Tag Archives: Painting

Nigh Times

By psilly | Published: July 16, 2009

These Are Nigh Times.

We’re drifting off together (she may already be asleep) at the same time as standing outside cemetery gates together, somehow in a jovial mood. There’s a hint of apprehension about entering but I know I’m dreaming and decide to demonstrate this. We walk into the cemetery and I lift off the ground about a foot or two, my legs together and my arms out to either side, cruciform (the preferred form of this graveyard, it would seem). I hover forward quite quickly and she runs to keep up with me, skipping every now and then like an excited child. I remain aware of us cuddling on the bed and seem to be able to hear thoughts from her sleepy head manifest as excitable comments within the dream. I close my arms around her dream-body and decide/say: “Let’s do it!” and shoot us up into the air (I’m sure at this point she giggles out loud). As we get higher I become aware of these huge shadowy protean shapes, giant monsters whose duty it is to stop such flagrant violations of the rules. I decide not to heed them. We soar ever upwards beyond the grip of the beasts until I sense the beginning of some kind of fainting, wilting dissolution – as if dream-space is curved… at this point I think she changes position and I wake feeling slightly disappointed. In the morning when I tell her the dream she is amazed – she was just about to ask if we “did anything together last night”!
(30th October 2005)

The dream you just read was my first proper lucid dream since childhood. Back then I remember looking forward to sleep: wondering what never-to-be-invented sweets I might eat (for free!) in the shop of my dreams… yearning to ride my flying armchair on red-arrow-heatwaves… to swim about in our submerged house. This ability to dream lucidly faded gradually as I entered my teens, and I can think of only one good reason it’s surfaced again recently: I’ve been keeping a dream diary.

Dreams are funny things, they interact with and reference the waking world in such endlessly inventive ways. When I look back at some of the dreams I’ve experienced over the years it’s clear there’s no real line between them and the waking events they emerged from and became entangled with – they are part of a continuum, part of a process. Dreams happen as much as anything happens, in so far as they happen to us. Memory is a dream, and so is imagination. Part of you is dreaming now.

As a child I couldn’t fall asleep listening to my heartbeat. It scared me. (I’d sculpt a little hollow in the pillow in which to lay my ear so as not to let pressure amplify the booming.) There was the discomfort of the beat like the ticking of a clock, counting time, and the worry that paying too much attention would cause it to skip – but there was something more: each beat was the soft but ominous thud of a Wolf’s paw, advancing on me steadily from afar, so far away that it wouldn’t have bothered me were it not for the fact that each beat drew him one step nearer. I had the sense that when my head left the pillow the Wolf just froze, and lay waiting for my heartbeat to reawaken him. I experienced this fear for the best part of a year; until one day, sleeping in my dad’s old bed at my grandparent’s house, I forced myself to keep listening to the beats. The Wolf started running as the adrenaline flooded my heart, coming at me out of the dark woods with burning eyes and matted fur, I held my ground as he came closer and closer, close enough to kill me. The last I saw of him before he disappeared were his open jaws, right in my face.

Just a dream? Or the conquering of a real fear?
Both, neither, and nothing so clear…

These are Nigh Times:
Immanent, imminent,
And already here.

CONTENTS

PsycHome (Paintings & Memories)

By psilly | Published: May 1, 2009

These paintings (& random bits) all come from 2006-2007 when I worked as a Health Care Assistant in a fairly large Psychiatric Hospital. I worked on an all female ward; I wish now that I’d kept a diary, for many of the stories & moments that were so vivid at the time have already faded. I both loved & hated the job. I’d had my own personal experiences with “mental health issues” that helped me relate to the patients (or “service users” as the current politically correct euphemism would have it.)
The thing I really struggled with was the control & restraint (or “physical intervention”!!!) – no matter how much a person was acting out, there always seemed to me to be more humane (though time consuming) ways to deal with them. I still shudder at the memories of screaming ladies pinned face down on the floor while the big needle penetrated their backsides. There were times when it was most definitely necessary to intervene in such a rape-acious manner, but these were in the minority (in my opinion) and often involved physical violence in the first place… On the other hand: I forged decent relationships with some of the patients there, I loved escorting people out into the community or taking them for walks in the gardens, I ran a few painting & poetry groups which challenged me and had a positive effect on the ladies who took part – there was much about the job I really enjoyed, towards the end it was like walking into a room full of friends and getting paid for chatting & hanging out & occasionally dealing with their shit, but the bigger picture was too depressing for me to be able to keep it up.

