struggling to extricate himself from
beneath his fallen steed which is exactly how he felt because this
endeavour consumed his entire life. He died of overwork barely 50 years old two weeks before the work was dedicated and the infantry panels had to be built from his sketches by someone else.<br />
<br />
All over this city
is the handiwork of countless thousands of mostly nameless journeymen
who worked their entire lives to build something grand that millions
still can believe in and struggle for right or wrong and they come from
all over in their matching T-shirts lest someone get attached to the
wrong tour and never be seen again. They visit the JFK grave at
Arlington, and at the simple black retaining wall of the Vietnam
memorial you can locate names of dead friends and family via provided lists. This would otherwise be a Herculean haystack- needle
search; for they are listed as they fell. This was 'Peace with Honour' and somehow California never
got around to providing a Nixon statue for the capitol rotunda. He was
the main reason my father left the States after the election in 1952 or I
might have been listed there myself. I was pretty slow <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiifpMRgsUkNItg68WfPLxkWo84R5Ld53yCkloDArVVptqbcfs4P8AAkBw-EJlJwKiMiowTzqYWWx5IvxABwA1_8iv5pOZzIesQ26We7JMaP0BMfSn2o3qfBSms9gNWwjmLm5VeYvr0PLYr/s1600/P1030700.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiifpMRgsUkNItg68WfPLxkWo84R5Ld53yCkloDArVVptqbcfs4P8AAkBw-EJlJwKiMiowTzqYWWx5IvxABwA1_8iv5pOZzIesQ26We7JMaP0BMfSn2o3qfBSms9gNWwjmLm5VeYvr0PLYr/s1600/P1030700.JPG" width="240" /></a><br />
<br />
at that age and
will never forget the look of rage and contempt on my father's face in
'66 after graduation when
I had mentioned the war as a possibility in a throw-away line. Well,
that's how it is with kids - searching desperately for a respectable
persona. He had come back all shot-up and bemedalled so why shouldn't
I? But dumb didn't cut it with my dad.<br />
<br />
And
you can go to the Herschorn and Freer -all free- and the National
Gallery where there is the biggest collection of impressionists outside
the Louvre and you can weep in front of a Gaugin or on the lower floor
in a roomful of the most beautiful bronzes ever -the art deco/nouveau
work of Paul Manship; like you are supposed to do in front of Mark
Rothko. Who can be seen there too, but along with the attendant Calders and
Pollocks and Serras and Stellas and Warhols would be relatively less than NOTHING
if they weren't fabled, most of all American and imbued with inarguable
respectability; figuring as they do in the stinkfinger games of the idle
rich where the utterly worthless and banal is the ultimate display of
net worth. Sycophantic curators and city fathers grease the wheels of
this juggernaut but nation states still revere their actual treasures.<br />
<br />
The
Capitol Building tries to please too many as well as having undergone
war and renovation. But the Library of Congress is splendid. It holds a
marble staircase, carved by French immigrant Philip Martiny, who was very well known at the time and whose workshop also produced a lot of the details on New York's finest buildings. How much of his
life was thereby consumed, or even his name doesn't matter, he's long dead and can never appear on Oprah. Better yet he has left something extraordinary and
still only a mote amongst a cityfull of wonders that will never be some
forgotten anachronism or de-accessioned or contemptuously thrown
on a barricade.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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George Smileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627927822429525912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292679567821901148.post-46002091856260810972014-06-27T19:39:00.000-07:002018-02-02T21:23:23.969-08:00New York ModernI have seen the best minds of my generation destroyed by neural plaques, the calculus of self- interest and unfettered omega 5's consuming, casual addicts at the golden arches...... OK I am in New York and thought I might sort out some kind of sight-seeing itinerary starting with Ginsberg's 'Howl' but sixty years plus after the fact of that and my own birth, self- imposed/important urban victimhood has foundered on the rocks of deja vu. And you can jump on the down escalator anywhere -it's just somehow a bit more romantic than in Tasmania where there isn't such a big choice of has-beens or wannabees to party along with. <br />
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So off I went to Chelsea to see where the art market is really at these days and only the featured artists have changed from last time. Or not, you would be unlikely to remember, there are no touchstones or even architecture here except the plastic bollards; interminable tearing up the streets and traffic patterns. The gallery girls and guys stare silent behind their computer screens ignoring browsers and everyone else; its the Gucci routine and they know you aren't a customer or a 'name.'<br />
And if you were they would still treat you like sh** 'cause that's the schtick.<br />
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"This is the 5th Avenue of the art market, try Brooklyn maybe." Maybe Ginsberg could have said it better:<br />
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Down metaphorical 5th from the Met primped and powdered nail-salon baba yagas; claws paralytic extended as to predate Aryan babes- in- the- wood; peppering on- the- street cafes and each with little white lap dogs sharing bagels, lox or pastrami and carefully- engineered pickles so each goddamn bite tastes the same. Far as possible from freaking un-ever-forgettable Hester Street where my family got its start too; interminable arse-busting back-breaking unto deathusdepart and nobody goofed off until the REAL thing and no-one made good either. Argh!<br />
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And on 23rd Street heavy impasto is in, paint on polyurethane foam, penis photos in the next gallery where looker's eyes drop briefly to your own crotch Jesus I am 65 years in this desperate world; next gallery raging sophomoric feminist boozhwah-bait: traditional reclining nudes splashed red pudenda -Ooh this is scandal; the modernist REAL THING.<br />
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Further uptown competence manifests, some of these people can actually paint. But they are indentured labour; stuck doing the same trademark crap forever to make a living. Its an investment where the rent is finally paid after dedicating years to the all-important CV and dealer who has also invested lotsa and collectors who hope they are riding winners so heirs might even see valuations cover the dealer's mark-up. For there are many who hear the call and as many who fall by the wayside. Glory be to his name and provenance. <br />
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<br />George Smileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627927822429525912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292679567821901148.post-17464411644542353222014-02-06T17:25:00.002-08:002014-03-27T03:38:32.850-07:00New Press Finally FinishedThis has been a bigger project than I thought it would be. Intended to be a full size studio press it has shrunk due to costs - most of the components cost next to nothing from the recycler but the platen was the problem - to get a seasoned cast iron plate AND have it milled made it completely uneconomic. And my back would have been in no condition to handle it. So it was reduced to fit an available offcut of fiberglass re-enforced phenolic switchboard panel supplied by Stephen Twohig at Fitzroy Etching Presses & Printmakers, the only place of many I tried where they didn't want(even as far as India) to take me for a ride; like $1000 plus.<br />
