A NEW APPROACH TO ART

I have been moving in a new direction. For the foreseeable future I have chosen to step back from the large canvas pieces and bring things down to a slower, more fluent and authentic pace. I have replaced that approach with developing my style through sketchbook paintings and smaller studies. This gives me a way to return to my roots and recover a sense of freedom in what the hell I’m doing. Over the past few months I could feel my enthusiasm draining; I was repeating the same styles and techniques, and everything was beginning to feel stale. I was losing my spark and turning into a machine. I found myself creating work influenced by what had sold well and by the opinions of the small audience who actually see my pieces. I was falling into the trap of caring what other people thought — dangerous territory. I stopped listening to my inner child. The paintings weren’t talking to me, and they weren’t conveying my emotions or communicating my thoughts. Working with watercolours, acrylics, charcoal, inks and a variety of colours and tools on A2 mixed-media is exactly what I need right now: a space for freedom, play and experimentation.

I have documented this shift carefully. As a way to keep track of the hundreds of hours and the many hundreds of dollars I have invested in this project, I created a site for ME to store these paintings for ME. You are more than welcome to view the site and see what I have been producing, but don’t go in there with huge expectations. artbysaville.com. This site is updated almost on a daily basis.

I'M BOYCOTTING THE GRAND FINAL

It’s Saturday morning, early, and I can’t sleep because of the AFL Grand Final. I’m ecstatic—or at least pretending to be; there may be a hint of sarcasm in that. Truth is, I could not care less. There has been a real shift in my approach to football this season. I was once a fanatical devotee of the game and I still respect it as one of the greatest sports in the world, largely because I’m an Aussie with family and friends who are passionate about it, the culture and the tipping. This year I can honestly say I have not watched or listened to a single match; I didn’t even know who was playing today until I just looked it up. I reluctantly entered the tipping and finished second last. It reached the point a few games in where I simply didn’t bother to submit my tips at all. I don’t watch mainstream news or TV anymore, and I don’t listen to Triple M, so I have been completely out of the loop. I can do without all of the adds for gambling, alcohol and McDonalds too.

Sport is a designed distraction. Some people follow it for this reason alone, maybe with being aware that it is just that!. There are so many far more important things happening in the world at the moment. So much! I follow independent and alternative news every day — the kind that doesn’t report on a kitten stuck in a tree or the Grand Final. You must understand that we are being lied to all day long. We are living on a prison planet. We are not free. This agenda, designed and slowly implemented long ago, is now coming into fruition. Sport plays a big part in that plan. Just some of the other distractions, projects and operations include the entertainment industry, smartphones and the internet (which is being undermined), artificial intelligence, world politics, the elite who truly rule this planet (the people who don’t show their faces), wars, the destruction of the environment, chemtrails, fracking, the Illuminati and other secret societies who pull strings, ufology, aliens and an imminent takeover (or at least an official visitation), the cost of living, RDFI chips (or the mark of the beast), the dwindling fuel supply, the erosion of the economy, EMP (Electric Magnetic Pulses), solar flares, the Federal Reserve, FEMA concentration camps, and the poisoning of our food and water. Death, disease and destruction! These are just a tiny fraction of what keeps me awake at night. It should concern everyone. How can it not? Problem, reaction, solution, as Icke calls it, although there doesn’t even seem to be a solution anymore.

It interferes with not only my sleep but these issues haunt me during the day as well. I was called a conspiracy nut twenty five years ago, yet so much of what I investigated back then is now unfolding before our eyes. This is not because I’m especially clever; it’s simply that renegades, brave researchers and people who connected the dots predicted much of this, and I watched it in complete disbelief as I absorbed all that frightening information. I’m scared. It has always been a lonely business, this conspiracy stuff, though it feels less lonely now. More people are waking up and beginning to realise how they are being taken advantage of every single day and that humanity faces a very serious threat. Many who watch news outlets like Fox assume everything will be fine and dandy continue to support the systems that have been put in place. I hate to sound like such a pessimist, but I believe the concern is justified. I’m not wearing a tin-foil hat and I’m not tossing out wild, baseless ideas. This is happening, and if I were you I would worry about your children and, even more so, your grandchildren. What hope will they have? Very little if we ever start launching nukes across the planet — a terrifying possibility.

Look, everyone. I didn’t mean to start a rant — I’ve only touched on a small fraction of the ugly things happening around us. I don’t have any answers, just a request: don’t give me a hard time for skipping the footy today. I’ve got other priorities to look after, like making art. Enjoy the game and the time with friends and family. Have a beer, grab a snag, and let yourselves smile. My family will be heading out to celebrate with relatives, but I’ll be painting instead.

THAT DIDN'T LAST LONG

Disregard my bellow post. I didn't even make it to the 24 hour mark. I somehow found myself entering the art store entrance without much conscious effort. I never even tried to put up a fight. One minute I was asleep and within that same hour there I was. I was excited to find a new section of paints they had—an unexpected little discovery that made my heart race. I’m sure they ordered these specifically for me as I love a new art find. I am usually loyal; to two brands of paint so finding something new was exhilarating and felt like a tiny victory. It has been years since I used another brand so I was eager to get home and see what I found and test each tube. I was happy. I would call it a half flow, half structure and very odd was it was reasonably priced which is something I never find in art stores. Ever! I have always wanted to use oil pastels but my suspicions were confirmed when I asked the store lady if they ever dried or was there some sort of fixative. No, was the answer. I managed to leave the store with half a dozen paints, an A3 acrylic pad and charcoal. I don’t think I have purchased so little in that store ever, yet it felt like I’d struck gold.

