Harry lived on the head of a five year old girl called Lucy and he loved it. Lucy would comb him and the other hairs daily. Occasionally she would even dress him up with lovely pink ribbons and hair clips that looked like butterflies.

Harry loved his life atop Lucy’s head and couldn’t imagine a happier existence than the one he had, he was completely content with every aspect of his life; even if he could he wouldn’t change a thing.

Life was perfect, and today was another perfect morning.

Harry lay comfortably on Lucy’s head wondering what kinds of marvelous things this wonderful new day would bring. Lucy stood staring out of her bedroom window, marveling at the tiny rainbow colours inside the droplets of dew that had settled on the leaves of the rose bush just outside her bedroom window. As she watched the droplets slowly make their way to the edge of the leaves she stroked her hair with her favourite red brush.

It was during this time when Harry felt a strange sensation. He felt unsteady and slightly tingly at his base. “What’s happening to me?” He felt dizzy and wobbly at the root; he had never felt anything like this before and he had no idea what to do. The blood red brush pulled across Harry once more and he felt like he was coming loose. Harry was petrified and let out a tiny high pitched squeal.

“Eeeeeeeeee.”

The evil red brush reared up once more and swooped down upon him. Once again, he felt a sharp tug and a pinging sound. Before he had time to figure out what had happened he collided heavily with a large white mass and was knocked unconscious.

When Harry regained consciousness he was lying in the middle of what seemed to be a vast sun baked mud flat, which may have once been a mighty lake. There were deep cracks and vast lines everywhere on this cold white surface. Harry thought to himself that whatever it was vaguely resembled a close up picture of the dry skin on an elephants behind. Harry figured it was neither a desert nor an elephants behind as the odds of falling from Lucy’s head in her bedroom on to a desert or an elephant was next to impossible. He tried to sit up to survey the area in which he had landed, but found the fall had paralyzed him from root to tip. And so he lay there, he was cold, scared and alone, and wedged between two flakey cracked pieces of the Sahara elephant ass desert. After a time the shock of his situation wore off, boredom set in and he realized he had simply fallen on to the ledge of the bedroom window.

Five days past and Harry hadn’t moved. He longed for company and something to do. For now it seemed he was destined to live out his days where he was, isolated and lonely on the bland white window ledge. Days went by, weeks passed and the months dragged on, Harry just lay there all by himself.

He yearned for companionship.

The day he got it he realized he was better off without it. His companionship, if you could call it that came in the unsightly form of a small, furry, green piece of mould called Nigel.

Harry didn’t like Nigel for two reasons.

The first reason was because Nigel was a liar. Harry had realized this the first time he had ever spoken to him.

“Hey, what’s your name slim?”

“Oh, my name is, my name is umm Harry. Yeah, my name’s Harry.”

“Harry aye? Harry the hair. Ha. What a stupid name. Well my names Nigel.”

Harry looked at the furry piece of mould and noticed that Nigel was wearing a small circular name tag with red writing that said ‘Hi, my name is Fred.’ After that Harry never trusted the furry green liar with the complexion that looked like the felt lining of a pool table.

The second reason Harry didn’t like Fred or Nigel or whatever he called himself was for the obvious reason. As everybody knows mould are notorious for being incredibly vulgar and Fred/Nigel or whatever he called himself was no exception. That dirty piece of mould would tell the most amazingly foul jokes about almost every subject. Harry hated him so very much and he kept to himself as much as he could.

Keeping to himself wasn’t an easy thing to do however.

Anytime the lifeless white window ledge became even slightly moist the foul mouthed mould would create an exact replica of himself. What was worse though was the replicas were exactly the same as the first Fred/Nigel and would lie about their names, and tell the exact same dirty jokes as the original Fred/Nigel had. This tested Harry on a daily basis; he could feel the queer malformed noose of insanity tightening around him and his once coherent mind.

It had been an extremely out of character wet and warm spring and by this stage the window ledge wasn’t very white at all; in fact the whole ledge had an unsightly green tinge to it, and by this stage Harry was now hearing the same lies and dirty jokes about a million times a day.

Harry was so sick of this and wanted it to stop so badly that he had considered stopping breathing and just giving up all together. Then he realized this would do him no good at all as he didn’t need oxygen to survive, and further more had no respiratory system.

One particularly upsetting afternoon Harry was trying to block out the story coming from the foul mouths of the now fifty million replicated Fred and Nigel’s talking at him simultaneously about the time they had lived on the ceiling above the shower.

“You should have seen this one Lady” the fifty million voices shrieked “She never went to the toilet before she showered; never.”

Harry tried to block the voices out. He didn’t want to hear about Lucy’s mother. She was a nice lady who use to shampoo and condition him with stuff that smelled like apples.

“And do you know what she would do every morning before the shower was through she would…”

Harry stopped listening, he could smell lemon or what he thought was lemon.

“Yeah you wouldn’t believe it, all over the scrubbing brushes and everything. She would even let it run all down her legs and on to her feet. Hey what’s that lemon smell.”

Harry didn’t know what the smell was, but by now it was all over them. It was a light yellow, creamy colour and although it smelled like lemon it had the burn of tobasco sauce and the consistency of chalk. The Fifty million vulgar voices collectively screamed “Ahhhhhh, you’re killing us, you’re killing us!”

Harry didn’t mind he was just glad that the jokes had stopped. And in a jiffy the foul mouthed, fifty million Fred and Nigel’s were gone.

Suddenly a big soft yellow mass that looked like the surface of the moon descended upon him. It was warm and soft and nice. It tickled him a little bit and he giggled, Harry was happy. It was the first time he had giggled in a long time.

