" Dedication....... to all we see and see..... is but a dream "

Dedicated to the many poets and audacious rambling Surrealist Artists......................... past and present.

I see the sea.

I look at books.

I observe the absurd.

I walk the stork.

I trust in must.

I chase the waste.

I tremble to assemble.

I search and lurch.

I applaud such reward.

I smell the hell.

I wander the yonder.

I skate my fate.

I worship Bip.

I create the ornate.

I clench to French.

I touch my crutch.

I smother my other.

I dance the trance.

I shelter and swelter.

I fall in awe.

I operate to moderate.

I cry to die.

I crumple the disgruntled.

I huddle and cuddle.

I flick the switch.

I object to abject.

I shiver my timbers.

I shy away why.

I fear the fear.

I resurrect the dissected.

I agree with algae.

I devote the bespoke.

I sample the ample.

I treasure the pleasure.

I speak the bleak.

I frequent the elegante.

I hand the man.

I forget my regret.

I flower the sour.

I follow the swallow.

I varnish and tarnish.

I return to sender.

I shudder in the larder.

I remember to surrender.

I ride the tide.

I toss my loss.

I felt the pelt.

I stare that bear.

I kiss and miss.

DaDA at La bOUdOIR DAdA.

avec Madam Dada.

"The Silent Looker."........... does not utter anything.

The soul still yesterday wept is quiet- its exile suspended

a country without art only nature

Memory magnolia pure so far off

I am blind

and made from a bit of earth

But your gaze never leaves me

and your angel keeps me.

In the little Laurent Prache Square beside the church of Saint- Germain-des-Pres, there stands a monument to the poet Guillaume Apollinaire. 

The Recluse.

In the secret of myself to my secret self

living you have me live

In this room I've lived out madness fear chagrin

the simple walking of a summers day

Exile is vast but it's summer, silence

in the sunlight a place of peace where the soul

invents only joy a child on the road to his home.

Fraction.

Far off is less distant than the ground, the biting

bed of air,

where you stop, like a harrow

on the reddening earth.

I remain above the grass, in the blinding air.

The ground erupts ceaselessly towards us,

without my moving off

from the day.

Nothing.

today,

is trampled.

I don't subsist in the naked air.

On the road growing.

Madam Leonor Fini.

Melwitz Folino

Leonor Fini.

I rested in the arms of my arms

I slept no longer

It was summer winter day

An eternal shiver of thoughts

Fear love Fear love

Close the window open the window.

Identity.

La Boudoir Dada.

DA da DA.

AmOre.

" Just me who lives here ".....at La Boudoir Dada.

Returning to Australia from a decade of living in Europe.....I found a most wonderful spot on the wildly beautiful Merri Creek. Surrounded by like-minded neighbours with a fondness for gardening.....it was surely a small paradisaical find. Arriving here in the hottest summer ever I decided to write a letter to The Body Corporate to ask if I could create a garden. The small block of apartments was devoid of any plants or vegetation.....just rubble and concrete. A letter was sent to me explaining the joy of such a thing....The Body Corporate was delighted to have me make a garden.....and they were sending two horticulturists with soil and boulders......to get it started. Wonderful weather and very friendly work ethic mixed with a love of all things planted....we worked solidly for a week......my skin was a beautifully bronzed tint and life was new and filled with a sense of good will.

Cypress trees with roses and bucket loads of geraniums red and white alike..........creepers and sweet gardenia's were planted ........tomatoes and basil with mint and fragrant french sage.......festoons of jasmine and lilly pilly fill the air........ late afternoon and early morning.

Outside was now a stunningly glorious place to be and I found myself dining "alfresco" most evenings and very early breakfasts aplenty.

Each day over the fourteen years of my stay here........enriches my beliefs in the good earth and all its properties.

The interior of my apartment has remained true to my love for all things late 19th Century....including auctioned objects from London and Italy......Rome was literally covered in beautiful found pieces of wreckage.........living alone has been my mantra......the small rooms are filled with my work...each area and corner has a small stack of organised folders and work diaries......many are constantly looked at by my many students on a daily basis.