Working on paper has really been coming through for me lately. I think working on a smaller scale, spending far less money on paper instead of large canvases, and being able to draw and paint wherever I want without feeling there is a posibility of ruining an expensive canvas has been a genuine blessing. I’m slowly selling the remainder of the large canvases I’ve had tucked away for years. A good spring clean and making a little money feels refreshing. Not long ago I put up a bundle of canvases I couldn’t bear the sight of — I wanted them gone. I marked them free and got nearly a hundred messages on Marketplace within a few hours. I didn’t have the time to read them all, so I said first come, first served, and they were gone within half an hour. Put “free” on anything and it disappears. I was hoping people would paint over them, but everybody wanted them for their walls.

Most people do not know what good art is. With the other canvases I cut out the canvas and destroyed the frames for firewood. Anyway, all of this has been satisfying in its own way. I have kept a series of about 18 small canvases that I want to sell. I plan to sell three at a time; it’s easy to make a profit when all I spent was about $22 each on canvases plus a few dollars for paints and my time. I don’t think I’ll be doing this again any time soon — it’s been a bit of a stress. I hate the selling process and having random people visit the house. Sometimes the transaction is very businesslike — in and out — but other times people want to chat and learn about the piece they’re purchasing. Quite often the buyer offers me more than I’d asked because they’re so happy. Others try to beat you down on price.

Over the last few days I have worked hard and produced almost 30 pieces. These will go on my new website. That’s something else to mention, I have a new website — another one, in fact. This is site number five. It is a site built solely for my sketchbook sketches and paintings. Don’t take the site too seriously, as all I have to display are some rough works. I wanted somewhere to keep a database of all the art I have created over the last few years. You can visit my sites at the addresses below:
http://www.davesaville.com
www.artbysaville.com
www.davidsavilleart.com
www.djsink.com
www.davidjsaville.com

These sites are not just to showcase my work; they also serve as a backup, and I genuinely enjoy web design. Even though my design abilities are somewhat limited on Squarespace, I still take pleasure in using the platform. After spending hundreds of hours working with it, I’ve become quite comfortable navigating its features, and the process is fun. Adding posts to this blog from time to time remains a simple, enjoyable practice.

I SURE COULD USE A VACATION

I’ve decided to take a break from my art endeavors. It’s been wearing me down and increasingly taking over my life. There are no half measures when it comes to my work — I can’t treat it as a hobby. I always feel compelled to take things as far as I can and to elaborate every idea fully. It really does become life-consuming. I was up until 4am this morning drawing and didn’t surface until well into the afternoon. It’s a constant cycle: when I’m not making something, I’m obsessively planning the next piece, and that need becomes so urgent I have to feed the monster and translate my thoughts into physical form. One of the problems I’m facing is that I’m feeding this beast far too often; it’s playing games with my head, a condition likely worsened by lack of sleep and too many energy drinks.

The house is a mess. The house, which is not mine, has paint stains everywhere, and as much as it sounds simple I can’t help but make these mistakes. For a full-time artist without a dedicated studio, it is a real challenge not to leave my marks around the place. It plays to my paranoia and anxiety. Every step I take I check the soles of my shoes, I inspect my clothing and walk on eggshells while I do whatever it is I need to do in the house. I do my absolute best, but these things happen. All of my clothing, including my Tool and Radiohead hoodies, every piece of my beloved and collected music t‑shirts and hoodies, is speckled with paint. I don’t think I own an item of clothing without smears of paint on it. I don’t care at the end of the day. I’m an artist who is in no way materialistic. For the last few years I’ve mostly been using acrylics, which are forgiving when it comes to cleaning floorboards and carpets. One day I will have my own studio and be able to remove the burden and constant stress of leaving a mess. That is my dream, though it feels like one that may never come true.

I need a break so I don’t burn out. Lately I’ve noticed my enthusiasm isn’t what it used to be. I still love what I do, but I need to start saving a little money, get more organised, and pull myself together so I can enjoy returning to my passion again in the near future.

I ALMOST LOST IT ALL

I prayed, I paced the house, and I nearly came to tears. Something monumental happened last night, and it took me sixteen hours to set it right. I lost my websites — gone, vanished. Five years of work felt like it had been swept away. In the confusion over what should have been a simple task, I made a foolish mistake and deleted all of my hard work. I likely have over a thousand paintings and a whole heap of other important stuff tied up in those sites. It was a rookie error, and I was on my own. There isn’t a single friend who uses Squarespace I could turn to, and of course there’s no phone number to call — everything is routed through AI. I felt utterly trapped.

I couldn’t let go of it, so I pulled an all-nighter, and after praying for help with this worldly issue, somehow things turned in my favour and I managed to get my complete works back online. Oh my God, what a relief that was. I was utterly sleep deprived and the whole night had been unbearably stressful. “It’s not the end of the world,” one person told me… um, yes — for me, it would have been the end of MY world. I won’t make that mistake twice, but I’ll need to put a reliable backup plan in place. Squarespace have made things difficult so that the files on their site are no longer compatible with Photoshop, so I’m going to tediously copy each photo and painting, convert them to JPEGs, and save them to a couple of USB drives and my external hard drives. THANK YOU, LORD!