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Having had shoulder surgery I didn't want a big wheel to hang from (remember the cross Rose Lindsay had to bear, editioning for Norman) and so it has a nice heavy steel flywheel and that drives directly through the little green 8:1 planetary gearbox from an old industrial electric motor. There is a 1:1 chain drive to the lower roll on the other side of the press, D=145 mm. The rolls are heavy tubes from a large scrap hydraulic cylinder, 650mm long. This was too long for my lathe even with a steady and bearing replacing the tailstock. So it had to be reversed to true it up. I made a mandrel to set the tail up at the headstock, realigned the lathe before I started and like a fool tried welding up some deep damage on the cylinder and thereby spent a lot of time on it with a mill file. Should have simply selected better sections, it was a very long cylinder. But using a four-jaw chuck and run-out gauge the cuts met perfectly in the middle. The platen is 1240mm. long, the little support rollers sit on 16mm round and are made of nylon with a bronze bush pressed in at each end, pressed in and reamed to fit after the millscale was filed off the rods. The pressure adjustment handles are only 150 mm long all up in case I or some other idiot - if I lend it in a moment of madness - is less likely to overload and thereby jam the system when it hits the plate at full throttle with that heavy flywheel.<br />
Other features are shelves under the table which has adjustable feet to maintain alignment<br />
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And here are my most recent prints, these are available by emailing me.<br />
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Fukushima: The Evacuation of Tokyo with details, 44 x 60 cm, copper plate etching, edition of 20<br />
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George Smileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627927822429525912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292679567821901148.post-430521595877867842014-02-06T17:25:00.001-08:002014-02-11T15:22:31.678-08:00Bandicoot and MagnoliaMy wife is the most fabulous person in the world. For me I mean. Who else would have put up with this specimen on the dining room table for a week while I was creating the plate?<br />
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Edition of 20, 22x30 cm, intaglio from copper plate.George Smileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627927822429525912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292679567821901148.post-87941387315452985462013-12-19T03:43:00.003-08:002013-12-19T03:43:46.387-08:00New Blog<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Have decided to save my art blog for (georgesmileyart.blogspot.com) for visual arts only. georgesmileyblog.blogspot.com.au will be devoted to literary efforts and with general observations, scientific and political commentary, and occasional links to other articles. In general it will be about things I think are worth sharing and hope others will enjoy.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Best wishes</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">GS</span>George Smileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627927822429525912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292679567821901148.post-88522846330989883292012-10-05T17:24:00.002-07:002014-02-06T16:24:31.051-08:00Prints<span style="font-size: large;">A New Print Series</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Have been doing </span> </span>intaglio editions on copper plates using acrylic resists and ferric chloride mordant,so I can do this out on the lawn having been banned from the bathroom for ruining the bathtub. That stuff stains and is nearly impossible to remove but the grass doesn't seem to mind.<br />
The series is mostly about Japan and inspired by traditional themes,
line work etc. Printmaking those centuries ago was part of the popular
culture and took the place of present day glossy mags, They were sold
on the street and were the equivalent of everything from 'People' to
'Hustler'. As nothing changes, economics required they push the limits
of the acceptable - many notable artists like Utamaro did prison time
for offending the sensibilities with some of his erotic work. Much of
which is too explicit for my own tastes - so I have toned my own efforts
a long way down from their matter of fact material.<br />
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The Floating World of the Antarctic Spring 34x29 cm.<br />
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<br />George Smileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627927822429525912noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292679567821901148.post-45876589977744004282012-01-10T00:15:00.000-08:002012-01-10T02:39:51.860-08:00Finally installed and running<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFwyehgLpKcVIwOeXA-8DHa5pU7HlVscV7fL9cmBuc771wR03goFnbPyvmJvIh-Fl_aypA1qOEX9mFzImrck3nJknACWNXQbQtDklotXEtFm_qRAKTdvLoTjLEwt_YG57qpN3iqWyxeJmt/s1600/P1010428%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFwyehgLpKcVIwOeXA-8DHa5pU7HlVscV7fL9cmBuc771wR03goFnbPyvmJvIh-Fl_aypA1qOEX9mFzImrck3nJknACWNXQbQtDklotXEtFm_qRAKTdvLoTjLEwt_YG57qpN3iqWyxeJmt/s400/P1010428%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695916970905544098" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVofOtUGCaiPMWLCltPNq_E8gHLy-bs_QxgrJodYuwuN8meG0b9Sa0Smvn8-0gCLkH5NEPpgBAEqFWFs27NF4x9anOTJcgtEfCAZCxVuiXyhKXHRLY8IjiN2QLmscrri6MmBv6R0j8Hlcf/s1600/P1010427%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVofOtUGCaiPMWLCltPNq_E8gHLy-bs_QxgrJodYuwuN8meG0b9Sa0Smvn8-0gCLkH5NEPpgBAEqFWFs27NF4x9anOTJcgtEfCAZCxVuiXyhKXHRLY8IjiN2QLmscrri6MmBv6R0j8Hlcf/s400/P1010427%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695916716287234786" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />The finished piece in the emergency waiting room - the ducks have carbon fibre wings, driven by brass cams and rod ends. A negative mold was made for the wings with pottery clay and the feathers were indented with the blade of a table knife. Then a plaster positive followed by a plaster negative into which the fabric and resin was laid down. It would have taken too long for the clay to dry.<br />The crocodile runs up and down on a linear bearing of my own design. The large central sprocket is part of an idler that gears his cocking mechanism down, and a counterweight made of an old fire extinguisher was also added because the small DC motor only draws a couple amps and couldn't cope with the whole lift. The electronics were designed and built by my son Jim using two 555 timers. When the buttons are pushed it completes a cycle -first it wouldn't go at all because the reed switch position indicator didn't turn back off when the crocodile was at the bottom due to the high gearing so he invented a cheat with small capacitor in series with the logic circuit and a 1 meg resistor across that to bleed it slowly. After a cycle the thing is locked out for two minutes to prevent it being worn out by the younger set.<br />What I love about steel - it is so light and airy.George Smileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627927822429525912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292679567821901148.post-71715903345214804102012-01-10T00:04:00.000-08:002012-01-10T00:14:59.360-08:00Mersey Commission<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNx2AClJvQ8FnS43XNntdZGYew-jeit76KkBfHz2ikZD0r2W174-_SJN6XjHGSghbAW8wT3n_Dcj685MqrhcrOkcmOXgV8uL5j37yJRhELkqPvosq7VS6wHqcncSmh8xOghMNLhbT-PMle/s1600/P1010405%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNx2AClJvQ8FnS43XNntdZGYew-jeit76KkBfHz2ikZD0r2W174-_SJN6XjHGSghbAW8wT3n_Dcj685MqrhcrOkcmOXgV8uL5j37yJRhELkqPvosq7VS6wHqcncSmh8xOghMNLhbT-PMle/s400/P1010405%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695913582002226098" border="0" /></a><br />Here are the rough brass castings for the cams and other bits as they came out of the plaster moldsGeorge Smileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627927822429525912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292679567821901148.post-91331942803710584172011-11-06T01:55:00.001-07:002012-01-10T00:32:42.082-08:00Mersey