Cloud chaser

Ok so I know its cheating but I thought I'd write a poem instead this time ^_^

Sitting Alone and wondering why

The clouds can drift so idly by

They don't care at all, for whats down bellow

Instead they roll across the sky

Its times like this I try and find

A reason for my sitting time 

The time I take out of my day 

for thoughts to drift so far away 

Just a Word 

But asks so much 

Just an answer

That means so much 

Just a word

You hear too much

Too hard to answer

so you gave up

So here I am, you still feel near

I look to see your still not here

I turn instead towards the sky 

to envy clouds drifting idly by

A nose knows

As the sun peeks happily through the blinds and a soft breeze occasionally dances across the room I can't help but notice what a perfect day it is to write this particular blog. The birds are chirping for what seems like the first time in my stay here and as I close my eyes I can almost hear the memories of waves lapping at the shores of beaches back home and the sounds of laughter rippling the air. 

I'm not quite sure how this memory was sparked, considering the rain thats been dampening everyones moods for the last three days, but yesterday, as I was sitting on the bus, it came to me. Maybe because I was intent on thinking of happier, sunnier days (an odd thing for a girl who is known to prefer the cold) I was thinking of holidays, of times with family. 

I take you back to one particular holiday, again my exact age escapes me, but I was young enough (when looking back at my holiday journal) to not have been able to spell when or where... not that certain words to this day don't give me grief.. but I digress. Mum had taken us to Malta along with my Nanny and Aunty Mary to visit my Nanny's sister Chica. Malta, for those playing at home, is a small beautiful island in the Mediterranean, where they sleep in the afternoons to avoid the sun and children play on the street at night. An island known for their delicate lace, intriguing catacombs and lagoons so blue they seem unnatural. 

Notorious for being adventurous (a fact that got us into trouble more than once) Mum, Alex and I had decided to explore the rockpools at one of the nearby cliffs. Mum, trusting us to be sensible, had settled herself in a sunny spot with a rock appropriately shaped for support and a good book. Alex and I were left to continue exploring... we walked far enough away for mum to see us, but not be able to tell what we were doing and upon seeing a pool too deep to see the bottom I donned my goggles, striped to my cozies and jumped in. The water was freezing and as I submerged myself deeper the sound of waves crashing onto rocks nearby became a distant thud... I continued on noticing with delight the world around me changing. I could see small movements in the corner of my eye and the hole above me getting smaller, my lungs became tight and my ears sore with pressure but I pushed myself further and just when I couldn't hold my breath any more I saw it. A small glint at the bottom of the pebble strewn floor. My lungs now however screamed for air so as quickly as I could I pulled at the water above me and kicking fast broke the surface of the water as dramatically as Ariel after getting her legs. 

I described to Alex with enthusiasm what I saw. It was a nose! Now before you turn away in horror, I don't mean I saw a human nose freshly severed from someone's face, I had instead seen a rock shaped like a nose which at 7 or 8 is just as intriguing. With the encouragement of my sister I spent the next hour diving for the rock, but each time my lungs would fail me before i got there. By this stage mum, who was now extremely tanned and had lost interest in her novel had wondered over to let us know it was time to go. I explained my plight and she agreed to let me try three more times... The pressure was on. The first time I dove I had to find the rock again so there was no hope of grabbing it. The second I had coughed before taking a breath and didn't have near enough air to make it. 

My last time. Hands shaking with determination and treading water I breathed out all the air in my lungs until my breath was only a raspy sigh, then, breathing in every last drop of air I could I dove down. My eyes searched everywhere for my treasure - I spotted it. I stretched out my arm so far it felt like it would pop out of its socket and kicked as hard as I could. I could feel my chest aching with exhaustion and my head getting light.

     I pushed myself further. What seemed like an eternity later I felt my fingers close around a cold hard object, but now, too tired to even check, I turned around and pushed as hard I could off the floor. my whole body began to shudder as I swam upwards and I could see mums worried face rippling on the surface... just one more meter. Before I could stop myself my mouth opened as if my brain was forcing it to take in air.. not yet... water began to pour in my mouth and my legs felt like lead, but just as I felt the world start to spin I broke the surface, spluttering, coughing and desperately sucking down the sweet salty air around me. 

Mum and Alex helped me out and I lay on the warm rocks breathing hard and fast. For a moment I forgot about the nose, then, realising I was holding something hard in my hand I looked down to see with pride that there was my nose rock, shinning with glory in the afternoon sun. 