I HAVEN'T BEEN LOOKING AFTER MYSELF

I’m in a pretty poor state when it comes to my health, both physical and mental. I feel shattered at times and stretched thin by symptoms I struggle to name. I’m the true definition of a schizophrenic, or so it seems to me; nobody around me really seems to understand the experience the way I live it. I changed into new pants today — a small, quiet victory. My old trackies were completely covered in paint; there was no fabric left to be seen, just crusted color and memories of work. I showered because the people close to me encouraged it, and I brushed my teeth, but I didn’t feel any lighter for the effort. My medication is scattered around my room, more than the occasional pill — it’s a daily, visible reminder of dependence I both resent and need. I hate taking medication, yet I know I can’t function or fit into this society without it. I sometimes fixate on things and chase them to the bitter end, losing sleep and perspective along the way. Art has always been high on that list of fixations, but if you read my recent posts you’ll see how it’s becoming problematic. By the harsh standards I set for my work I am not a true artist — I’m someone nursing a distant dream of making it big in the art world, but feeling like time is running out. I need to learn to paint for myself again and to block out external suggestions and opinions that warp my process. As I’ve said before, I’ve taken what I expect will be a long vacation from painting on canvas with hundreds of dollars’ worth of materials; it was taking over and doing my head in, so I stepped back to protect whatever sanity I have left.

My bedroom, the only sanctuary I have on this shithole planet, is strewn with empty energy drink cans, half‑used tubes of paint, half‑started canvases and partially read books; an expensive bedsheet and quilt lie covered in splatters of color. I have old motocross trophies from when life still felt exciting. The floor needs to be vacuumed and fresh paint stains on the carpet should have been dealt with yesterday. I haven’t eaten a proper meal in some time; I probably should be anemic, yet I’m an overweight slob who struggles with self‑loathing.

Despite that, I am taking steps to improve my life. I haven’t had a drink in 125 days. I don’t smoke cigarettes or use drugs anymore. Something I wrestled with for so many years has become, surprisingly, a breeze — I haven’t even had a craving and I’ve developed a real disgust for the stuff. Sobriety is something I’m learning to enjoy. Now all I need to do is give up the vape, which feels like it’s going to be brutally hard. To me, they’re tougher to quit than cigarettes. I don’t know how I’m going to manage it. Four months ago I became very sick and nearly died, and I spent that time confined to bed without thinking about smoking; the moment I was discharged I walked straight to the tobacconist. Such are the pull of those evil things.

I don’t have friends. I don’t want friends! I have a person I occasionally see, and I think we do friend-type things like buy lunch, walk the dog and chat, but as awful as it sounds, I don’t need this arrangement. I just want to be left to myself; I’m very comfortable with my own company. What a negative blog! I’m not always like this — I have my days. Today just hasn’t been a good one. Maybe I should become a raging alcoholic again. That sometimes made me happy, not often but occasionally, which is more than I can say about the truckloads of pharmaceuticals that are pushed down my throat. There is a friend I do have and it’s called sleep. We will meet up tonight for a short date. I only see sleep for a few hours each night; I wish our dates lasted longer. Tomorrow will hopefully be a better day. I have the comments turned on for this post. I’ve been blogging for close to a decade and I have never received a comment or a thumbs up. That’s how much the world seems to care for me. Good night!!!

HOW DOWNSIZING WORKED OUT FOR ME

In my last post I talked about scaling things down a notch regarding the amount of art supplies I’d been buying. Art means a great deal to me, and I’ve always said it’s a modest cure for my mental health; alas, late bills and rent have become part of the equation too. I sold a piece of my comfort and did something I never imagined I would do — and that was the plan all along. Lately I’ve been working on a lot of small canvases, unable to unleash my full creative range. I wanted to offer work people didn’t have to spend their hard‑earned money on, a cheaper way of doing things, but it’s only added to my frustration. I’ve gone over more than twenty canvases maybe three or four times each, never truly satisfied (no surprises there). They’re now drying in my shed, and I’ve had to accept that difficult cutoff: they are finished, Dave!

Today I went to the art store thinking I would save money by painting on A3 acrylic paper and buying less expensive paints. I walked into the shop in a good mood and left staring at my receipt for two hundred dollars, surprised that I had spent so much on paints and paper. Usually I spend even more across my two weekly trips, but I hadn’t intended to do this on the cheap, and all I’m left with is this haul. I typically pick up plenty of other items during my rampage down the art aisle. Lately I’ve developed a bit of a fetish for brushes, and not the cheap kind. Every visit I seem to load up on them, which is ironic because I hardly ever use brushes—I favor palette knives instead, and I’ve built up a modest collection of those as well.

I need to take a break, guys. I said this in my last post, but now it’s required. I am always creating, and when I’m not, I’m thinking about it and planning my next elaborate painting marathon that so rarely ends up how I envisioned. It’s a constant up-and-down rollercoaster when it comes to art. Sure, my mental health is important, but I tend to only remember the good times. There are plenty of doubtful, self-loathing, painful, soul-crushing periods too. I guess this is what happens when you’re an art junkie who lives and breathes the work.

I’m going to tie these smaller canvases up, photograph them properly, and upload them to my websites in the hope of getting some bites. If I don’t — which would be less desirable — I may have to shut up shop and try to make this more of a casual small business or a hobby where I sell one piece here and there. Maybe it’s time I rethink my lifelong dream. I truly get where the “frustrated artist” motto came from.