commission<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9wljPxug5Epg0FVG5eLZKqZhhiqGzOTGpg0JCh8A1hkPbhdfq0lljo_F1nbofeqe2a70Ci2bsVscYlGP-N9EyUS91mxb7ATGotQtbp_w-SlBy9xvwsU2QwrvPVm5ydL-AWHBMaXx1wH7S/s1600/P1010397%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9wljPxug5Epg0FVG5eLZKqZhhiqGzOTGpg0JCh8A1hkPbhdfq0lljo_F1nbofeqe2a70Ci2bsVscYlGP-N9EyUS91mxb7ATGotQtbp_w-SlBy9xvwsU2QwrvPVm5ydL-AWHBMaXx1wH7S/s400/P1010397%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671820713734974530" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaEaPkzNYLtRmjczDi2xX6w3JLaqSCFzBR4KiXhAzA1KhkZrXps1BGoW-_HMuKLfXXlknfIvNeEMnRZil2AKWQfQLayYx8dArnlQ_EOkT5-MdrVbtFAL9Xs5yaCNPDvGXgAQUZ7xVZtYWN/s1600/P1010394%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaEaPkzNYLtRmjczDi2xX6w3JLaqSCFzBR4KiXhAzA1KhkZrXps1BGoW-_HMuKLfXXlknfIvNeEMnRZil2AKWQfQLayYx8dArnlQ_EOkT5-MdrVbtFAL9Xs5yaCNPDvGXgAQUZ7xVZtYWN/s400/P1010394%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671820710157864210" border="0" /></a>Update on progress:<br />Crocodile mounted on a linear bearing at top of stroke peering above the glass water line. Cutting and fitting the holes in the glass was a real adventure, using a Dremel with a diamond bur and a hose trickling over the work. It only took a couple hours to do all the holes in the 10 mm. plate glass but I almost lost it twice. If you see a little radial crack start (I had gotten cocky and went right through too early) you have to either drill a hole in front of it or follow it to the bitter end and remove it entirely. The secret is several fold - great care not to allow the bit shank to touch the work , and to cut round and round to an even depth. At half way you turn it over and before you finish leaving a straight run for the bitter end you have tiny holes all the way through all around. There is still a slump ahead to give it some ripples and general character<br />The frame is pretty much finished and there are a few small bronze mechanical parts ready to cast to finish the mechanism. These are quite a pretty little abstract sculpture out of machined wax without any intent other than practical - it has to fit in the flask for investment with sprues adequate for metal feed, to support the parts while joined in such a way as to make cutting apart easy and air to escape<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlvB7kPbstBh6N6a4smeRIoSLGx3YQVFboIguYKXAI7aDHQ66IEnmuRuXfq3dwwheCXTe-xiq8jfwetUjwTC96JhXuwH7LjEKhLUTZ5c2pwdt1MAO-o_gHoMiqu1xkFtnkM6h3O_LJVElN/s1600/P1010389%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlvB7kPbstBh6N6a4smeRIoSLGx3YQVFboIguYKXAI7aDHQ66IEnmuRuXfq3dwwheCXTe-xiq8jfwetUjwTC96JhXuwH7LjEKhLUTZ5c2pwdt1MAO-o_gHoMiqu1xkFtnkM6h3O_LJVElN/s400/P1010389%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671820698669578114" border="0" /></a>George Smileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627927822429525912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292679567821901148.post-86811462168016151842011-10-17T05:01:00.000-07:002011-10-17T05:17:06.587-07:00Commission- Automaton<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_8P_1FjSTZRFnFGxn-sYrooJmR9P5gVZpYqU5HHXkx_VU-k2V7XWiDVNbwqZQQtlDZdNygr4AdnzXmMazLDEaJoyg-JDQW6nmuxGeZaACNGrz2mVqK9vYjT2sYCHsYm6mKwWi27oGvE8i/s1600/P1010379%25281%2529.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_8P_1FjSTZRFnFGxn-sYrooJmR9P5gVZpYqU5HHXkx_VU-k2V7XWiDVNbwqZQQtlDZdNygr4AdnzXmMazLDEaJoyg-JDQW6nmuxGeZaACNGrz2mVqK9vYjT2sYCHsYm6mKwWi27oGvE8i/s400/P1010379%25281%2529.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664430791510032610" border="0" /></a>The individual figures were produced as per older posts. But putting it together is a bigger challenge as it has to work together in 3 dimensions and have a compositional integrity. So molds have been made of these figures (without wings for future possibilities) and then they were welded to the floor of my workshop in an artistic configuration, as close as possible with room for supporting columns containing a push rod for the wings to flap, and the sweep of the intended wings carefully measured for clearance with the other figure and the glass panels. It was then photographed for two elevations and a plan view and these were resized so as to be correct for the scale of the drawings and printed. At that stage the headroom could be worked out , the height of the metal frame, and the figures traced straight on the drawing by placing the drawing over the print on my living room window.George Smileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627927822429525912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292679567821901148.post-58412125380957806642011-09-25T04:10:00.000-07:002011-09-25T04:38:20.870-07:00New Commission<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirp8xU1mDkP0-I0hPlN5mq4ys2Ru_agPB0EVbDc0fOkmzS-j0ITAaOb4zQt6J3_RfRiUM9T5bEyzga0TxMj9NDeSVHTdbeW-3DtDYwc4nBS1Dsa7VTCL-LEXUSEtUakNpp2aArpbsHk50M/s1600/P1010333%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirp8xU1mDkP0-I0hPlN5mq4ys2Ru_agPB0EVbDc0fOkmzS-j0ITAaOb4zQt6J3_RfRiUM9T5bEyzga0TxMj9NDeSVHTdbeW-3DtDYwc4nBS1Dsa7VTCL-LEXUSEtUakNpp2aArpbsHk50M/s400/P1010333%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656259989634666786" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3lVcjJd71WhAzWySd85N1X-iqPBzSPsR1P721X0uO7Efv_QoeiRK9y3wQ_0Me7aQ56Jvepj9CqwdzzYOAEqBBZPhobJRSYNq_jrbQewWgu9VeJYqJhhl2iQH87XNGmnA4LJ_KUsbW6vFl/s1600/P1010331%25281%2529%25281%2529.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3lVcjJd71WhAzWySd85N1X-iqPBzSPsR1P721X0uO7Efv_QoeiRK9y3wQ_0Me7aQ56Jvepj9CqwdzzYOAEqBBZPhobJRSYNq_jrbQewWgu9VeJYqJhhl2iQH87XNGmnA4LJ_KUsbW6vFl/s400/P1010331%25281%2529%25281%2529.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656255545285429234" border="0" /></a>These are the main figures for an automaton. They have been made by welding up steel rods into armatures and then welding a cover of flat bar or whatever other parts are required. The duck's face is made out of two old stainless steel spoons and screws onto the body with a BSP pipe thread built inside. The modelling and mobile joints are worked through in this stage and then the driving machinery which is in machined and welded metal and forms a large part of the composition.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg0xHP_8Z6womvcHOc4Amw1B8vCgRFB7il87UzP7qLz5ClPvdDeNu7x12wL4YXs1DcCuTYPufMQ0EXulILddqine__gZoKcQ9qXEKGpdiWBD05qBCqCyyyp4sc48pXOuutFaXDhBLkqwBG/s1600/P1010328%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg0xHP_8Z6womvcHOc4Amw1B8vCgRFB7il87UzP7qLz5ClPvdDeNu7x12wL4YXs1DcCuTYPufMQ0EXulILddqine__gZoKcQ9qXEKGpdiWBD05qBCqCyyyp4sc48pXOuutFaXDhBLkqwBG/s400/P1010328%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656255539513101570" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB1cjxlif1nLYPx2ImgQ9Kj1RrLGrOfwJjQ74EMzB_-qqbQDtkeTLwDy1kvraDj6Jsx-YxL7P0xWGaVfW2MC9wt-NqXXrlFCYi8XH6VkXpzaCwPDP2bmaSiYvHQMG19LuLBayUqAlyBoI7/s1600/P1010329%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB1cjxlif1nLYPx2ImgQ9Kj1RrLGrOfwJjQ74EMzB_-qqbQDtkeTLwDy1kvraDj6Jsx-YxL7P0xWGaVfW2MC9wt-NqXXrlFCYi8XH6VkXpzaCwPDP2bmaSiYvHQMG19LuLBayUqAlyBoI7/s400/P1010329%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656255539651531042" border="0" /></a><br />This little crocodile in mild steel will stalk two ducks which are just taking flight. His jaws snap as he rises up through an indicated waterline. The eyes are scrapped ball bearings and the sockets are a fragment of the original steel races. The teeth are short lengths of stainless steel which will not take the black stain that touches the rest of the body.<br /><br />And here is my wife with the mostly finished figures to date. The body of the duck is made of mild steel like the crocodile and is yet to be stained and lacquered. The art deco tail is made of old table knives.George Smileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627927822429525912noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292679567821901148.post-9295099161541503592011-08-20T05:10:00.001-07:002011-08-21T02:35:43.363-07:00The Gadarene Swine<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhw5-7En8KYK7olvDVGAJvXkCEPkQpKk0RuIh6V1Th-B1K9zhrOznh9ygOgvK3mnj6N6dksGZDlxZJn3EGY-PDH-W-qbIvEFWDZW9LgSGbYVM87LexfeOAlL0BCCk_1przivgXUT9C66fs/s1600/gadcren20012.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 361px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhw5-7En8KYK7olvDVGAJvXkCEPkQpKk0RuIh6V1Th-B1K9zhrOznh9ygOgvK3mnj6N6dksGZDlxZJn3EGY-PDH-W-qbIvEFWDZW9LgSGbYVM87LexfeOAlL0BCCk_1przivgXUT9C66fs/s400/gadcren20012.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5643240516240310386" border="0" /></a>
<br />The following three items are older works.
