Dirty hands and stained pants

 Early morning in a rainy Amsterdam with loads of activities outdoor,plenty of duties to take care of, something like paying bills at the bank though I fear that as usual they will try to convince me that Internet banking is divine and holy, something we the human race have copied from the Gods and therefore we should all join and be happy, no more person to person contact but just a click of the mouse and bills are paid...no way these world wide crises responsible crap bankers will take no for an answer...

 Have to hit the travel agency for my next ticket to King Bhumipol's Asian realm of Buddhist Nirvana but the idea of spending big cash on sun and relaxation cycling through rainy and miserable Mokum, having to bear the shitty moods of fellow citizens...somehow it seems a controversy of sorts...a bad omen not to be taken lightly...

Staying in the house and get my hands dirty, my clothes stained with my paint seems so much more attractive...   

To die is free, it will only cost you your life

There is a vote of convidence inside that gray mass that subsitutes for my caucasian mind, reminding me of divine inspiration, though late at night and hard work in the morning at that ever existent petting zoo in Westerpark where the horse manure and cow dung, sheep shit and goat droppings keep piling up if I don't turn up first thing after waking up, cleaning and heaving animal waste product untill my arms drop off from sheer exhaustion...shit, I am getting old...

But no, that vote of convidence rings uppermost in my mind, alluring images of the male world that betray divine inspiration that has to be followed up untill the bitter end, forget the warm bed and sweet dreams, more red wine down the old male throat and the smell of fresh paint instead entering my nostrils...

But no, I will have to get the last of my visitors out first, the Amsterdam soccer team's historic victory over Barca should be talked into the ground, the team's coach's smilefull reflections notwithstanding, get out and let me be, let me freak around with my jars of acrylic and let these alluring images if the male world come out and turned into colorfull nudes on paper found in the street...

I have the distinct feeling it will be well into the morning before Lord Morpheus' kingdom will overcome me...

After all to die is free, though it will only cost you your life...Pas De Problem there but I fear that that asylum of heavenly bodies will be devoid of paint, so much better to let my divine inspiration rule free here on Mother Earth.

Nude Female Drawings

Lord Buddha in acrylics

PAINT YOUR POWER...

the alluring mirages of the male world

There is no sexual arousal when I do my nude female drawings, just quick sketches of the female body, maybe trying to pass the time, or else doing my utmost to improve my studid drawing hobby, not even mentally undressing my female fellow travellers on this slow train from Utrecht to Amsterdam, do have to admit some of them...well, I wouldn't mind seeing them in their Eva costume, under more private circumstances that is...

Maybe just trying to escape my real dream world...kachuck, kachuck...the monotous sound of the train's metal wheels leaving me stranded in false reality otherwise...

It is not skill or cunning nor talent, maybe just pure undeserved luck that has played this hobby into my life and hands, into the reality that has never been any reality at all...

Drawing the female figure is like a dream in itself, an alluring mirage of the treasures of the male world.

 

A Russian lady at midnight

 

Rumour has it that when you are wise you will realise that life is but an illusion and therefore one does not need to act as though it is real, a very easy way to escape suffering and misery...

Imagine sitting in that torturer's chair, popularly known as the dentist chair, a tooth executioner who will charge plenty of dough just to hurt you and remove fital body parts, Pas De problem if you act as though none of it is real...get my drift?

My phone rings at midnight, I mean really calling, persistently and without stopping, almost like the person at the other end knows I home...yeah reality is calling and bringing me back from the deep philosiphy thought world I was just in, the sort of slumber brought about my too much red wine and not enough sleep the night before...

I try to turn around and return to that state of philosofical half asleep pondering, stay motionless in my bed, waiting for the cue to come and transport me back to that wise man's world of no worries mate...but no, real life is calling urgently and with determination, looming ahead like some giant time machine threatening to send me back to the here and now of miserable reality...