I'M AN ART SUPPLY JUNKIE AND NEED MY FIX

I’ve completed 21 canvases today — a mix of sizes but mostly medium — and I feel both satisfied and drained. It’s payday, and I desperately need more supplies, yet I can’t quite bring myself to justify spending the money right now. Painting properly is an expensive habit when you insist on high-quality materials; it really does add up. Am I happy with the last six hours of work? I’m still undecided. I’ve stared at the pieces for so long that everything starts to blur together and I can’t tell what’s working and what isn’t. I think I need to step away for a bit — a proper break of a few days to clear my head. I’ll post what I’ve made and see how the response goes; if any of it sells, I’ll be straight down to the art store. Burnout is real, and it can happen with anything; I don’t want to end up stuck in that place. I need to find other ways to use my time besides endlessly scrolling online and painting until I’m numb. Maybe I should pick up an oil or acrylic sketchpad and do quick studies instead — that just occurred to me and it feels like a smart move. Okay… that’s what I’m going to do. This will keep me busy and give me fresh ideas for bigger projects down the line. Watercolour is a good idea too — and practical; it’s been far too cold lately to be working out in the wind, rain and freezing weather. With watercolours I can work comfortably indoors and still explore colour and form. Nice idea, Dave! I want to rediscover what it feels like to paint for myself again. Lately every piece I work on has been shaped by someone else’s ideals: my sister hates purple, my mum doesn’t like heavily textured paintings, and my dad could barely care less what I paint. I’m over working on large canvases at the moment. The bigger the canvas, the higher the cost of both the surface and the paints. It shouldn’t always come down to money, but I’ve got to be realistic — I have bills and rent to pay. I’ve even found myself dipping into savings to feed my art habit. I don’t yet know how to make things on a smaller, more cost-effective scale. Basically, I’m spending more than I’m making, and that’s not a sustainable business plan.

NOT A HAPPY ARTIST

I’m bloody miserable. I spent the night without sleep, unable to fall asleep because I had painting on the mind; the images and colours kept circling until dawn. This happens to me often, and if it’s not art that’s keeping me awake it could be any other issue rattling around in my head, small worries magnified in the dark. I had it all planned. I have the canvases, the paints and brushes and the motivation to keep me busy for a week — everything I ever wished for from a kid through to recent years. There was no excuse not to create something good. I was out of bed at sunrise with brushes in hand, ready to take on a masterpiece because what could go wrong, right? I had the whole process in my head: the first washes, the layering, the moment that would make me smile at the end of the day. It didn’t go to plan.

I found myself on my tarp, my isle set and paints lined up by my side. Staring at a black canvas can feel intimidating, almost like facing a blank demand for bravery. After about five minutes of work I realized today wasn’t going to be as successful as I’d hoped. Usually, when things go downhill I try to compensate by adding more colours and heavy wash downs with the hose, which only pull me further into negative thoughts. The once-vibrant pigments, blended in desperation, now resembled muddy grays and browns. It felt like a failure already — such a disappointing, deflating moment. I’m sure most artists know that point when enough is enough… Next canvas, please. I salvaged the expensive support by washing it clean so I can have another go, but I won’t approach it this time with quite so much confidence.

On the upside, I didn’t use the expensive paints I bought yesterday, even though I had hoped they would be completely worth it. I bought four tubes that cost me over $100, and I wasn’t willing to invest them in something I wasn’t sure would work out. With the other paints I already own — literally hundreds of tubes — I have everything I need, yet I still manage to mess things up. I feel like such a failure! Maybe I should consider stacking shelves at Coles instead.

DIAZEPAM & SEROQUEL

I am well acquainted with diazepam and Seroquel. These were among the medications that began this difficult journey of medication changes, with their many ups and downs and unwanted side effects. Before I go further I must stress that alcohol and benzodiazepines are the two substances that can cause seizures and even death when withdrawing. I feel extremely lucky when I look back on the times I abused these drugs—often not as prescribed and frequently together. Yes, I was the one who put them down my throat, but it would have been reassuring if one of my many psychiatrists had warned me more clearly about these dangers. Also, mixing them can wipe your memory OUT—similar to an alcoholic blackout but in some ways even worse. I’m sober from alcohol now and have no intention of going back; I feel only hatred for it. I’m content with my sobriety. Yet I still take diazepam and Seroquel, and in large doses. Last night was something I hadn’t experienced before: I took a big dose of Seroquel with Valium on top of it and now have holes in my memory about what happened. My recollection isn’t what it could be, and this morning I woke up questioning what went on and what I might have said. My greatest fear was that my parents would assume I’d been drinking. After a nap, my dad asked me if it was 8 a.m. or 8 p.m.; I quickly said evening and was right. Their question was a small test to see if I was alert. It turned out to be the dangerous combination of Valium and Seroquel. Lesson learned, Dave. Professor Burrows once put me on 2,400 mg—ridiculously high—so I was taking 800 mg three times a day. I now take half of that, but it’s still a hefty dose compared with most people, who take around 300 mg. Ahhh… I am a pharmaceutical guinea pig.

ARTIST DESTROYS HIS PARENTS HOUSE

‘Destroy’ is an exaggerated statement. If I had have had more room in the title of this entry it would have been something like this: AN ARTIST GETS A LITTLE BIT OF ACRYLIC PAINT ON HIS PARENTS FLOORBOARDS AND OTHER PROPERY THAT’S NOT HIS HOUSE AND HIS AND HE GETS INTO A FIGHT WITH HIS PARENTS.. I think that is a better description than destroying a house, since the damage is minimal and, in most cases, can be easily removed. Here’s the deal, folks… I currently live with my parents. I get along with them, but I’m also an artist who creates large abstract paintings with thick paint, and the paint doesn’t always stick to the canvas. Sometimes the paint ends up on the lawn or a little on the entrance back room floor where I set my canvases to dry. Some paintings can take weeks to fully dry. I’m not claiming to be blameless for these little mishaps — I know this is not my house — but incidents do happen. I clean the obvious spots, yet there are always parts of the yard I miss. This is no one’s fault but my own, though sometimes I wish my old man would take it easier when there are drops of paint on the grass. We’re talking water-soluble acrylics. I’m not using oils. If it were my house, oil paint might be my medium of choice, but that simply wouldn’t work while living here. It’s hard arguing with my dad because I know he’s in the right, but jeez! I need a studio or a space where I can make a little mess without it feeding my paranoia and anxiety. My mum is much more laid-back about it, but like a good partner she often takes his side during the battles we’ve had numerous times in the past. I’m getting over it. Dad wants me painting, but he wants it on his terms. I’ll say he did give me a small section on the back patio where I can keep my paints — he built it for me — and he’s a bit more lenient about the mess I make there. That helps, but accidents still happen. At the end of the day, they are my parents who have taken me in, put a roof over my head and feed me. Rent isn’t cheap, but it could be so much worse. That’s my Monday morning rant.