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<br />The Gadarene Swine is oil on masonite with a carved huon pine frame, 950 x1000. The story is that Jesus came to the land of the Gadarenes and was told of a madman who dwelt by the Sea of Galilee possessed of a demon. He went to the man and said "Demon, what is thy name?"
<br />And the answer came; "We are legion." (which is to say there were a lot of them)
<br />"Oh Son of God, cast us not into the abyss, rather let us enter yonder herd of pigs on the hillside."
<br />And at that the demons fled from the afflicted man, entered the herd of pigs, which fled down the hill and plunged into Galilee and were drowned all 2000 of them and the Gadarenes asked Jesus to please leave their country.
<br />As if the well- being of one madman was more important to the economy than 2000 pigs. The Gadarenes cannot have been very good Jews, for it is the law that no pig should set foot in the land of Israel. So the kibbutzim raise them on platforms these days. Here I am emphasizing the Malthusian connotations.
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<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdmxIKC7f8rMSspwb5XZHvtK_7kPtyZj1AtcPiwv1AoL2z4MDorR_57bSsIgc0ymwkLI5UNv5kDSrl1rryfx1bCiU228mun-Rz3vSe-ePwE7WlXB_Y8IaYDwbi4cPjbsS5x3YaDxp5VVQi/s1600/thumben20014.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdmxIKC7f8rMSspwb5XZHvtK_7kPtyZj1AtcPiwv1AoL2z4MDorR_57bSsIgc0ymwkLI5UNv5kDSrl1rryfx1bCiU228mun-Rz3vSe-ePwE7WlXB_Y8IaYDwbi4cPjbsS5x3YaDxp5VVQi/s400/thumben20014.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642910224680372530" border="0" /></a>
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidjdD6TfFFYI7o2nWYij0vZSgr6xnXVEDMOJYJ3L-iJxFcAmu-f4ymxikDEF1xZIHJWYoXyFsr_D01NviTzDDNJ4l3c31FBLqhQkxKeAAniCIzeJlHcuJDErUHwFD9AO_TXZMwYMovgUNo/s1600/thumben20015.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidjdD6TfFFYI7o2nWYij0vZSgr6xnXVEDMOJYJ3L-iJxFcAmu-f4ymxikDEF1xZIHJWYoXyFsr_D01NviTzDDNJ4l3c31FBLqhQkxKeAAniCIzeJlHcuJDErUHwFD9AO_TXZMwYMovgUNo/s400/thumben20015.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642910218601785922" border="0" /></a>
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<br />George Smileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627927822429525912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292679567821901148.post-33411957086924216942011-08-20T04:54:00.000-07:002011-08-21T02:40:53.477-07:00The Life of the Artist<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwdfwVBtCfzyDMEYYwp5pxrsCCFhENEoobizxfMqrX9cPAcK22RzQS2a8-GLvlUbNI4Wxb5Pj81lrxUSTnSd5RqCUphechhUbdzo4SNCWw2xIFGbXyl-2LNcGO61fF46ZOveVtK5AVcIwk/s1600/alcen20009.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 229px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwdfwVBtCfzyDMEYYwp5pxrsCCFhENEoobizxfMqrX9cPAcK22RzQS2a8-GLvlUbNI4Wxb5Pj81lrxUSTnSd5RqCUphechhUbdzo4SNCWw2xIFGbXyl-2LNcGO61fF46ZOveVtK5AVcIwk/s400/alcen20009.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5643241823511774738" border="0" /></a>
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjplcPQCMZqjwSNyzYm0e6AWSvG8VuHPGq00jVlSP-IC2jE6K2GtV0hcWLv3yAOATB0SHYQcDMJfbjsJx36AmjG7TJEhPkNuQqZw9UFVkG2HzFl05hM6_z08jvui3xUzaKiOZio-oBOcmXn/s1600/allen20001.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 197px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjplcPQCMZqjwSNyzYm0e6AWSvG8VuHPGq00jVlSP-IC2jE6K2GtV0hcWLv3yAOATB0SHYQcDMJfbjsJx36AmjG7TJEhPkNuQqZw9UFVkG2HzFl05hM6_z08jvui3xUzaKiOZio-oBOcmXn/s400/allen20001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5643241819232503154" border="0" /></a>
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF4VE2FdIM2B66tAi3aJpQihGBnvZ3jV8nB9Bo1iKjbey3KrXkcru2dEgtvecF4Mo3eF3Jyli4gVBgMgE1VS7rrTBBrv8vNbePAA2RajThG3yWmHiL3h86cHNoYvhZWj08WxavqhFsw1XC/s1600/alren20011.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 194px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF4VE2FdIM2B66tAi3aJpQihGBnvZ3jV8nB9Bo1iKjbey3KrXkcru2dEgtvecF4Mo3eF3Jyli4gVBgMgE1VS7rrTBBrv8vNbePAA2RajThG3yWmHiL3h86cHNoYvhZWj08WxavqhFsw1XC/s400/alren20011.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5643241815890621842" border="0" /></a>
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<br />Tryptych in oil on masonite. The whole thing is about 1100x2100 mm, the frame is white sassafrass.