Life is private and often the sound of Edith Piaf tends to bellow out on a Sunday morning .......whilst I wander around the garden on my balcony. I have an antique watering can I purchased in an outer suburb of Scotland......it has hand painted thistles on it and a fabulous pouring handle..........it sometimes reminds me of my dad......he would have loved it.

Home has been the heart and soul of my everyday. Cooking and preparing for my friends and students....is an obsession ...a trait which I inherited from my Grandmother......always pickling and preserving. This portrait of the Christ figure was doctored recently to portray my devotion for Yves Saint Laurent......a perfectly long silk cord lifts it to the centre of my curtain rail.... so as to hang close to my collection of Russian Icon books....I love the oval shape.

My work has kept me from engaging in a big social life..... Openings of Exhibitions......seem to dominate each and almost every Tuesday night and this does not

 appeal to my nature......I don't want to see many Contemporary exhibitions as I feel disconnected to them.......art ...when you make it yourself requires thought and something of the deeply personal takes over.........for someone else to grasp that is rare indeed.......go look at it if I must.....I do... but often when there is no one around. Reading about other artists and the work they make ......leaves me reeling with curiosity and wonderment. I'v just finished reading about a well known Hungarian Photographer who lived in the Jewish Quarter of the Marais .....as a child he would visit the flower market and wait for the evening light to descend ......he would draw the stalls and make notes about the night skies.

As long as I remember...my dear old dad and I were fascinated by the twilight.....and we would sometimes stroll out to the back garden at night to smell the garlic bushes.......bright purple and flowers galore.

I treasure my time and place.....my many good friends and all kindnesses shown to me.


Just me who lives here.

Napoleon's Eye.: "Just me who lives here ".....at La Boudoir Dada S...

Napoleon's Eye.: "Just me who lives here ".....at La Boudoir Dada S...: Returning to Australia from almost a decade of living a truly full life in Europe......this small wooded area in leafy Northcote, has been ...

Have MERCY........cause I aint lookin to be saved.

D&G

                                                                                        

He walked right on in and sat down with a huge smile and an immaculate white shirt underneath a D&G Jacket.

Without uttering a word he just smiled and handed me a C.V.

I thought you were the woman I was looking for...he said.

I could feel his eyes watching me read his life and all that that entailed it was nerve racking.

Cleanliness is next to crisp white sheets and this guy had a very good smell.

How long have you been a figure model I asked.

Well let's see ....about 25 years ago....I started at Uni when I needed the money.

When can you start?!

Tomorrow would be good.

Yes that would be perfect!

I have a house in Bonnie Doon it might serve us well to get to know my surroundings then you can decide on whether to take me on.

Sometimes in life nothing happens for a very long time.

Out of the heavens fall angels from time to time.

DAVIDO.

"No Iceman Cometh"....and doth not then taketh away.

A woman named "Dora Maar" was led to believe in love .....with... not only "The King of Paris"....Pablo Picasso but also with the most unconventional man alive...at that time.


Her life was about her work her mind her subjective convictions.
A life filled with her own sense of wit and drama. Her fame was loving a Monster.
After Picasso ...only GOD.
Thats what was written.
She turned to Catholicism when they ended.
Ravaging distortions have ever shaped the popular idea of her character.

Her voice, too, is remembered...deep and trembling.
As a Surrealist ......she held her own once again.
Man Ray......said she was the best.

Men have a way with words.
Not all men believe in the power of females and most of us are keen to listen to our lovers tongues.

Delayed...is often about isolation.
You wait in the cold.
Unaware of the rest of what the world is doing.
Cold sets in.



In the secret of myself to my secret self
living you have me live-
In this room I've lived out madness fear chagrin
the simple waking of a summers day
Exile is vast but it's summer, silence
in the sunlight a place where the soul
invents only joy a child on the road to his home....

Cerca.

Davido.

His path is uncertain and he listens and smiles together = insieme ....as his eyes stay still and his breath
quietly sounding like whispering ......Davido coils and becomes close to my soul.

Rino Stefano Tagliafierro - 'B E A U T Y'