ENERGY DRINKS, ALCOHOL & VAPES

It's 4:20am and I just quietly snuck out of the house to go to the all-hours servo. They can be lifesavers. There is only one reason for me to visit so late and that’s to get a pack of V’s or Monster energy drinks. The big ones. I hate to say it guys but they have become a bit of an addiction. I had stopped drinking them over the last few days but I needed something. I don’t drink beer anymore, i don’t smoke pot or cigarettes anymore or do any illicit drugs but the vapes and energy drinks have it over me. Damn I wish I wasn’t ruled by such things, but I am, If I had more incentive I could quit energy drinks right now. Not the case with the vape and this is something that has been hanging over me for years now. I dare say they are more addictive than cigs to quit, The vape never leaves my hand. I know what I desire and it’s so far away from here. I want to be free from addiction! Why can’t I just live nominally.

With both of these addictive substances, it gives me something to look forward to consuming them. I remember my beer‑drinking days: all through the working day I was hanging out for that first sip. It controlled me completely. The other problem with drinking was that there was never an inappropriate time to crack open a beer or a dozen. Night or day… it didn’t matter to me. I would do almost anything to get my hands on that poison. I’ve been through rehab a few times, so I had the tools, but that never stopped me from drinking. At the end of my last stint I left the clinic and walked straight to the bottle shop. Rehab did nothing for me then. Nobody could help me except myself. So I haven’t had a beer since 17 May 2026. I’m not naïve — I realise this is just the start of a long journey — but as things stand I will never pick up a drink again. Even the thought of it now makes me feel sick. Also, no cravings at all: not once have I longed for how nice that first beer might feel. I have a deep hatred for the stuff.

So, I’ve somewhat replaced beer with energy drinks. It’s not the safest swap, but it’s far better than booze. Once again, I could stop these immediately if I had to. One thing at a time, Dave. Vapes were introduced to me by my brother to help me quit cigarettes, and they worked. I’ve followed this pattern for the last three or four years. I’m not trying to be an advocate for vaping, but I haven’t had more than an occasional cough, I promise. I don’t feel awful and I don’t stink of smoke. Vapes have been cheaper — though that’s starting to change — and they’re more socially accepted. Notice how there are far fewer cigarette smokers these days; that gradual shift has helped many people quit. Vapes or cold turkey — one or the other.

I'M THE ONLY ONE

Why do I bother? This page has never received any meaningful views, and when an entry is clicked it rarely lasts longer than a minute or so. I am basically writing for myself most of the time, but this is okay — I’m used to being overlooked, and like this blog it will likely be deleted shortly after I publish it. Because I’m essentially writing for myself I may even put a password on this page. I’m so self-conscious; I second-guess everything — my art, my writing, my choices. I do enjoy the process of creating these things, but I am almost never satisfied with the overall outcome. Even when the finished piece is reasonably satisfying, it soon feels dull and stale to me.

It’s important for my mental health to keep creating, but there are a few problems with doing this. I am quite prolific, yet this is partly because I sell my work for so little. I need to start putting bigger prices on my work and be more confident in its value. I always work on large-scale canvases and when they don’t sell the accumulation racks up and takes over most of the house and my finances… which is inconvenient. Lately I have been posting old canvases for free. It’s incredible how many messages you get through Marketplace when “free” is put in the title. I had too many messages so I picked some randoms. I gave away about a dozen paintings to one lady and sold two paintings to a repeat buyer. If it wasn’t for people like this the canvases would end up at the tip so I’d prefer to give them to a good home. Thank God I didn’t sign them! Due to my old man’s persistence I moved another few. The ones that never sold got torn apart to make fires from the frames; a spring clean had to be ruthless. Paintings left in the shed were rubbish and I would never paint over them. I had to be strict when sorting through all of my old works, but it felt strangely refreshing. All I have done in my shed is make room for newer canvases. It’s an ongoing work, a continual cycle of making, clearing, and making again.

ALL IN ALL WE ARE

It’s been a little while since my last entry. No excuses — I’ve been lazy, unmotivated and procrastinating more than I care to admit. I could try to say I’ve been busy, but that would be a convenient lie. I finally found a small spark of creativity and a brief burst of energy over the last couple of days, though even that has started to fade. As in many past instances, I’m not overly pleased with the outcome; I’m thinking of calling the current work “layer one” and then continuing to add to the canvases as the paint dries and my ideas settle. I’m not chasing perfection, but, as usual, I’m trying to find a balance between what I genuinely enjoy creating and what might actually sell — it’s a hard line to walk. The ideal mentality would be to make what pleases me and treat any sales or interest as a welcome bonus, which would feel more honest. The label “artist” still sounds a little grandiose, and I’ve long avoided it, but I’m becoming slightly more comfortable saying it: I am an artist, and I’m selling a fair amount of work. These days everyone seems to call themselves an artist; the mobile phone and cheap camera have shifted expectations and displaced some photographers, since so much can be done with a device that fits in a pocket. There will always be photographers who stand out and create exceptional work — some might even have done it with an iPhone. Artificial intelligence is spreading rapidly, too, and it’s getting harder to tell what’s real and what isn’t; I find I can’t fully trust every image or claim anymore. Meanwhile, people tinker away in basements, post on social media and go through daily routines and exercises, often blurring the line between hobby and passion. Am I being honest with myself about all this? I’m still working that out. I don’t have a dedicated studio — just my small corner at home where I try to carve out a little aria of focus. If I had a million dollars I’d want a large studio space, a proper bed and a bathroom; then I’d feel set. But honestly, even if I were making six figures, nothing would really change — I’d keep creating as if I were a poor man, because that’s how I work best.