<br />The artist is born to the discomfiture of parents and family. It is after all not the sort of profession they would choose however it is suitable to misfits. Later he practices his profession, chases girls and comes to the notice of the authorities, who naturally hate them for some reason known only to tyrants. Perhaps it is a sense of humour. Finally he is publicly hung, causing only minor controversy. And even in death he still has a roving eye.
<br />George Smileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627927822429525912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292679567821901148.post-18168002296681288162011-08-20T04:08:00.002-07:002011-08-20T04:53:52.608-07:00Towards Fuji<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaNbzE5Orx6AKp3qoDe3IantRReKLBG0IUIlo9idGLzEaXBdDMPkVWAZMKPnTEQjjTFslOFtBuJPx-5caJlixqTzwM6xAqSWkh3_IpXmkQd2nRPVhQ4nl7evsmNFSyTZlfTuu1NfZwgZRL/s1600/thumb0005.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaNbzE5Orx6AKp3qoDe3IantRReKLBG0IUIlo9idGLzEaXBdDMPkVWAZMKPnTEQjjTFslOFtBuJPx-5caJlixqTzwM6xAqSWkh3_IpXmkQd2nRPVhQ4nl7evsmNFSyTZlfTuu1NfZwgZRL/s400/thumb0005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642903904498181090" border="0" /></a>This a a 7 colour separation wood block print after Hokusai about the raid on the Aum Shin Rikyo poison gas factory at the foot of Mt. Fuji. The key block is huon pine, the rest were varnished 'craftwood'. Perhaps it was the paper but I couldn't get a water based colour to work, the paper just went everywhere so it was done with oil based printers ink.
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK1UZWdAwUpKPoilzSZKwFI0xbh2LW4kSvQBVHJXR9yme7jC_DIPTFL4gUwN3Amm0J1Fnivj7CmNNABPje5y8nkWvA9EdikuaOQSld5wOXVJxZqKp15et_3AZ_nwrsP0-LY2t2_0cWKLIU/s1600/thumb0004.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK1UZWdAwUpKPoilzSZKwFI0xbh2LW4kSvQBVHJXR9yme7jC_DIPTFL4gUwN3Amm0J1Fnivj7CmNNABPje5y8nkWvA9EdikuaOQSld5wOXVJxZqKp15et_3AZ_nwrsP0-LY2t2_0cWKLIU/s400/thumb0004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642903903279844530" border="0" /></a>
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<br />George Smileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627927822429525912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292679567821901148.post-68604248313659768142011-06-14T04:03:00.000-07:002011-10-09T18:00:38.914-07:00Commissions<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7-8bMpsog_Iz7zClm7UzX1NeAAL-qKrwNPnglf7h_UoCRCcn08kq-4Cj_sYTceUUtctPBUEpNEmqEVbjXSYjPesiSDv2zBcVWEehI-by9h2Lo5sps87XlqxzQuJLoruHYSmx6b67te2aF/s1600/P1000224%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7-8bMpsog_Iz7zClm7UzX1NeAAL-qKrwNPnglf7h_UoCRCcn08kq-4Cj_sYTceUUtctPBUEpNEmqEVbjXSYjPesiSDv2zBcVWEehI-by9h2Lo5sps87XlqxzQuJLoruHYSmx6b67te2aF/s400/P1000224%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5643256458128207618" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMVPMi5f6XT6ePwAk-PBqdz7bkQhjrHP34p1K3ojrGV0Hsr1NmYrYe9RiKKrfgw7caASFHbL_dIbTY9YlqieWx0uQMu2eQH18ZFnxMFqC2iGY3lLmhBz3GEACiKe00C1m4DycBOFXWWjEE/s1600/P1000251%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMVPMi5f6XT6ePwAk-PBqdz7bkQhjrHP34p1K3ojrGV0Hsr1NmYrYe9RiKKrfgw7caASFHbL_dIbTY9YlqieWx0uQMu2eQH18ZFnxMFqC2iGY3lLmhBz3GEACiKe00C1m4DycBOFXWWjEE/s400/P1000251%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5619512931304905250" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp7I7AY54DoU4CT2TQN3rttjeF1wRkNXQbEPm2lFKYRF_L_i5SNgQ0pvvl-g2WZvJ0EezPOidp0JJJiPO-452kb1io2-kio50j7Ab8hn7qzeYWUzCnOY9kIARbw3x07-QSeB9RyYcbSArR/s1600/P1000239%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp7I7AY54DoU4CT2TQN3rttjeF1wRkNXQbEPm2lFKYRF_L_i5SNgQ0pvvl-g2WZvJ0EezPOidp0JJJiPO-452kb1io2-kio50j7Ab8hn7qzeYWUzCnOY9kIARbw3x07-QSeB9RyYcbSArR/s400/P1000239%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5619512606989066626" border="0" /></a>Installation and finished pieces/elements -details of the three flying machines:<br /><br />The fabric is a loose weave dacron finished with a water-base polyurethane floor varnish (same finish on all the huon pine animals).<br /><br /><br />The theme of the balloon is conservation of native animals, hence<br />the stencilled (eliminated) feral rabbits and cats.<br /><br />Native timbers are huon pine mostly, the stringers on the balloon and the ornithopter are King William pine from the Lake Margaret pipeline.<br />The native cat is blackwood with huon pine spots made with plug cutters.<br /><br />The pop gun stock is carved with the initials HAS on one side, 1945 on the obverse. When I was making it I thought it looked a little bit like a WW 2 rifle and so I made this item a tribute to my father who fought on Leyte and Okinawa with the 7th Division. He was wounded/decorated several times for ' gallantry in action'. That era is nearly forgotten now with the passage of time and diplomacy, hence the impotent little gun, but his platoon of thirty men turned over more than 5 times in a few months which is about the same as Australia's total casualties in Afghanistan to date.<br /><br />The book held by the possum is titled 'The Path of Glory' and the visible title on the bottom book of the ballast parcel hanging underneath is 'Wombat's Nasty Secret.' If you want to know what it is (just look at the wombat, butter wouldn't melt in his mouth) you will have to buy the book or wait for the movie because it may be some time before the mouse gnaws through the cable.