Love working with the crazies — hate that crazy system!

One Private Universe on the Edge of the World

I could get to work and back along the beach, which made all the difference to my state of mind;—one morning I was taking a breather on a bench overlooking the ocean before starting my shift when a guy walked past with his hood up, mumbling persistantly; he had obviously come from the hospital so I kept an eye on him; he walked down to the edge of the water and for a moment I thought he wasn’t going to stop – but he turned and started strolling along beside the breaking waves. I contemplated him: hood up, still mumbling, and clocked the absurd disparity between his intense intro-spection & the limitless possibilites of the open ocean rippling calmly in the morning sun – first thing that came to mind was the phrase: “One Private Universe on the Edge of the World;” thus the germ of this painting was born.

_______________________
2007. Acrylic, Watercolour, Sand & Feltpen on Paper. 40 x 30cm. For Sale.

MeanWhileSleepSmile

I was working the night shift when they brought in this straggly-haired elf of a lady, old & small & sweet, they’d found her at the bottom of a cliff but didn’t know anything about her because she couldn’t speak: she’d bitten off her tongue. They didn’t know if she’d done it on purpose, or accidentally during her fall, as I said: they didn’t know anything. She was assumed to be high risk and put on the second highest level of supervision, meaning someone must be watching her at all times, (the highest level means someone has to be within arms reach at all times.) So I was assigned to watch her. She’d walk over to the window and do these tai chi-like movements that I felt were some kind of prayer. She was incredibly shy & nervous. Eventually she fell asleep, and for the first time since she arrived I saw her smile:—her situation was horrific, yet here she was, glowing like an elf in some peaceful dream, wearing a smile that was completely serene.

_______________________
2007. Acrylic & Watercolour on Paper. 40 x 30cm. For Sale.

HyperVent

This painting was not directly inspired by any particular experience, in fact it arose from a desire to blow some paint about (I got quite light-headed, hence the title: “HyperVent” from hyperventilate.) But it comes from the same period and speaks to me about my own experience of madness: the blinding chaotic burst of uncontrollable experience, the many beings surrounding the brain, the swimming eyes – but, beyond all this, the calm observer lurking in the shadows… the unflappable centre of the true self… it is this sturdy centre that is my saviour, yet I wouldn’t know it half as well without my wobbles!

_______________________
2007. Acrylic, Watercolour, Feltpen & Pencil on Paper. 30 x 40cm. For Sale.

Percy

I actually painted this whilst working on the ward, I’d raided the activities cupboard in an attempt to relieve the stifling boredom, and spread out a bunch of paper & paints on a table in the lounge. One of the ladies asked me what his name was and I told her I didn’t know – did she have any ideas? “Looks like a Percy to me,” came her answer – and so he was! This lady was amongst the first on the ward to interact with me: It was my first day and I was sat nervously on a chair guarding the door (this was before they made it a ‘locked ward’) as she muddled up in her nightgown and said: “Do you mind if I talk to you?” I could see a fellow HCA smirk and back away, so I wondered what was coming but still said “No, not at all.” She looked immensely pleased, I got the impression no-one had agreed to converse with her in quite some time, and then I found out why: “I’ve never had a cup of tea…” — “Oh really? Would you like one?” — “…I’ve never been on holiday, I’ve never watched TV…” — “Well, that’s great actually but there’s a TV in the lounge if you’d like to…” — “…I’ve never had a cup of tea, I’ve never watched TV, I’ve never been shopping, I’ve never been on holiday, I’ve never worn a dressing gown, I’ve never had a cup ot tea…” —!— This went on indefinitely… I actually quite enjoyed it.

Pinkurple Profile

I painted this at the same time as ‘Percy’ – not much to say about this, I just wanted to paint something pretty to stick up on the sparsely decorated walls. The ladies liked it, I told a few of them they were welcome to take it after it had been on the wall for a while, but no-one ever did.