To this day I don't think mum understands my determination for acquiring something that unless arrested with imagination looks simply like a rock. I still have it though, and as I think about it now, it wasn't the rock itself that was significant, it was really the act of setting my mind to something and achieving it. A philosophy I try to live by to this day. 

As always I'd love LOVE to hear about your stories - maybe you have a rockpool story this brought back or a time when you've set your mind to something and achieved it? 

(if you'd prefer to be anonymous send it to my email address lesley.vamos@gmail.com) 

Have a great weekend everyone ^_^

You wanted the best...

My first concert

This entry is inspired by the fact I'm going to a She and Him concert tonight, an event to which I'm so excited about, I'm peeing my pants just thinking about it and am close to making my ear drums jump ship with the amount of times I've played their second album as loud as possible on my ipod. 

So with this in mind I thought I'd tell you about the first concert I ever went to - I don't remember my exact age (maybe 8 or 9) but I was young enough to think having my face painted was extremely cool. First however, I must digress. To say my Dad is a major Kiss fan would be similar to saying most Australians are sort of into sports or Nigella Lawson kind of likes Chocolate - bottom line, its an understatement - The man started the Kiss Army in Australia when he was just a young teen, a fact that becomes extremely apparent when watching him listen to one of their songs (basically he reverts into that same 10 year old boy discovering rock music for the first time). So you can imagine that NOT being a kiss fan was simply not an option, you could say I was preparing to see them in concert since I became old enough to stick my tongue out far enough to be congratulated on my impression of Gene (4 years old). 

Cut to a fews years later - sitting still in afterschool care feeling the cold hard bristles of a paint brush slide up and down my cheek, lathering it in thick white paint. I had been psyching myself up all day and had managed to get everyone around me just as enthused. The night was cold, a briskness that complimented my excessive fidgeting. One of the caretakers had agreed to paint my face to look like Paul, the star child. We met with my dads brother and his family (the same ones from the last story) at a restaurant in the city and already the excitement was palpable. I could barely stay in my seat as I looked through the windows at other Kiss fans making their way to the stadium. I looked down at the kiss shirt I was swimming in and knew even though my face was now smeared from eating spaghetti I was a part of something big.

I, was a diehard fan. 

less than an hour later we were down the front of the stage looking up at the enormous kiss banner hiding it from view, earplugs had been wedged in my ears and I was already standing on my seat ready. We heard the the sound of amps buzzing, guitars being plucked and primed... then.....a slow chant began rising from the depths of the auditorium.. 

kiss 

kiss 

kiss

kiss... we joined in, it grew louder, people started screaming, banging on chairs, clapping, stripping (yep you read right) then without warning 

ALLLLLLRIIIIGGGGGHHHHT SYDNEEEEEY 

YOUUU WANTED THE BEST

YOUUU GOT THE BEST

THE HOTTEST      BAND IN THE WORLD

KIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSSS

Sparks flew from the stage, lights exploded into full beam, and as the banner dropped dramatically to the ground standing in all their glory was KISS already into the brilliant guitar riffs that start Shout it out loud! My Dad went crazy - we all had air guitars as we stood their screaming the words. The rest was a blurr as I was swept up in the spectacle that is a kiss concert - at one point paul, seeing my makeup, pointed down at me and swung his pelvis around in my direction, (I've never seen my dad more proud of me than at this moment) and if I was old enough to understand the connotations of that movement I may have fainted - the blood, the tears, the music - it was unbelievable!! I walked closely behind dad at the end of the concert, clutching his hand to avoid the bustle of the crowd. I was in awe. I had lost feeling in my feet from jumping, had no hearing and my eyes were still bleary from staring at the lights and fire, but the grin on my face showed just how happy I was in that moment. I was coming of the high that was my first concert, and I was hooked.

Thanks Dad

I'd love to hear any concert stories you have! Hope your all having an awesome weekend ^_^

Maxamillion Vamos

As the child of divorced parents I was often confronted with differing opinions on many aspects of life. One of which was pets. Sure they both agreed that having a pet was an all together bad idea, but they differed in their reasons. Mum, the voice of kindness and practicality said due to the size of our apartment and frequent absence it would be cruel, Dad with more bluntness and less tact said he hated animals and if we ever got one he'd shoot it - yes we were aware that he neither owned or had ever owned a gun but the look in his eyes was enough to make us not want to risk it.