<br /><br /><br /><br />The frame of the lunar module is welded aluminium with 1 mm. sheet wrapped around, glued and pop-riveted. The rivet heads are a steam punk touch and are glued over the pop rivets. They were made with a jewellers' punch and doming tool. The illuminated earth hemisphere is blown acrylic, the map of the South Pacific airbrushed on the inside with transparent 2-pack automotive paint, cyclone Yasi coming in from the east and a ferocious line of fronts heading for Tasmania. , Interestingly the grey features on the white clouds (sandblasted) are opaque white and illumination throughout is done with circular fluorescent lights. The heads in the lunar module are hollow cast polyurethane with a metallic spray finish. The three faces have the eyes of wolves and coyotes from a taxidermy supply and the hard part was casting them in place. The geese in hatchway with the fox are a pair of old drench guns from the recycler. This is in the leavers module, grade 6's heading off to grade 7. So there are inumerable disasters converging on the nation - I have taught grade 7 and this is my revenge.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidlVnswoOvSakrrqACPcqAB23ps5yzSYUjmYf9anxYusV-ZX3KQYVOtA2uIifyBaHe9qgVbStNXB_E4ynCCYs-MJFirkckjy80WS9UU0SAbRUMRiikCV9RsonxAsPhBaxqTiPH2MT_wrnz/s1600/P1000237%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidlVnswoOvSakrrqACPcqAB23ps5yzSYUjmYf9anxYusV-ZX3KQYVOtA2uIifyBaHe9qgVbStNXB_E4ynCCYs-MJFirkckjy80WS9UU0SAbRUMRiikCV9RsonxAsPhBaxqTiPH2MT_wrnz/s400/P1000237%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5619512320991455906" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGOpFXcuiLB1YYxJ6IOysWZpG57K9jsz5J3rFhOlrlaLzMPxzPYeZcDxh4_R5SqdV0xcuTjfQm31sjvr3F4p9rBaH87kb36iNBCynEyj0Xcwz6aoOPUXMWEHmiw9NTWj8_wv5u3WooMscW/s1600/P1000230%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; 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margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHvgITlDzaiZbuVhI-a19Q4jbtNbCklJ9KQt6Ve6S-o7rg8x3DE6T0TcjA9DnQKF7Gz04tViQGYEWD91vcWu31xvWc1_jiIXFn4z9mtFQ1d9ttqp3jNI8wuvpapk4ykr4RAFj3Gxyomgzo/s400/P1000195%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618032883354364786" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLOcMpuCITVu7UJXM5oiYBD6TowIdYJEZcozSsdx0MMriKQ2lyZSXOzhAq2CvKmMeRoNB55G3uq2A34HGcbizaVhTRuFNpqgevCgQzLunH5vxjhOEy0uNH-yX51CsC1YlWMpmGN4L04Wlt/s1600/P1000188%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLOcMpuCITVu7UJXM5oiYBD6TowIdYJEZcozSsdx0MMriKQ2lyZSXOzhAq2CvKmMeRoNB55G3uq2A34HGcbizaVhTRuFNpqgevCgQzLunH5vxjhOEy0uNH-yX51CsC1YlWMpmGN4L04Wlt/s400/P1000188%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618031418919162018" border="0" /></a>George Smileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627927822429525912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292679567821901148.post-52717316016944954602011-04-08T05:12:00.000-07:002011-04-08T05:35:13.242-07:00Commission: Wooden Animals completed<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitWDHoEEzWqr67Z5qgfsNA31wYmic8YFG9OxQKFGjrp-Ip2JxmrfCoFCX8H3UDAAqE9HDXextL96zkS8hc8nMJHZeaS7RO5dLJt30aMHtW3215PEd0HxCQnglBw_5rsx9as4bb2iY6nZMX/s1600/P1000135%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitWDHoEEzWqr67Z5qgfsNA31wYmic8YFG9OxQKFGjrp-Ip2JxmrfCoFCX8H3UDAAqE9HDXextL96zkS8hc8nMJHZeaS7RO5dLJt30aMHtW3215PEd0HxCQnglBw_5rsx9as4bb2iY6nZMX/s400/P1000135%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593189380305326626" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCawqIY0sr165usSbe9PoUwdwUEPg6gJy9OPqflc3xQ1ufb6W7rofge9sx1HkdTRtqD2uGhchrA9mFMeQ3TF-OyBpCouiKRkB9Fl0lV6nzFAdgCqW5rXAf5lUvcpsEM5-9sk0QguECLovd/s1600/P1000134%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCawqIY0sr165usSbe9PoUwdwUEPg6gJy9OPqflc3xQ1ufb6W7rofge9sx1HkdTRtqD2uGhchrA9mFMeQ3TF-OyBpCouiKRkB9Fl0lV6nzFAdgCqW5rXAf5lUvcpsEM5-9sk0QguECLovd/s400/P1000134%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593187738903987442" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVZbgXPwwYSH9CmFcIPTwh3ZKFgJgy9jffDOiRlWv2mV7fVZZU_kYkzRD8FXeUXhI0NC57JW77X0YVVoVGhKmRkpVo67qbSQhZMLaiy3BEyW0FTVnMHxLtozh-kZw1HnCwE_FbU6kpvlYP/s1600/P1000132%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVZbgXPwwYSH9CmFcIPTwh3ZKFgJgy9jffDOiRlWv2mV7fVZZU_kYkzRD8FXeUXhI0NC57JW77X0YVVoVGhKmRkpVo67qbSQhZMLaiy3BEyW0FTVnMHxLtozh-kZw1HnCwE_FbU6kpvlYP/s400/P1000132%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593187741490273586" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIUUwUTbVEWaF40r72A59jU3C1ocVahVqqU0FzH-P8-YhdE-shnTjI24vnTcq1Rhh0YrUHLcJVr2mZaDwC688yUH5PxNEpR_KTaa_NAyYQhE8puIFSoDbifIEzi3hSCIjluV0VY9sGDdwx/s1600/P1000130%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIUUwUTbVEWaF40r72A59jU3C1ocVahVqqU0FzH-P8-YhdE-shnTjI24vnTcq1Rhh0YrUHLcJVr2mZaDwC688yUH5PxNEpR_KTaa_NAyYQhE8puIFSoDbifIEzi3hSCIjluV0VY9sGDdwx/s400/P1000130%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593187735593003378" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgknDW5U-IRncjGaUHn6rRO3Om8EczxmUJDwcVKGjQE8Ho3BntxFmE-8PGQgSUjGX5JA2XHNjVhvFXDTmsFd7cV4hT8RPdV-4N8LZQdt8J_Zyxv6GpA7f9cih13SisZGpryqk-WiJrTSXEB/s1600/P1000129%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgknDW5U-IRncjGaUHn6rRO3Om8EczxmUJDwcVKGjQE8Ho3BntxFmE-8PGQgSUjGX5JA2XHNjVhvFXDTmsFd7cV4hT8RPdV-4N8LZQdt8J_Zyxv6GpA7f9cih13SisZGpryqk-WiJrTSXEB/s400/P1000129%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593186794537996674" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6NCU2Oe9Ib4grZm48pEYpJI_PZiq0PKCHHOXYG21YVH2ZcfhVZYS-R_nwg7QX6_UQhcYDWwoj_cvWDXL-yo8ustvmA9m8CjCHVjTYcdMkZQmMMXe6AKtKr3OENvzjpOVRZoKGOoLQGI_8/s1600/P1000127%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6NCU2Oe9Ib4grZm48pEYpJI_PZiq0PKCHHOXYG21YVH2ZcfhVZYS-R_nwg7QX6_UQhcYDWwoj_cvWDXL-yo8ustvmA9m8CjCHVjTYcdMkZQmMMXe6AKtKr3OENvzjpOVRZoKGOoLQGI_8/s400/P1000127%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593186374246594322" border="0" /></a><br />Most of the sanding done with foam backed 2 inch disc and 220 grit at slow speed driven by a varispeed drill- fast tends to cut deep where direction changes occur. The Mouse started with a piece of 1/2 inch pipe, with darts cut out of it, hammered closed, welded with a