Elephantine Snail

This was drawn for me by a young lady who had a history of making accusations of misconduct against carers. We got on pretty well, she was difficult to manage at times but it was just like dealing with a slightly troublesome child, so when she asked if I would take her out for a walk I agreed; she was deemed quite a high level of risk so we could only wander around inside the hospital, I took her down to the vending machines and passed the Occupational Therapy department then back to the ward; when we got back the nurse in charge asked her if she’d had a good time, she looked at me mischevously and said: “I especially liked it when me and Sam got lost in the cupboard together.” !!!

Throw-a-wayKey

The male & female wards shared a dining room, so at meal times a carer from each ward would stand in the lobby outside and make sure no-one tried to escape. We’d often sit on this big window ledge, eating a few smuggled nuggets of the patients’ food & chatting. We had these folders with sheets inside for keeping a record of the comings & goings of those patients who were allowed in & out, I sat and doodled this on the back of a blank sheet one morning, I showed it to the guy next to me and he said (perhaps a little predictably) “You want to keep that to yourself mate or they’ll have you in here.” I was probably considered a little odd by most, but respected for having a way with people, among my nicknames were ‘Gandalf’ & ‘Jesus’!

Robot Destiny

Soil-people

The scrawl on the left is one of the many notes I made mid-job, when such absurd little sayings would pop into my head and I’d be compelled to write them down. The scrawl on the right is one of many little notes handed to me by one of my favourite patients. She had done some awful things in her time as a result of her illness and had ended up on our ward because no-one else would have her – though we weren’t really equipped to deal with such challenging behaviour and she ended up being under constant supervision for weeks. I wrote a letter advocating for her, as it was my opinion that being watched constantly was actually the source of some of her problems (especially when she didn’t get on with the person doing the watching!) and they did eventually scale back the supervisions, which mostly worked out for the better. I found her to be quite an amazing lady; I can’t really go into any details but she was very creative, perceptive & knowledgable & had lived a very interesting life. This is another one of her notes:

Snails making for Magic Mushrooms

She had this entire mythology about snails, in particular one special snail called: “Snalien” …

She was room-bound in a previous home due to some reasonably serious misdemeanour, the windows only opened a little so she had them as wide as they would go and was looking out into the garden, a snail crawled up the wall and started slithering into her room and she freaked out and closed the window on it; she felt bad about her impulse reaction and opened the window back up – a third eye came poking out one of the cracks in its shell and she realised it was no ordinary snail: it was SNALIEN! She put him on some plasterboard which he ate to heal the cracks in his shell, and thereafter he was her friend and came to visit on many occasions. One time when they’d doped her up and she’d crashed spread-eagled on the floor she woke to find he’d been keeping her company in the night: traced in a perfect outline around the spot she’d been laying was a shining snail trail (like the chalk outline where a murder victim once lay.) It was glittering transparently… shimmering with friendly meanings.

There were many more stories of encounters with Snalien, even a creation myth,
but I’ll have to make a more concerted effort to remember them some other time.

Is that the Question?

I’ll leave you with a poem she gave to me,
including its notes, and a final doodle…

         O MYSTIC ROSE
         DID SOME SILLY BEE
         WITH DIRTY LITTLE FEET,
         STICK HIS PROBOSCIS
         UNDER YOUR COVER
         FERTILISING YOU?

         IMMACULATE CONCEPTION
         OF EARTH MOTHER
         THROUGHOUT ALL

*Mystic Rose is the Mediaeval name of Mary Mother of God.
*The word “silly” in Mediaeval times meant wise –
applying to Witches, Healers, Seers & Prophets.

She wouldn’t believe me when I told her I loved her poem.

Mandala Paintings 1999-2001

By psilly | Published: April 30, 2009

The paintings you are about to set eyes upon come from 1999-2001, they are my first ‘real’ paintings. I’d just begun studying Audio/Visual Production at the Bournemouth Arts Institute, 18 years young, when I stumbled across a copy of Carl Jung’s “The Archtypes and the Collective Unconscious” whilst browsing their library. I was flicking through the pages when the MANDALAS jumped out at me, I read what he had to say on the matter and was inspired:

