20090331

Techniques for Self-Sabotage

CUT OFF YOUR NOSE!

As I have currently been working on the set of prints entitled 'Techniques for Self-Sabotage', the notion has been playing on my mind. For it seems that when in life I am given the easy job, plenty of time or a free reign - I abuse it in some way. If the devil truly finds work for idle hands, I am a valued employee of Beelzebub. This instinct has always been there, even when I was pre-teen, I would be getting top grades at school and go vandalising, breaking and entering factories or setting fires after school. These petty crimes served as excitement, entertainment and challenge, all things sadly lacking from my intellectual stimulation of the time. These activities also exposed another world, a world beyond the confines of rules, discipline and moral prerogative. This world had its own rules, its own logic and its own rewards. In its chaos, especially fire there was some sense of beauty, a very natural one, the sublime beauty and awe of a hurricane vs. a sunny day.

Sometimes these self-sabotaging instincts help, burning your bridges can be a good way to make sure you move forward in life and calamitous if you ever need to retreat. So here I am 'cutting off my nose to spite my face' in preparation for the next print in the series. And if you out there are twiddling your thumbs, doing something you shouldn't be, for a thrill that the consequences outweigh, then beware for you may also a Master of Self-Sabotage.

20090305

wet night


wetnight©burgseye2005

its a wet night, north easterlies, they always catch this westward looking nation off guard, they make off with the sun in a roughed up roll of cumulus, blindly running at the horizon, without plan, with little to sustain them beyond Auckland's anorexic waistline, some how they drop their plunder mid Tasman, dissolve into the ether and regroup again some place in the equatorial Pacific, random vandal winds ripping the yachts off their east coast moorings, delivering carnage across gentrified burbs, inverting umbrella's and Maralynising secretaries skirts at traffic lights, no remorse, no apology, no place like Auckland in a storm.