wire feed welder. ground down and extraneous bits welded on. Just like working with wax except harder. The kangaroo will fly the ornithopter and as you see, ears have been added. All of them will have glass eyes glued in after varnishing.George Smileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627927822429525912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292679567821901148.post-77312768168881962762011-03-16T05:05:00.000-07:002011-03-28T03:05:47.329-07:00stack laminating carving blanks<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizt9yIs50oki9ThzlXWbwKRxPvwPbx6jPumNhKC7h-nlsOYuyEZNS2hMcu6HiHAU_b1f7tCVssMF7Et0jDzP6L17wAEMSCfUsiuNByYndgrogsyhYzg-koqOb2y3d6qqaZyNuj-6HV3x6D/s1600/P1000102%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizt9yIs50oki9ThzlXWbwKRxPvwPbx6jPumNhKC7h-nlsOYuyEZNS2hMcu6HiHAU_b1f7tCVssMF7Et0jDzP6L17wAEMSCfUsiuNByYndgrogsyhYzg-koqOb2y3d6qqaZyNuj-6HV3x6D/s400/P1000102%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584648954361359762" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyV_CKeQRmiqXaKklv9kszk_bOWtgqpNEuEyr7QpYKNZmTfsWoGrdR8XKdEaxEfFdsXARYrIsLdaDCPgk3zHdhr30UHTujMwgFnfvX7WO5vnSBCvDCdA-Ov8kOE2GkbJyQ5YN_5sb_f6PQ/s1600/P1000103%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyV_CKeQRmiqXaKklv9kszk_bOWtgqpNEuEyr7QpYKNZmTfsWoGrdR8XKdEaxEfFdsXARYrIsLdaDCPgk3zHdhr30UHTujMwgFnfvX7WO5vnSBCvDCdA-Ov8kOE2GkbJyQ5YN_5sb_f6PQ/s400/P1000103%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584648731213139618" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk37eamBPC_JfeY32_90dqAfFz9zA1L4_NOz_tAcwuZNC0knV0D0Ts9JI8Vc3JJ-Gcwge5-rPAfGa9dz1MIufYxYMIijFhySPjHMWI_-bW1peOscWReHH-FbdsPVz8xmopE1SfppDLInSF/s1600/P1000104%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk37eamBPC_JfeY32_90dqAfFz9zA1L4_NOz_tAcwuZNC0knV0D0Ts9JI8Vc3JJ-Gcwge5-rPAfGa9dz1MIufYxYMIijFhySPjHMWI_-bW1peOscWReHH-FbdsPVz8xmopE1SfppDLInSF/s400/P1000104%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584648436799181922" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF9gl4KtUxch_zsK2EaQe6KcPPS9kK0lsQMNGxEo1Q8oAzSK9qtYCqMGL7pADnv5dG7b_Gryc2cOx1us6AhcBBpUwzxUN2DrWS-dgb8Cy6ZNWM6YGlUd1gMKOz9PoqLUOJgdrEEXMRyKGr/s1600/P1000100%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF9gl4KtUxch_zsK2EaQe6KcPPS9kK0lsQMNGxEo1Q8oAzSK9qtYCqMGL7pADnv5dG7b_Gryc2cOx1us6AhcBBpUwzxUN2DrWS-dgb8Cy6ZNWM6YGlUd1gMKOz9PoqLUOJgdrEEXMRyKGr/s400/P1000100%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584648170679230226" border="0" /></a><br />The body is pinned in position on a piece of auto body putty and by drilling and marking each new part (leg) for dowelling with the pieces in position, I have flat index planes at point of contact to work to.George Smileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627927822429525912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292679567821901148.post-14008001412169010902011-03-16T04:55:00.000-07:002011-03-28T03:14:13.463-07:00Airship gondola details - nearly finished<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhypgAg20fU4jUfWVKijuqfj3iTS1XdGizo8JoiD8s0CTfpOI5WK1LfLms63F7jALhRdIEHX9h9jpAsy46pnSckaSxy03Ni-V8dA0tyf55IW4tTT1sJc2swkLYXXIWuMymuW2dei11W3TqU/s1600/P1000112%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhypgAg20fU4jUfWVKijuqfj3iTS1XdGizo8JoiD8s0CTfpOI5WK1LfLms63F7jALhRdIEHX9h9jpAsy46pnSckaSxy03Ni-V8dA0tyf55IW4tTT1sJc2swkLYXXIWuMymuW2dei11W3TqU/s400/P1000112%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584647358047650930" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkHVlZxQkTMIFbeZvGWT2JQJ49jRqj38GG_AzzltT3avUH6w0DeupIK3TL_u6QYTiVEWTQPwdLkJxSRpxH2QqZAPRDGZZoOmWIARE6FVLh8zxTU-TEQRbVX5-y1HIFEvjLP-cj1Cjfmd9I/s1600/P1000109%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkHVlZxQkTMIFbeZvGWT2JQJ49jRqj38GG_AzzltT3avUH6w0DeupIK3TL_u6QYTiVEWTQPwdLkJxSRpxH2QqZAPRDGZZoOmWIARE6FVLh8zxTU-TEQRbVX5-y1HIFEvjLP-cj1Cjfmd9I/s400/P1000109%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584647058053121090" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLagutwv8pvYMHPS-N02bKaYtXTPnrIbFN-_Ba_KmBXNxtCK6wDPrNg7IxybwdfcfEbp5thTtrrwK9ZqKftVZYd-JoUVrr2qJjQbu2AUF4iTcpauauQsUrJazroFDazEv2izyBu9FLoH2y/s1600/P1000118%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLagutwv8pvYMHPS-N02bKaYtXTPnrIbFN-_Ba_KmBXNxtCK6wDPrNg7IxybwdfcfEbp5thTtrrwK9ZqKftVZYd-JoUVrr2qJjQbu2AUF4iTcpauauQsUrJazroFDazEv2izyBu9FLoH2y/s400/P1000118%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584646798658897938" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYQSyMPRtPeejMmCaMb_Ppg8TE1FDdf7SpdXuOScxtKqQnhFjik5SDEfGhvDv2bds5z131zRYBpbQxJe4afOFx3F1uP6tsHMKcPU-zBPGc17siErVUW5A6M7x6rne6I-8bK9ZZ8ehdFkJx/s1600/P1000119%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYQSyMPRtPeejMmCaMb_Ppg8TE1FDdf7SpdXuOScxtKqQnhFjik5SDEfGhvDv2bds5z131zRYBpbQxJe4afOFx3F1uP6tsHMKcPU-zBPGc17siErVUW5A6M7x6rne6I-8bK9ZZ8ehdFkJx/s400/P1000119%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584646418508076434" border="0" /></a><br />Carvings are taking some time, sanding being the worst part of it all - with this system of creating the blank you are pretty much stuck with power tool carving because sudden grain direction changes don't work well with carving chisels. These can can be used (different style of course) to eliminate sanding with tooling marks the final smooth finish. On the other hand with lamination the grain can run in the direction of arms, legs, tails etc. which is very strong.George Smileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627927822429525912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292679567821901148.post-42126388480922702382011-02-04T03:20:00.000-08:002011-02-04T03:25:17.014-08:00Airship<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSH64k47-39sbGksCIfl1nENe0757HgyL8TalXizYldBEl72P-J3jhUfLi2DKL4ud3LHpTEgze5VTxozd-a4dzz_QaVmQa27W1m0O0PBs-CL2TskQhaz_qZo20wMUYaVvekSeBLpSxZmQr/s1600/P1000073%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSH64k47-39sbGksCIfl1nENe0757HgyL8TalXizYldBEl72P-J3jhUfLi2DKL4ud3LHpTEgze5VTxozd-a4dzz_QaVmQa27W1m0O0PBs-CL2TskQhaz_qZo20wMUYaVvekSeBLpSxZmQr/s400/P1000073%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569793891101244546" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDWe4bWZJgn38wF77OzgX_IH3sXrTL1w64u5g2JJJtiyijK-8JYn4GdNuQehnP8EecCcHPNghv2ODQCtaBPJwmX88dD6FXpRlM-A-hja2bYGTPRmZbFgFS7BKm514g-F_zr7iACrtlH7ee/s1600/P1000072%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDWe4bWZJgn38wF77OzgX_IH3sXrTL1w64u5g2JJJtiyijK-8JYn4GdNuQehnP8EecCcHPNghv2ODQCtaBPJwmX88dD6FXpRlM-A-hja2bYGTPRmZbFgFS7BKm514g-F_zr7iACrtlH7ee/s400/P1000072%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569793637396393090" border="0" /></a><br />Part 2 of Romaine Park comission. The frame of the airship ready for fabricGeorge Smileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627927822429525912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292679567821901148.post-7855159446463959842011-02-04T03:12:00.000-08:002011-02-04T03:20:23.595-08:00Wallaby (ornithopter)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizXLa3-ZAvgsbNnTGCxBOUqhB0WVbgbiXWNh3etnLGjYabRyElhyphenhyphen_t9dZ56Cql0eUExK4MJDNEn_Zuf3MgOzcrpId41MQg467n7sgtU7nGSL-2q14UTvKlc8jYp40JgBptfinYA-s9lCXN/s1600/P1000075%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizXLa3-ZAvgsbNnTGCxBOUqhB0WVbgbiXWNh3etnLGjYabRyElhyphenhyphen_t9dZ56Cql0eUExK4MJDNEn_Zuf3MgOzcrpId41MQg467n7sgtU7nGSL-2q14UTvKlc8jYp40JgBptfinYA-s9lCXN/s400/P1000075%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569792460168283090" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY2kYcEVR9_ZEen6vlhZU0RBw7jWbYb0QwfyN6Y9rVa5Kkxoz5NkDXXpZJRG6T35CS3J4JY-X2RrGq4_vde_sN4eecu22z7FfS7zFv5yuP98KuRgfOeT7VjF7M0KaFZpTNtRdlGm6F8dgj/s1600/P1000074%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY2kYcEVR9_ZEen6vlhZU0RBw7jWbYb0QwfyN6Y9rVa5Kkxoz5NkDXXpZJRG6T35CS3J4JY-X2RrGq4_vde_sN4eecu22z7FfS7zFv5yuP98KuRgfOeT7VjF7M0KaFZpTNtRdlGm6F8dgj/s400/P1000074%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569792222799795554" border="0" /></a><br />The pilot of this strange craft in stack laminated and carved huon pine. His eyes are glass, from a taxidermy supply in N. Carolina and supposedly for a lynx.George Smileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627927822429525912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292679567821901148.post-41508068762322497292010-08-08T01:08:00.000-07:002010-08-08T01:17:44.769-07:00Art Love Life<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKQQ53i2svjXgslWKLqeDD08CUuF94Pm8AO9AGFIC7grKPSKwr4nzLCwr51rP7xcjhukxKwRTMggH95W1tBUohs_EBd4PSI5EP3ERWHaaWA_4LOZdD0rRWn4jZ-4aU0BkiimqVYp826npM/s1600/Art+Love+Life.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKQQ53i2svjXgslWKLqeDD08CUuF94Pm8AO9AGFIC7grKPSKwr4nzLCwr51rP7xcjhukxKwRTMggH95W1tBUohs_EBd4PSI5EP3ERWHaaWA_4LOZdD0rRWn4jZ-4aU0BkiimqVYp826npM/s400/Art+Love+Life.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502949871424941618" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRmMqOZIDOh3XBHWLHE8GtINfxnVlv6_YG5nfukW9GIXob5Ad_C9gG2aAdKROGP_hLvkUdq0cVctVjyniY6dX8Bo8WzYZII2NOYItPbl8ReWymlfe2zO6VMa1quyKVLc-OWwL9H2GmBqwS/s1600/artllovelifedetail.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRmMqOZIDOh3XBHWLHE8GtINfxnVlv6_YG5nfukW9GIXob5Ad_C9gG2aAdKROGP_hLvkUdq0cVctVjyniY6dX8Bo8WzYZII2NOYItPbl8ReWymlfe2zO6VMa1quyKVLc-OWwL9H2GmBqwS/s400/artllovelifedetail.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502949864434967298" border="0" /></a><br /> This automaton is a working poker machine - the wheel spins and the magpie swallows your coins while the great Aussie icon Ned Kelly looks on silently with his smug little duck, quacking out a rationale while the bitch goddess of success howls below. But unfortunately the pictures on the wheel never line up for the player. Its made of huon pine, oak, steel and scrap bronze, motors and aluminium cylinder are parts of an old duplicating machine. There is a Jayco timer that turns it off and on when a coin is proferred, but most of the electronics on the circuit board are purely there for a lovely backlight.George Smileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627927822429525912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292679567821901148.post-7840565307828900062010-08-08T00:49:00.000-07:002010-08-08T00:53:33.650-07:00Beetle occasional table<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy016HDeitaIlrC4qD7sPwNq_4NfgLgJGsm__QYLX-AFT9VFm-ed1QjRJ_Bok32G-Xp_p1RrOhv_t_DOuxErxgKdHZs_QAOvmDYkUGJrHnO0K77WYN-0RphOwkaLcDvfq2YPJ80whzluqr/s1600/beetle.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy016HDeitaIlrC4qD7sPwNq_4NfgLgJGsm__QYLX-AFT9VFm-ed1QjRJ_Bok32G-Xp_p1RrOhv_t_DOuxErxgKdHZs_QAOvmDYkUGJrHnO0K77WYN-0RphOwkaLcDvfq2YPJ80whzluqr/s400/beetle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502943953295468434" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyrteAsqmAJOMEr3B5dGoNru-GexcpmtPlveSZRTBNXsb-17Z2sMSDwrd_nYdooX5-4W7CVEpbXRyib9XDxetvFTmGkWXSmwi8oGlnp4PeIp6ITWV6fmTenKo_DphWW2pV5wshyphenhyphenaCantBY/s1600/beetletable.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyrteAsqmAJOMEr3B5dGoNru-GexcpmtPlveSZRTBNXsb-17Z2sMSDwrd_nYdooX5-4W7CVEpbXRyib9XDxetvFTmGkWXSmwi8oGlnp4PeIp6ITWV6fmTenKo_DphWW2pV5wshyphenhyphenaCantBY/s400/beetletable.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502943948012706290" border="0" /></a><br />These long horned beetles are the adult phase of all or some of the wichiti grubs that are 'bush tucker' . The sculpture is made of iron bent over an armature and welded with a MIG. The wings are salvaged red myrtle.George Smileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627927822429525912noreply@blogger.com0