Three is one issue I am helpless against. Up until six months ago I had my own small studio. This was an initiative of Dad who set me a up a paint storage unit and bult me an easel. I had a collection of over one one thousand dollars of paints and I invested tons of canvas in. I’m embarrassed to say I have had a brush fattish. I very time I visit the store left with a bundle of expressive paint brushes. I hardly ever use a brush, I’m more of a pallet knife man It just gives me ease to know that I have the brushes and a few dozen knives.. Same wither other artist stock. I spend a lot of money guys and I wonder how much I of this I will get. I’m about the prices on my work breaking even, I was loosing money! I have the experience, I have a showcase of works and I’m passionate about what I create. I think I can start bumped the prices. Up so it makes all happy. At this point I have been screwing myself. Even if I don’t make a sale, at least I know I’ve put a reasonable, yet fair amount to picket up more supplies. That feels better than selling them so cheap.

NOT A FATHER

My dad is remarkable, but I don’t plan on walking in his footsteps. There are plenty of both good and bad dads, and if I were to have a child I suspect I would make a pretty miserable father. I tell myself that I might surprise everyone and step up to be something special, yet I’m not willing to put myself in that position to find out. Many parenting mishaps just happen by accident, and the older I get the more the idea genuinely frightens me. I’m happy to be an uncle to three nephews who I love to bits, but I watch my sister devote her life to her kids and see the depth of her commitment. She is a wonderful mum and sister, and her husband deserves a special award for being such a great dad. Some people say they love their nieces and nephews because they can give them back, and while that’s true to an extent, the time I spend with them is only a small fraction of what the parents give day in and day out.

I’m too selfish to be a father. Bringing a child into my life would disrupt the freedom I’ve carefully cultivated, and that independence is something I have deliberately devoted my life to developing. I’m responsible for myself and my routines. I’m not certain my mental health would allow me to open my life to new people or to a child. I enjoy my own company and I like being in control of my finances. I live off a DSP, so I’m unsure whether I could realistically provide for a kid. Everything revolves around me in the small, protective bubble I’ve created. A child would interrupt my painting time and my creative flow, and that would not be acceptable to me.

I don’t feel as if I’m missing out. I really don’t. My life is fairly simple, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. The prospect of even finding a girlfriend feels limited. I don’t mix and mingle with others, so I don’t have a wide social network to draw from. Besides, I’m not going to date the first woman who takes an interest in me — I’ve done that too many times before. Avoid crazy, Dave! If anything, I’d need someone who thinks outside the box, someone artistic with similar life philosophies to mine. That kind of relationship isn’t easy to find, even when I make an effort to put myself out there. For now I’m planning my future with myself as the primary consideration.

And then comes the stereotypical excuse for not having a child, and that is… I don’t want to bring a kid into this messy world. I’m a self‑proclaimed pessimist and have very little hope for the future we are slowly corrupting. Maybe, in a way, I’m doing two things at once by choosing not to bring a child into this world. I also wouldn’t want to possibly pass on my mental health issue to another human being either.

I gave my parents so many worries over the years. Growing up I was a handful, and made life difficult at times. Yet through everything they have always stepped up and done the best they could with the little they had to work with. I can’t honestly blame my parents for anything; they devoted so much time and care to me. From preschool through adolescence and into the present day they have remained supportive. They are still there for me no matter how big or small the situation. In many ways I feel like a 43-year-old child — reliant on their steady presence even while trying to stand on my own.

This blog was written on Father's Day. That’s what set me thinking. The family didn’t do anything elaborate. We went for a long walk around the botanical gardens, which was pleasant, and then we came home and my brother made tea. My old man has everything he needs and is impossible to buy for, so doing an hour‑long walk was exactly what he wanted and the least I could do. Happy Fathers Day dad!

NO SLEEP AND NOTHING TO SHOW FOR IT

I have been wanting to write a blog for the last few days, and the urge keeps niggling at me. I am the world's greatest procrastinator, perpetually putting things off until the last possible moment. The time is 4:27 a.m. and I haven’t slept — not from my usual insomnia alone, but because I’ve been drinking coffee all day and well into the night. I even braved the rain to collect my energy drinks from the servo. I am a complete addict, honestly. This is my second pick-up for the day. Monster four-packs have become my latest vice, along with vapes. I’ve quit all of the other temptations and, surprisingly, I don’t miss them — but there’s always something new to fill the gap.

I have been sitting, looking at a half-painted canvas for the last few hours. It’s propped in my bedroom at the foot of the bed so I can’t ignore it. It’s one of my larger works, so tossing it isn’t an option—too much time and money have gone into it. I’m not very prolific; most of my creative hours are spent staring at a piece and conjuring up possibilities for what to do next. I have several ideas, yet I don’t feel courageous enough to translate them onto the canvas. To see the first layer of the work, you can view it here. I’ve covered the whole painting in red, a colour I’m not entirely comfortable with. I rarely use red or blue—can’t really explain why. I’m going to try a looser approach now, not overthinking where to take it next. At the end of the day, or in the early morning, I can always paint over it and begin again with a fresh canvas.

I made my last visit to the art store today and once again spent a small fortune. All of the money I had built up from sales of my older work is now gone. I’m not on the verge of bankruptcy — I do have savings — but those have been dipped into on a couple of occasions as well. Making art makes me happy; it helps my mental health and gives me a reason to get out of bed every morning. The money I make through sales is a welcome bonus. If I earn enough from sales to keep me stocked up on supplies, I’m a content man.

