'Beksinski'

I have a dilemma. I can't decide if I'm becoming an old fart or not.

I was browsing 9Gag the other night (as I do every single other night) and came across a post about an artist called Beksinski. Beksinski was a Polish artist and his work, for want of a better word, is creepy. Really creepy. So, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm old for finding another artist I appreciate but I'm also young because I found out about him on 9Gag. Make any sense?

People who know me, know that I don't really like horror movies. I won't go and see one in the cinema because I am all appreciative of a good night sleep without worrying that a fire-breathing, purple with pink polka-dots demon will grab my ankle that is hanging off the side of the bed and drag me straight to Hell. No-one needs that sort of thought-process before going to sleep. However, no matter how much I insist, I find the whole genre very interesting and I find these paintings very interesting. Like my previous rant about 'real art', these painting represent something: people's worst nightmares. And they're very scary, they're like photos a tourist who recently had an all-inclusive week in Hell took. And some of them match up with how I imagine 'Hell' to look like. But these paintings 'mean' something and just by looking at them, you can deduce the meaning (or find your own).

Bekinski often painted what he saw in his dreams, which makes me feel pretty sorry for the guy if this is all you're seeing in your dreams. And he lived quite the tragic life as well too.

So, Afremov and Bekinski. My two favourite artists. My ONLY two favourite artists. The only problem with Bekinski's works is that in my head, when I have the perfect family living in a perfect house, I wouldn't feel comfortable with my children seeing all these scary paintings hanging up in the living room (Original works, of course). Maybe they could be installed in the house situated on my private island. Oh well, a girl can dream...

http://www.beksinski.pl/

I think this one scares me the most. Although, add feathers and he'd look like  Aku-Aku from Crash Bandicoot.

None of these are particularly cheery but even orange, a warm colour can't make this painting look any less depressing.

This is what Hell looks like.

So yeah, that was a depressing blog. Here's a cute picture of a puppy to cheer you up!

Cake, Trains and Awkwardness

If you are reading this blog then I think a massive congratulations is in order because you have managed to stick with my boring blog for another day. As a reward, I'm going to try and make this blog a little bit more 'exciting' or at least bearable and don't worry, your very own imaginary medal is on its way to you.

I didn't think jet lag was possible with only a five-hour time difference but apparently it is. As much as I told my body that it was not cool to wake up at 7.20am, I was wide awake, with a complimentary winter cold courtesy of a passenger on my British Airways flight. See, not all complimentary services on airlines are fun. Feeling icky, I hunted for paracetamol in the black hole that is currently my luggage before finally settling back down for a few more hours kip.

Eventually woke up at half ten and grabbed a yoghurt for breakfast and a throat lozenge. I finally managed to get connected with my beloved Facebook and message my friends which made me a lot happier before speaking to my Mum and Dad on the phone. Then, we made plans to sign the contract for my flat, get a SIM card for my phone and buy new straighteners and hairdryer because my own couldn't heat a slice of bread. Stupid, unnecessary expense and voltage. Pfft.

So, wrapped up to the absolute max, with a T-Shirt, jumper, fleece and winter coat, we ventured outside and I can safely say that the volume of snow is unbelievable. There are cars just covered in the stuff so they look like little snow houses (whatever they are) and the paths are slippy too (naturally). Sadly, I found this out the hard way because to my horror, I slipped and fell not once but twice. Luckily, my cousin and his flatmate were the only ones to see but how horrifically embarrassing it was and on my first day. However, I have accepted that it was probably the first of many and I'm hoping I can develop ninja skills to avoid falling for life. Or at least get a reasonable sense of balance.

Eventually, after what seemed like a trek across the Himalayas, we made it to the office of the agency who's organising and letting my apartment, which in itself was a tiny top-level apartment, whereby the only access to it was up a very steep set of metal stairs. As I think back now when I looked at it, I'm surprised my life didn't flash before my eyes because this was the definition of lethality and it looked and felt like a ladder. Taking the plunge (or not) I made it up okay but I was conscious of the fact that I wasn't out of the woods yet because I would have to go back down them in a few moments. I managed to sign the contract for my flat and set a time of 4.00pm to move in on Tuesday, allowing enough time to hopefully recover from a boozy night from before. Then, I had to tackle the stairs again. When you're going down something precarious, you often take it slowly at first but then as you get closer to safety, you rush down the stairs and that's when the accidents happen. With this in mind, I probably went at the speed of a drunken snail down these steps but I made it down, with every bone in my body still intact. Now, got to touch wood for the rest of the exchange period now. I'm quite superstitious you see...

