27 September 2007 (South Africa)
At 3 AM I finished the painting and was done with cleaning the house. All for keeping up our good reputation! The alarm clock was ringing at 6 AM. Just before leaving, in the first daylight I could make a picture of the painting for the Australian gallery.
I wanted to shorten the pants in the plane while I was wearing it, as long as I could smuggle a needle and a seam ripper. And what was the reason again, to iron the finished laundry if everything got stuffed in a suitcase??? So that was skipped.
Oh and yeah … the agreement for buying the house was signed.
Auckland is the 1-hour flight.
Then wait for 3 hours …
… for a 12 hour flight to Hong Kong.
Than wait another 3 hours …
… for a 12-hour flight to Johannesburg.
And wait 5 hours …
… for a 2 hours flight to George (that’s the name of a city).
When we arrive it’s Wednesday and 41 hours ago since we awoke.
25 September 2007 (South Africa)
Imagine … at this moment it’s Monday afternoon and Wednesday morning we would depart to South Africa to visit my Dad.
And imagine … for the last couple of weeks I’m working my ass off to finish the Apple painting, so it can dry and is ready to ship to an Australian gallery after we return. I only need to paint the tree trunks and the stems of the apples, which is 1 full day of work.
Imagine too … that I have to do 2 laundries before we leave. And that I need to do a minimum amount of house cleaning because one of the neighbours will come to feed our cat. And that I want to shorten the comfortable pants I planned to wear during the trip. And that I urgently need to buy contact lens solution because otherwise I can throw them in the bin tonight.
And imagine that the rest of this afternoon was meant to do the paperwork for buying the house from our neighbour (of which I will write more later).
And then imagine … Frank says: “Oh shit, the tickets are for Tuesday. Instead of Wednesday!”
21 September 2007
Do you remember, four months ago? When we were hit by 1 man, 5 sheep and 1 horse?
The damage to our car was valued on $ 2200 dollar.
We thought that the culprit should be caught by the police, but investigation via our own insurance was progressed much faster.
The address of the tenant of the horse trailer was found, and the perpetrator was asked to come over to court. After many fruitless phone calls and letters from the police and the insurance, we didn’t expect him to show up.
However, in the courthouse a guy in the waiting room was trying to make himself as broad as possible and looking as angry as possible. That must be him.
Frank had made drawings of the traffic situation and photographs of the damage.
The sheep guy grunted a few times that ‘he didn’t notice anything’. And that he ‘never had heard of Mister Winnips’. Wow … that were a couple of sharp arguments, isn’t it?
His reply was that (in despite his claim that he didn’t notice anything) he had waited at the Shell station for 45 minutes, where we could ‘work things out’ …
Changing our tires was done within 20 minutes and I swear on my mother grave that we have looked around very closely to a truck with 5 sheep and a double horse trailer. It’s impossible to miss such a remarkable caravan in the strong spotlights of the Shell station, in the furthermore silent evening.
Anyway, this desperate ‘attack’ didn’t need a reply. It was clear to the judge. The sheep guy had to transfer the money within 3 weeks to us.
When we left the court building we walked about 50 meters behind the sheep guy. He straight headed to our parked car and walked around it. Probably to scare the car. Or maybe to piss on it.
If he had walked to our car 4 months earlier … he was done with 200 bucks cash. No police needed. Because we don’t care about some pieces of plastic fender. And we love sheep.
But now, he has to bleed.
When I was 12 I bought my first LP, paid from 3 weeks saved allowance. I still can dream every detail of the black cover with the colored insignia of Queen. With a determined patience I manually had copied and reduced the size of the insignia and pasted on the front of my school agenda, after I first had made it completely black with a marker. Then coated with strips of transparent tape.
Those days it was important to have the thickest diary of your class mates, caused by all kind of stickers and extra pictures. The first thing girls glued inside the cover was a small mirror. You was on the right track if your school agenda needed to be held together with a post rubber within a couple of weeks.
Back in the days for pop stars it made sense to pay attention to the cover, because LP’s were large. Cover illustrator seemed to be a respectable profession to me. Although inaccessible, but something to pursue in my adolescent dreams.
By now I’m not sure if it was a real profession anyway. But it would have been such a nice preface for the glamorous coffee table book, “Life and work of Mrs. Van Lubeck”. It would have been a good story if because of that youthful career plan I would have ended up on the graphical school, and soon afterwards became a widely sought illustrator/record cover creator …
That did not happen. Because to enroll the graphics school I needed a certificate of mathematics, which I hadn’t.
And to get admitted the art school I had to show fifty (50!) … (Yes, fifty !!!) artworks to show my talent. I was seething. I had never heard such a stupid thing. You go there to learn making art, isn’t it? If you wanted go to the school for veterinarians, you also don’t need to show 50 surgeried* cats in advance?!
I think at that point I got my first major frustrated rage against society.
In hindsight, I’m fine without art school. I became an artist anyway. And … I even became a bit of a record cover designer too! Of a Real American Progressive Rock Band, called Metaphor! Yeah! They asked me if there was a possibility to use one of my paintings for their newest cd.
*Yes I know, a non existing word. But you know what I meant, right?