Everyone says I sell too cheaply, and I’ve been thinking about a solution. I bought twenty or so small canvases. They don’t take me long to create, and the canvases themselves are a fraction of the price of my large pieces, which means I can pass the savings on to the client. I’m genuinely excited about this change and curious to see how it all pans out. It feels odd working on a smaller surface again — I haven’t played with small canvases for over two decades. Most of what I usually make is large and grand in scale, so this new, compact approach is a refreshing shift.

The experience has been fun so far. I’ve only finished half a dozen, but they’re sellable and satisfying. The cost of paint has also settled into my budget; the ones I’ve completed are up in the pool room drying over the last few days, largely because I use stupid amounts of paint. I’m in love with heavy texture — the thick application of paint keeps pulling me back in. I’ve been using Marketplace to sell my work, but the problem there is people tend to hunt for bargains, not paintings that cost hundreds of dollars, so downsizing makes sense. Hopefully I’ll attract more interest by offering cheaper pieces. It’s feasible — a small canvas costs me eight or nine dollars compared with the hundred-dollar canvases from the art store. I’m excited and looking forward to sunrise so I can start working on my new pieces.

I have developed a bit of a fetish for paint brushes. I have hundreds of them, and they are all high quality. Every time I go to Officeworks I inevitably purchase a generous amount. I suppose I’m now set for the next twenty years! I really should stop spending so much — I’m not made of money. With my luck I’ll only gain a name for myself when I turn ninety, and who knows, if I become successful maybe their value will rise after I’ve passed. Not likely, but you never know. Keep an eye on this site; it will be updated regularly with fresh work.

DISRESPECTING MY ONE TRUE LOVE

On occasions I simply cannot do what normal people do with ease and take for granted. I’m a complex creature, prone to strange rhythms and small rebellions against routine. It’s after lunch on a Friday and I have been up all night playing with my website, listening to music and looking forward to the sun coming up. The sun would rise, I would hear my brother leave for work, and then I thought up the great idea of closing my eyes—just for a second, I told myself. I inevitably passed out and didn’t wake until after 10am. I was meant to be out painting hours ago, I thought to myself, mildly annoyed and oddly amused. It always takes me time to wake up and motivate myself until a few energy drinks and coffees help boost my awareness of this space I inhabit. I have never been a morning person at all until over the last twelve months or so; progressively I have become almost completely nocturnal. It sometimes feels like I have the world to myself in those quiet hours, and I like it.

Anyway, I get up late, unmotivated; it’s raining, and I’m in a pissy mood—probably from a lack of sleep. A few hours later it dawns on me that, deep down, I had no inclination to create art today. It’s better to recognise that before I put brush to canvas, because at times like these I’m far better off not working while I’m feeling silly. I don’t enjoy the process when my head is like this, and I’m sure it shows in the work. The problem is that as the day wears on I become more energised, and then the artistic juices begin to flow. That means sleep is out the window. Somehow, in the end, everything feels complete. I’m definitely not a morning person!

I had planned to work on a large canvas, but I ended up brushing that idea aside to focus on something smaller and more manageable. I recently bought a stack of very expensive acrylic paper, and it has been a real treat to use. There's hardly any setup — I can work in the warmth of the house, listen to podcasts, and get comfortable on my bed. My psychiatrist insists my bed should be for sleeping; he is not an artist. For more than three decades, disrupted sleeping patterns were a torment to me. I would imagine the sky falling if I didn’t get enough rest. These days I don’t worry about it so much. I don’t have a conventional job that requires an early alarm, and most of the time I don’t have responsibilities that force me to crawl out of bed. I sleep when I’m tired and wake when I wake. It still puzzles me how I can arise after only a few hours’ sleep and function like a normal person. In the end, it comes down to my deep love of art and generous doses of caffeine — my constant companion and mischievous mistress.

HERE WE GO AGAIN

Here we are again, wasting everyone’s time with another one of my silly blogs. Just a quick warning… this is going to be a long post so grab yourself a coffee or beer and enjoy the show. My writing is very unstructured and I go off on tangents so please forgive me. Sorry I have to put you through this experience once more. Over the years I’ve assembled so many blog entries that they add up to thousands of pages and countless hours of late-night, caffeine-driven ramblings. I’m painfully self-conscious, and when I finally reach that crucial moment to press the publish button on my post the piece will usually be deleted within a day or two. The fate of these posts often mirrors how my artworks are treated: initially handled with plenty of respect, only to be painted over, set alight in metaphorical terms, or otherwise neglected. More often than not the very expensive canvases end up tossed in with the other rejects to gather dust and drive my old man crazy about the space they occupy. My studio, if it can even be called that, sits at my folks’ place, and I’m constantly upsetting them with the mess I leave behind. I prefer to think of it as organised chaos. Being a visual artist is a messy job. There’s no way around this. I am in a constate state of paranoia that I will get pain on something I shouldn’t and trust me, I do a good job of keeping the paint on the canvas but it’s inevitable to make the occasional, accidental stuff up. One only needs to look at my clothing and shoes to see what damage I can do. There only cloths. One day we will be dead and then what use will they be to us lol! I play the roll of a pessimist, with a twist of hope and I do my best not to hate the human race, but it’s hard!

In the past I have had a tendency to write too much on topics I shouldn’t be putting on the web. I forget that most people out there use this thing called the internet and, in some cases, it has come back to bite me. This blog will be a more measured, watered-down version of past posts and will revolve more around art than my many embarrassing, highly personal entries that I should probably keep to myself. My daily activities outside of art is something else I won’t bore you with, Most of my past blogs have focused on my mental health and addictions, and I often enjoyed venting about things that upset me. Having said that, I do enjoy writing, and on days when there has been little progress on my art I tend to dig deep and end up writing about things that primarily interest me or a small fraction of my modest army of fans. In all reality I am writing to myself: this site doesn’t receive many visitors, and those who do stumble across it are most likely here to look at my art rather than read the ramblings of this clown.