Then, we went across the road to 'Fido', a mobile network service and got my SIM card for my phone. Now, as I have had the pleasure to discover things about Canada, the first thing is that you get nothing for free here. And they have crazy laws, legislation and in general, ways of doing things. My first brush with this was when I found out I have to pay to RECEIVE calls, which, to be quite honest is just mental to me. I mean, could you imagine paying everytime you got a PPI call at home? I don't think so. With this in mind, I got an unlimited package, which is actually more expensive than what I was paying at home, which brings me to my next point. I thought Canada was going to be cheap like America but oh no, don't be silly, it is WAY more expensive. So, I think the dollar shops will be my favourite haunts here (Oh, they exist).

We then decided to catch a Metro at the Mont Royale station and go to Atwater. The metro stations are the main way to get around Montreal and are very similar to the Glasgow Subway except it looks more aesthetically pleasing and it didn't smell like piss. Luxurious, I know. The metro is incredibly fast. You literally get ten seconds to get on the train before the doors close on you, which might sound a bit harsh but it means they are actually incredibly punctual and efficient. The trains also have wheels on them which I found amusing, the reason being so that the ride is a bit smoother for passengers. The advertisements on the Metro are hilarious too, with Viagra and Sex Shops being splayed all over posters for the whole world and his mum to see. No shame. We got off at the main metro station, lovingly known as 'Berri' before switching lines and getting on another metro. A good thing about Montreal is how cheap their Transport System is to use, especially with it being so good. When we got off, I didn't know what was at Atwater but when we got off the train and went through some double doors, we were suddenly in a shopping mall. All was well until my cousin lovingly described it as Montreal's Savoy Centre (if you know what I mean).

However, I feel that this was an unfair analogy as it wasn't anywhere near as bad as all those dingy little stalls in the Savoy Centre. Another thing in Montreal, is that all the shops have an English equivalent and you can compare. For example, the shop that I went into to get my new hairdryer and straighteners was the equivalent of a Woolworths. I was quite impressed with the price of my new hair-styling attire and then that's when the sad thing that is the sales tax they add afterwards was added to the bill. It makes me so sad seeing what was a bargain become an expensive item, which made me wave goodbye to approximately C$100 of unbudgeted funds. Very sad.

We then went to IGA, which is like a supermarket chain similar to Tesco or Sainsbury's, except it is so much more expensive and the fruit and vegetables must be genetically modified because onions are roughly the size of babies' heads. We did a bit of grocery shopping where I discovered that Canada do have Fajitas, unlike I had been informed. Over the moon does not even describe my feelings.

Before heading back home, we went to a small Chinese patisserie, which sold cheap cakes. As you can imagine, instantly, we were sold and sat down with a cake and coffee (although I obviously didn't have any coffee because I consider it quite rank). I had this bun with a cherry on top and inside was roughly a whole jar of strawberry jam. It was very nom.

We then headed for the Metro to go home and got off at a stop called Place Des Arts where all the art galleries are situated and the art festivals are held in summer. This was by far the prettiest area I had been in so far and you could see the skyscrapers in the distance. It was lovely. We got on the 80 bus which was included in the metro ticket price (hence the value for money) and got back to the apartment.

Now, the worse thing about wrapping up to the max to brave the elements is when you are inside, you feel hotter than the sun. Sweating like a bitch doesn't even cover it, it was disgusting. And my hair... it was like Kate Bush, it was out to my shoulders and curly and frizzy. So, jumping into the shower was the best thing ever and as soon as I had straightened my hair, I felt like an Amy again. Fabulous.

We had Fajitas for dinner (which were so fucking good, I can't even tell you) and then we sat back and watched the lovely film, Black Swan, which is not exactly a sit down with the family and enjoy sort of film. All was well and good until the masturbation and lesbian sex scenes come on. No matter who you are with, it's fecking awkward. Then, we watched Sex and the City, which had vibrators in it and then the commercials had vibrators too and it was just awful, I wanted to curl up in a ball and die. Too many vibrators...

So, I think with that in mind, Canada and me are going to get along fine as we both obviously do not have any shame. Excellent!

'Art' and Afremov.