…Mandala means ‘circle’. There are innumerable variants of the motif (…) but they are all based on the squaring of the circle. Their basic motif is the premonition of a centre of personality; a kind of central point within the psyche, to which everything is related, by which everything is arranged, and which is itself a source of energy. The energy of the central point is manifested in the almost irresistible compulsion to become what one is, just as every organism is driven to assume the form that is characteristic of its nature, no matter what the circumstances. The centre is not felt or thought of as the ego but, if one may so express it, as the self. Although the centre is represented by an innermost point, it is surrounded by a periphery containing everything that belongs to the self—the paired opposites that make up the total personality. This totality comprises consciousness first of all, then the personal unconscious, and finally an indefinitely large segment of the collective unconscious whose archetypes are common to all mankind. (…) The self, though on the one hand simple, is on the other hand an extremely composite thing, a “conglomerate soul.”
- C. G. Jung

Thus armed, and following my instincts, I would take my canvas and cover it in paint; my only restraint was to be a circle, or something approximating a circle, in or near the centre. I would then sit back and contemplate the painting-in-progress, focusing intently on the central point. Forms would begin to make themselves known to me and I would pick them out. I would take long contemplative breaks often throughout the work; until eventually it was clear that the painting was finished.—
Though I may’ve been finished with the painting, the painting was not finished with me: in the period soon after completion (and continuing to a lesser degree even to this day) the images would reveal me to myself as I contemplated them. Rich self-imaginings would stir inside and I would make realisations about my deeper feelings, my truer selves, my path.

InJoy…

InneRevolution

This one deals with Introspection & its fruits,
it marked the realisation of my own Inner evolution…

A Herb aided Contemplation of my Being
that spreads far beyond Now,
to there & soon…

I see myself looking towards my centre,
where I am brewing in the heart
of a Psychedelic Octopus -

I swim in a primordiartistic soup
of swirls spirals triangles squares & circles,
gradually gaining shape…

A (k)New Beginning that will never End,
as long as the Start alludes us…
forever Beginning to End.

__________________________
1999. Acrylic on Canvas Board. 30 x 40cm.

SubSubConsciousness

Delving deep…

                           I stare at the deep blue
                           Purple hue
                           Night sky,

         I reach before me into the Green-tinged haze I just exhaled
         and find my fingers probe my brain…
                  I find myself again
                           In the arms of a plant,

Together we gather myself for a
Journey to the haunted Center…

         Everything is going swimmingly, even solid trees ripple
         as I ease further into myself which is
                  out of my mind…

         Though here now, hear know
                  I see sights that blind me to deafness!!!
                           In the dark I see All!!!
                           a a a A!!

                  the rest just doesn’t compare to this…
                  Is…
                  SubSubConsciousness

_________________________
1999. Acrylic on Canvas Board. 30 x 40cm.

Hear I am (?)

Hear I Am(?)

There is a sense that is All senses combined,
a Sixth Sense…

There is a Third I that Sees what you hear…

                  There is a place,
                  a hyperspace,
                  where your boundaries dissolve
                  and you are energy in motion…

         Everything exists here in Infinity,
         here in the very center of the perimeter where we is
         Stoned, infatuated with the Sounds
         we See we feel we Be…

         We are the Light that dances in the void,
         without whoms trance Life itself would be devoid
         of Love, and everything would fall apart…
                  a part
                  a p a r t . . . …

         _________________________
         2000. Acrylic on Board. 100 x 40cm.

         I in the Try Angle

         A Triangle inside a Circle, a Trinity in Infinity…
         A Fourth: Dimension, A Pyramid observed…
         Our Earth, constrained by Cubists…

Where the cube is constructed happiness, the spiral is the destroyer:
Bliss.

                           My Eye
         Buddha smiling at me from the void:
                           My
                           (k)no
                           I

         Feel his laughter ripple a spiral of concentric
                  Circles
                  Of Bliss
                  In this, in
                           This
                           this
                           this…

         _________________________
         2000. Acrylic on Cardboard. 70 x 100cm.

         EveryThing I Ever Wanted To Say (About my elfs)

         I Love Everything…
         yet I try to extend beyond myself
         only to find me chasing right behind…

I fractal within
when I just wanna be going out,

                  But where is She?
                  Where is the one to take me out of me?
                  Break me out of embracing myself???

The elf ladies are kind to me
but they cannot satisfy my physical desire…

The Fire that rises
The mushroom cloud.

                           I need to Bless
                           All else
                           In embrace
                           With the Goddess
                           Embodied.