I’m a high school dropout and never paid attention in my English classes (or any classes, for that matter). This is one of the subjects I wish I had invested a little more focus in and instead of skipping lessons, listening to Nirvana, smoking weed and chasing girls. I’ve always admired great writers, I’m even wearing my Hunter S. Thompson t-shirt as I write this, and I think highly of people who can wield the English language with skill. Maybe it’s because my own writing feels so rough that I look up to those who can type a sentence without leaning on spellcheck. The small amount I can write has been self-taught, like most things in my life. I learned almost nothing in school that felt applicable to the world outside of that institutional bubble. I resent the curriculum and its mechanisms for keeping people aligned with the philosophies of those in power. That’s a topic for another post, and I promised myself I wouldn’t dive too deep into the controversial side of things here. After all, it would challenge the carefully designed programming we receive from a very young age, programming that gets hammered in for much of our lives unless you choose to fight it. Enough said.

I want to quickly jot down some personal stuff so I don’t have to rewrite it later: I live with depression, anxiety and schizophrenia. I’ve consulted three psychiatry professors, been put on a cocktail of medications, hospitalised more than twenty times, and caused a great deal of pain for myself and my family. I’ve experimented with drugs over the years, and I’m a recovering (or recovered) alcoholic who attended rehab two and a half times. I was never one of these people who get out of control whilst intoxicated and I have never been in a physical fight. Looking back I was using substances to self medicate. The addiction side is now under control and I have no desire to return to that lifestyle. My two vises are energy drinks and vaping. I have had major difficulties kicking the vape. I carry a strong dislike for these substances, especially alcohol, which I have an absolute hatred towards. It has wrecked many good things in my life. I have so many stories I could tell and in the past have written about. There! It’s out there now and these topics won’t need addressing again.

Like I said earlier, I still wonder if I’m the only person engaging with this blog. I can honestly say that none of my past posts have received a like, and nobody has left a comment so far. This isn’t like some of the major platforms where content creators constantly beg for likes and subscriptions. I don’t make any money from this site at all, so I’m not selling my soul or chasing ad revenue. That said, I do ask for a like if you enjoy my posts — it’s a simple, quiet way to show me there’s been some traffic or interest. If you are out there reading this, thank you for taking the time; I hope you have a genuinely pleasant day.

What are my interests, Dave? I’m always brewing something new. There is plenty out there to keep me on my feet and my curiosity ticking over. I don’t believe in the term “boredom” how can that even exist when there is so much to explore? Most of my time is spent behind my laptop, and I’m a frequent flyer on YouTube; it runs in the background of my days and nights. I don’t work a conventional job. I simply can’t, so I can spend my hours doing the things in life I truly want to do. I am fortunate not to have a wife, kids, or a mortgage; I hold my freedom tight and value being my own boss in both work and life. I have an illness that prevents me from holding regular employment anyway. Art is my one true passion and I can immerse myself for days at a time to get better acquainted with it. Art is the one thing no one can ever truly perfect, and that is precisely what I love about it. You can be a someone with crayons, happily drawing a cat or fruit bowl, or someone hiking into the wilderness with oils and a huge canvas, working out frustrations and producing a painting that stuns everyone who sees it. What I’m trying to say is this: like anything, the more you do it the better you become; there is simply no finish line in the world of art. Outside of art, I’m a bibliophile — I love reading, collecting rare books, and keeping my thoughts in personal journals. I am a huge music fan, listening to a broad spectrum of sounds, but my musical expertise really begins in the early 1990s and runs through the early 2000s. Only a few groups from the seventies and eighties catch my attention, though I have a real love for the music of the sixties. Over the years I have developed a deep interest—bordering on obsession—about music. I know I’m turning into an old ,an but I hate what 95 percent of the music consists of and offers nowadays. I listen to Triple J in the car but it’s mostly all recycled rubbish. I won’t list every artist here because the list is vast and, honestly, who cares what little old me listens to anyway? I also enjoy reading and watching material about mind‑altering substances. I don’t use anything illegal these days, but hallucinogens and psychedelics have always fascinated me. I’m a Christian who was raised Catholic; today my faith is somewhat lukewarm, and this topic is personal and a little dull to discuss. Still, I have an interest in world religions and consider myself decidedly spiritual. I believe in the power of prayer and would place myself slightly above someone who calls themselves agnostic. JC is my man!

I have a younger brother and sister and three nephews whom I love to bits. As much as my affection goes out to my little buddies, I don’t want — and won’t have — my own children. This is something I’ve known for a long time. I find it hard enough to manage my own life, let alone be responsible for another human being. That responsibility would likely come with the package-deal of a partner or “wife,” and I’m not interested in that either. I’ve dated enough to know that a long-term relationship is off the cards for me. As I said earlier, I like being my own boss and already have almost all the freedom I need. I’m quite content with my lot in life and don’t want to needlessly jeopardise it. I also come back to the idea that it would be cruel to bring another life into a world that feels like an absolute mess. But that’s a topic for another blog.

Guys, I’m going to leave it there for now. I could keep writing for hours, but I’ve inflicted you enough with my words (thank you once again, spellcheck!). I hope you enjoy looking through some of my art. I have a few other websites outside of this one, so feel free to check them out as well. Honestly, thank you so much for making it to the bottom of this post. Have a lovely day and don’t forget to say hello!