I stagger through the house dressed semi-nakedly knowing fully well at this time of night who will phone me with that state of desperate urgency, girlfriend, lover girl, female friend, temptress or maybe a victime of my midnight downtown visits to the notoriously Amsterdam pick-up joints the Lonely Planet travel guide brag about in this Dutch capital...

A female voice maybe, a victime or else a label, could even be a role model but certainly not an identity I want to remember, a statistic and qoutity number on my f*cked-up list of international conquests picked up in dark bars and tourtist watering holes, a real person with hopes and dreams like anyone else...

A voice I heard only once before though not all that long ago, a fatty Russian asylum seeker sitting in the Pacific last saturday night, a small bag of personal belongings and a glass of white wine she was lingering over, trying hard to make it last all night, sleet outside but Pas De Person wanting to take home a fifty year old overweight turned down Russian refugee...sorry lady but your presence in Holland serves no real purpose....

I should learn to be less soft hearted and not hand out my telephone number to the victims of Dutch policy makers.   

African beauties in Nairobi

 Finally finished these two black beauties. They had been standing around the house for weeks, their dark African shiners looking at me accusingly me every morning upon opening my eyes.  

Based on a lady I met in Nairobi, in the bar of my hotel, drinking Tusker beer and looking at all these dark skinned local beauties trying hard to confince us the European nutters that our Kenian Shilling was better spent on them than on endless amounts of Tusker beer. 

Glad I made all these quick sketches in my moleskine all these years ago so that I can now paint them on the wooden boards I found in the Amsterdam street a few weeks ago...

Delayed inspiration sources you know

Nude Female Drawings

Unfinshed work

Sh*t three time in a row, my house is full with unfinished artwork. I should finish this stuff before embarking on more and more cr*p. 

Nude Female Drawings

Nude Female Drawings

The cliff of abstraction

The sort of stuff where I feel like I am hitting the Cliff Of Abstraction again, not even sure where my inpiration comes from sitting here alone in the house which doubles as my studio, my Atelier or whatever you might like to call it, my body exhausted from my volunteer job at the neighborhood's petting zoo...yeah, yeah I know, hard work and Pas D'Argent but whatever, it is my over damaged Karmna that counts, right...

My head full with stories of the Lonely Planet's guide on Thailand, plenty of photos downloaded from the Sacred Internet, trying hard to prepare myself , mentally at least, for my next trip to south-east Asia, trekking along the Thai/Burmese border and wanting to visit the hilltribe villages, maybe the numerous Karen refugee camps..

The Cliff Of Abstraction or else the faces of hilltribe people...wherever my inspiration comes..from hope you enjoy the colorful freakish stuff coming out of my paint stained hands today.

Finished

Nude Female Drawings

Nude Female Drawings

A futile activity of yours truely

Amsterdam, 06 nov. 2013.

The Fontok Mak Mak that has been plaquing good old Mokum off late is threateningly close with ominous dark clouds promising yet again all that wed stuff I so often in these blog stories refer to as the piss of the Gods after yet again another night of orgying up there in the realms of the immortals who apperently have Nada more to do but do just that what most world ruling religions forbit us down here on Mother Earth...small wonder I have always thought of theology as the ultimate madness of our species...

Still their divine piss seems to take some time in coming down, permeated with alcohol and drugs, maybe some drops of forgotten divine sperm for good order ...

Fair enough, I can spend my early morning cup of Java outside here at the petting zoo Westerpark, enjoying it hot and strong free of sugar but plenty of milk, yeah sit outside before the other volunteers arrive and the show will be on the road again...sit outside and draw female nudes as I have been doing for the last couple of weeks everywhere and anywhere whenever I have some free minutes to spare...

Nothing and Nada it has got to do with sex or sensuous feelings, simply enjoying the exercize of drawing and drawing more and more studies of female bodily forms and Nada Mas...you don't like them, I suggest you don't watch them...after all it's just a futile activity of yours truely  

Nude Female Drawings