Tuesday, January 04, 2011
Despite taking a couple of weeks off from social media, I didn't have much time to myself over the 'holiday'. In between precious hours spent by my father's bedside at a hospice in Brisbane, I tried to make up time lost – to rain, humidity and having to abandon my large, semi-rural studio – on three large enamel works.I also had to prepare for a number of new works. I flew to Sydney for half a day to photograph a couple for a portrait commission, just before they boarded a plane to return to high-powered jobs in Austria. Thrusting the phallic, 14-45mm zoom lens of my new Panasonic Lumix GF-1 into their faces as they kissed, I sounded like Bill Murray's hapless translator in Lost In Translation as I urged, "More... intensity" and ran rough-shod over their natural disinclination to let me intrude on their intimacy. Afterwards, I braved the cheap lube' stench of a couple of sex shops in Kings Cross, looking for unusual props for a video project, before retreating from the rain to my beach-side hotel.My relentless schedule, lack of sleep, poor diet and a measure of depression exerted its toll when I returned to Brisbane. I spent New Year's Eve in bed, alone, ordered there by my doctor, who also prescribed a course of antibiotics. No fireworks and champagne for me at midnight – not even a desultory fuck. I was fast asleep.