                  But my appearance is shoddy,
                  I shine from within
                  but not everyone sees that

The elf men are also good to me…

                  All
                  So
                  People
                  think
                  I am crazy,
                           In a hazy daze
                           of laziness…
                  ’Cos you cannot
                  get to us

In here

                  I embrace
                  Our
                  One Soul
                  at the inverted
                  Centre

I kiss myself

                  All else
                  IS
                  Forgotten…

         __________________________
         2000. Acrylic on Canvas Board. 40 x 30cm.

         Making Love With The Universe

E-gooooooooo…

going…

                           *Try a toot*
                           Gone.
                           *It’s a hoot*
                           Back.
                           *In cahoots?*
                           Gone…
                           *Inner roots…*

         After taking a toke on a spliff, our man, who was sitting cross-legged, slowly leaned back -
         his hands coming to rest behind his head, elbows up & out…
         The configuration of his limbs reminded him of the mid-section of the Tree of Life…
         He looked for the Soul of Man and he found it at his centre…

Hello? Heylo? HALO…

The angles, of my triangles…
The Angels…

Can you see them in the ‘ringleader’?
Can you see them in the Stars?

They reflect themselves above and below and in every direction out into infinity,
Then her arms unfold – leaving tracers… becoming more arms…

                  SHAKTI/SHIVA!!!
                  How I wish to please her!
                  That is my intent!! Manifest !
                  LOVE IS ALL!!! ! !

Another wave retreats, and by some amazing feat:

                  There is my protection…
                  A huge Rasta in the sky,
                  manifest in the clouds, is it I?

Who am I?

Here I am…
On the ground, feeling sick…

                  The wave is coming back in,
                  surging through my body and
                  pushing puke onto the sand beside me,
                  which is me for a second before I am me again…

Then I purge myself from myself once more and re-enter.

I have to lie on my side as I leave myself,
I cannot support my own weight…

         My stomach contorts and I feel pain -
         not just physical distress but the distress of being expelled from myself and then accepted…
         then expelled then accepted… It gets less like pain and more like the sheer intensity of existence
         until I can no longer contain myself, this is the last of the purge and I roll onto my back…

                  Infinite… then definite -
                  Yes, definitely sweating –
                  Heart beating fast…

         I crawl out of my sleeping bag, peeling off another layer of personality with it…
         Depth perception and angles are all sorts because I am perceiving from so many places,
         taking off a jumper is a transcendental delight because I am perceiving from so many dimensions…

Still I sweat, is this dizziness?
No… it’s disassociation… diffusion…

Confusion for a while, then the Wind cools my burning body and I slip into a lesson:

                  Every time I close my eyes I become that nothing…
                  Adjusted to the infinite non-action of that nothing… … ???
                  Something:

                           So I open my eyes and suddenly I’m flowing out into everything…
                           Enjoying the infinite results of that one-action… … ???
                           Becoming too intense, my body twists, back to nothing:

                                    So I open my eyes and suddenly I’m flowing out into everything…
                                    Enjoying the infinite results of that one-action… … ???
                                    Becoming too intense, my body twists, back to nothing:

         And this in itself is a joyous blissful agonizing eternity of flux between identity and BEING,
         off and on, On and on… then longing and seeing and FEELING and BEING and SEEING
         and BEING to INFINITY (even beyond! As Buzz would say)…

                  That’s what I am:
                                    What I am:
                                                      I AM.

                  Each time is increasing or superior or just different but the same…
                           Evolved on somehow, mutated maybe…
                           But baby it’s all the same because it’s new…
                           KNEW…
                           There is no memory of what has gone before…
                           Just the living product of it…
                           Extending infinitely from where it’s been to where it’s going in a big fat Circle
                           (which {when viewed from multiple dimensions} is really a Spiral)…
                           Man! It’s all so complex I think I’ll just ride it for a while…

                                    Smile…
                                    ^^…Wake UP!!!^
                                    HAPPINESS…

__________________________
2001. Acrylic, Photocopies & Bodily Fluids on Canvas. 60 x 80cm.

Posted in Being Psilly | Also tagged Poetry | 2 Comments

psilly: Hi kyla, thanks & I’m glad you like. Funny little syncronicity: my girlfriend was just saying how her...
kyla: psilly….i ABSOLUTELY LOVE your art! i really enjoyed your “One Private Universe On The Edge of The...
psilly: mossy! big love from the cosmic bummer. x
psilly: cheers brutha! (got a slightly new mix with a slideshow comin’ up soonish hopefooly)
snortin goat: diggin’!