We thus (after considerable pleading) resolved to have a farm full of animals when we were older and that would solve the matter. However, one sunny day - a day I happened to turn 8 years old, I got a surprise. I had already set about mingling with family and thanking people for gifts when my cousin came bounding through the door and thrust a card in my hands - HAPPY BIRTHDAY she said with glee and a twinkle in her eye, "THATS YOUR PRESENT" I looked down at the card in my hand - It was a very nice card, heavy stock paper, delicate writing and a colorful embossed illustration of a fish on the front. Although I was slightly disappointed with the expense spared, I had been raised well and swallowing my disappointed smiled kindly commenting that it was one of the nicest cards I'd ever got and would put it where everyone could see it.

Then, out the corner of my eye I noticed my uncle walking through the door with a petite round bowl and colourful pebbles in hand, my heart stopped, surely this wasn't real - but there, following closely behind was my aunty, moving slowing and delicately with a small plastic bag containing what I could just make out as a tiny gold fish swimming round in circles. My eyes popped out of my head. I looked at my dad, a stern tight smile on his lips, my stepmum, her eyes worried, my sister glaring with jealousy - it didn't matter, it had been done, the impossible had occurred - I finally had a pet of my very own!

Worried for his safety I decided to take him to mums, who after a small protest that the givers weren't even her family agreed. Over the next two weeks Maxamillion and I bonded - (an ironically large name considering his size) I tried to take him everywhere, we ate together, read stories, I fed him and looked on as mum cleaned the bowl.

In fact, if you ignored the calls from dad I got every two days inquiring if he was dead yet, life was utter bliss... then one day as his second week drew to a close I noticed him swimming a little slowly, worried I asked mum, who assured me he'd be fine. Unfortunately I had to visit dads for a couple of days - I worried about leaving him but knew it would be more risky to bring him to the suspected pet killer so I left him in mums capable hands.

After two days I returned home, dropping my bag at the door I ran to the bowl - it was worse than I thought - there was Max.. lying upside down on the surface, at first I thought it may be a new trick, shaking I prodded him gently with my finger. Nothing. I bit my lip and tried again... he bobbed gently with the ripples of water.... there was nothing I could do... Max, my best friend, the only pet I'd ever owned was dead.

I decided I'd be grown up about the matter and not show mum that at that moment I felt like curling into a ball and crying till the end of eternity... instead I carefully scooped him out, wrapped him in tinfoil and buried him in the garden, crossing my fingers that our neighbors cat wouldn't find him and have him as an after dinner snack. I assured mum I was ok and feeling bad she left to get something nice for dinner... it was then my sister made the attack and looking at me suspiciously pronounced - "your really sad aren't you - your going to cry right" I looked at her with shock, then nodding slowly fell against the wall and sank down with sobs racking my body. She sat next to me and hugged me tightly.

We never got any more pets after Max, I think in a way I was glad, I don't think I could cope if I had another one die on me... instead I lived vicariously through my friends - who had plenty of pets to share, knowing as well that no matter what, no pet could replace Max.

Just the beginning...

Ok, so after 3 hours of tears, grumbling and a fair, but mild amount of cursing I finally have this blog relatively close to the way I want it - I know what your thinking.. "Another blog?? Why Lesley Why?" well there's a few reasons

1. I'm happy to be a follower, well sort of, it seems like everyone and their second personality has an art blog these days - I don't want to sound insensitive but even dead artists blogs have been cropping up
2. My other blogs are not real blogs - they are pretty much just online travel journals - a tradition started when I was about 10 and my mum told me I needed to record my holidays - I think she hoped the writing would mean I talked less... it didn't
3. If I'm going to take being an artist (as pretentious as that sounds) seriously - I'd say an official blog is a good way to start

Another thing you may be wondering is - "Why striped designs?" - good question, (skip the next paragraph if you really don't care)

1. The words start and end with opposite letters S and D then D and S - so you could put it in a circle and it would fit together (small things amuse me)
2. Both words have seven letters - thats 2 words with 7 letters - put those number together and you have 27 - my birthday (a freaky coincidence)
3. Any one that spends time with me quickly becomes aware of my freakishly extensive striped knee high sock collection (a good go to present if your ever stuck on what to get me)

Well I hope I can make this blog something worth following

here goes...




A little taster from a book I'm developing - its looking a little Sanders right now, but its early stages ^_^