One of my main aims in life is to become a cultured gent (although without the moustache preferably. In fact, scratch that, I would carry one off very well). However, one of the stumbling blocks I have encountered on the road to 'snobbery' is a real aversion to Modern 'Art', mainly because I think most of it is a contrived pile of pish. I group most of the pieces of modern 'art' I have had the misfortune to encounter into two categories.

Group One: THIS IS NOT ART.

To get a true sense of what I insinuate with this group, all you need to do is look up either Tracey Emin (whose face has to win 'The Most Terrifying Face of All Time' award) or anything that has been nominated for the Turner Prize. I mean, how is a bed, art? Does it mean I could show my bed off and be awarded with an exhibition? DOES IT?!

Tracey Emin's bed.

Apparently, the bed is to symbolize Emin's intimacy with the world in regards to her private life. To me, all it shows is she's an untidy, lazy bastard. She also used worn pants in this piece. I rest my case.

Group Two: A FIVE YEAR OLD COULD PAINT THIS.

This group annoys me more than Tracey Emin. The painting below was crafted by Mark Rothko and is simply titled 'Orange and Yellow'. Now, I'm not being funny but I genuinely could recreate this. In fact, a drawing of a stick man has more artistic integrity than this. But the suckerpunch to this absurd piece of 'art' (if it can be called that)? It sold for $86 million very recently...

You just can't rid the world of stupidity it seems. And you know what, my cat could paint this, that is how much I think of it. A true waste of canvas.

However, this blog was not just a rant (Yes, you may wipe your brow in relief now). It seems that I may have overcome the stumbling block previously mentioned as I have recently discovered the work of Leonid Afremov and I am in love. His paintings are true art. They're pretty, they're colourful, they tell a story and they invoke emotions. Isn't this what art should be like? Not like the crown colour chart above?

No caption required.

Perhaps he's not as successful as these other artists because his paintings portray real life or perhaps they could be described as 'pedestrian' but alas, that is the world most of us live in and most of us are pedestrians, peddling our way through normality. Simply put, they are beautiful and if galleries were filled with this sort of thing, rather than Tracey Emin's disgustingly stained bed sheets, I'm sure they would attract a bigger audience.

The only thing that worries me about this though is that having a favourite artist might be the harbinger of impending maturity or adulthood. I sincerely hope not anyway.

Shit just got montREAL.

So, five weeks today, I've somehow got to leave the family that I have spent everyday of the last twenty years with at Glasgow Airport, make it to Heathrow, the busiest airport on the globe and then fly to Montreal, Canada, a country I've never been to before in my life and on top of all that somehow,  mature and learn how to become a responsible adult during a seven hour flight.

Forgive my scepticism but even I have no faith in myself.

The thing, is when people ask for my advice, I will gladly give it and generally, I'm quite good at it. I like to help people. But I have a confession to make. It's all bullshit. I make all this stuff up. I don't have a clue and now, I'm paying for it, like a metaphorical Peter who cried wolf (or something). And this is not about believing in yourself, oh no, this is about knowing your limitations. And I have many.

When I was in school and people would say, 'Oh I'd love to go on exchange, that is my thing', I was the person who was convinced she would never want to do that sort of thing because that ain't my thing. Now look where I am. Why did I choose this course?

Don't get me wrong, I'm so grateful for this amazing opportunity, I appreciate what it will do for me and I know that there's a 95% chance I'll get there and never want to leave but I'm a home bird. I like my creature comforts and I like familiarity. I'm not an adventurer or an explorer. Unfortunately, the one trait I inherited from my mother was the capacity to think of the worst case scenario of everything and stress. Lots of stress. MAHOOSIVE AMOUNTS OF STRESS. Am I allowed to worry about these things or am I just being silly? I can't tell.

However, I will digress from the anxiety attacks for a moment to share with you all, possibly the most absurd and disturbing thing I've seen in a while.

www.greatwallofvagina.co.uk

The first impressions formulating in your mind when you read that link are probably correct. This guy makes plaster casts of woman's vaginas to celebrate diversity and prove to women that all vaginas are different and you shouldn't be ashamed of your own. Personally, I think you've got too much time on your hands if you are worried about that sort of thing.

On the whole, I don't really mind the actual idea. I guess it could empower a very small minority but seriously, SELLING THE STUFF? I do not want to walk into a house that has casts of vagina just hanging on the wall, minding its own business. And I'm not a prude, I just think it's really strange. Especially, the gold cast one... 

Also, I wish to point out I don't actively seek these things out, I found it in Closer or something (Problem page FTW).