He was finally happy again.

With one gentle movement of the yellow moon he was dislodged from the crack in the paint and came to rest in a bright blue bucket. He floated gently in a sea of warm frothy water.

Harry didn’t mind even though he couldn’t swim and he drifted to the bottom of the soapy sea and began to dream. He dreamed of the time when he belonged to a head and had friends. A little smile appeared on his face; Harry was content and had a feeling everything was going to be ok.

He was warm and happy and slowly Harry drifted into a dark sleep. A short while afterward Harry no longer felt the warmth of the water and it was only dark. And a moment after that the darkness dissolved and Harry saw nothing, felt nothing, and was nothing.

All that remained was a greasy strand of protein, nothing special at all. A single strand of hair that had once belonged to a little girl called Lucy.

Judging by old TV shows once upon a time it must have been ‘cool.’ But I guess fashion is fashion and those who can pull off the mustache without facing ridicule are few and far between. Still a part of me longs to sprout a hairy upper lip.

Perhaps India is the last vestige on earth for that freedom. There, mustached men defiantly out number non-mustached men. To be honest it made me feel a little self-conscious – I can probably count on two hands the number of hairs I have in that sacred region. I found myself constantly assessing my own lack of facial hair with pangs of jealously.

One day the pangs got so intense that I went as far as drawing on a fuller soup strainer with a posca pen. Like a wig or fake breasts, this did wonders for my confidence. I was able to strut with my head up, a man.

Coming to Sideroom.com next week:

India in Analog | Part Three – Holi

SIDEROOM.COM | Red Bull Stereopticon | Christchurch from Peepshow on Vimeo.

Make sure you get down to Britomart this Friday – July 23, to watch Jun Arita in action at Red Bull Stereopticon | Auckland.

SIDEROOM.COM | Red Bull Stereopticon | Wellington from Peepshow on Vimeo.

Make sure you get down to Britomart this Friday – July 23, to watch Jun Arita in action at Red Bull Stereopticon | Auckland.

I GREW UP… In Osaka, Japan.

MY ART IS… Full of colors, I really like colors they make me happy, and the viewer too.

TOOLS OF THE TRADE ARE… Color pens, color pencils, acrylic paints, drawing paper, walls, boards, records, skate boards. Anything can be my canvas.

I’M INSPIRED BY… Japanese Illustrator, Graphic Designer and Art Director Katsura Moshino. I saw his artwork when I was a high school student. Since then I have developed my own art style and would like to be an international artist and designer.

IT MAKES ME HAPPY… When people are happy and smiling. I remember when I had my first art show in Japan. An old person said to me “After I saw your artworks, I felt alive and happy, thank you” and gave me their brightest smile. That made me so happy I decided to keep drawing for people.

THE BEST PLACE I… Have been was New York because it was my first trip by myself. Everything was amazing, the buildings, art, fashion and people. I met a street artist in SoHo and I really liked his artwork so I sat down next to him and we made art together. When I was leaving he gave me one piece of his work. It was then I understood what I should be doing as an artist; art for me is not about making money. When I’m making art I remember that feeling.

EVERYDAY I… Listen to music, check fashion or art magazines, watch movies, go shopping, go walking, have a coffee, and get inspiration for my next artworks.

WORKING AS AN ARTIST IN NEW ZEALAND… Is really exciting. I’m so happy because I have met allot of people who are really creative and have amazing talent. I have had great experiences through making art in New Zealand but I couldn’t have done it without the support of my family, friends in Japan, host family in New Zealand and fans overseas. Thank you so much.

I THINK THE BEST ART… Is by my favorite artist Alfons Maria Mucha because his work is so easy to view. It is clear and easy to understand, but at the same time very elegant and beautiful.

WHEN TECHNOLOGY MEETS ART… There will be allot of chances to show people your art and they will know more about you, because more people will become interested in art.

LIVE PAINTING IS… So that the viewer can watch the artist in progress and the artist can share feelings with them that they can enjoy together.

IF I COULD TRANSFORM… I would like to be a bird because I could fly in the world, and would get lots of inspiration.

THE BEST ADVICE I EVER GOT WAS… From my design teacher, she said “Jun, you should travel to another country to make your art,” so I’ve come here. Also my Mum used to say to me “You can do it, Never Give Up!” Never Give Up has become my saying now.

RED BULL STEREOPTICON IS… A chance to show my art to new audience, thank you so much for giving me this awesome opportunity.

Check out Jun in action at Red Bull Stereopticon | Auckland

Where: Auckland – Britomart

When: Friday 16th July, 5pm

I AM… A freelance illustrator based in Auckland.

I GREW UP… In China and moved to New Zealand when I was 19.

MY ART IS… Very influenced by traditional Chinese art and Japanese comics.

TOOLS OF THE TRADE ARE… Pencil, pen, ink and computer.

I’M INSPIRED BY… Eric Liddell, Claude Monet, Sam Webber, James Jean, and Paul Pope.

IT MAKES ME HAPPY… When I finish a piece I’m satisfied with.

THE BEST PLACE I… Gain my ideas and inspiration is in a tasty café where I can drink mocha, read a magazine, and draw in my sketchbook.

EVERYDAY I… Need to do three things, read my bible, do some drawing, and play my guitar.

WORKING AS AN ARTIST IN NEW ZEALAND… Is a privilege for me.

I THINK THE BEST ART… Should communicate the emotions of the artist to the people. There are two extremes, one is the pursuit of pure likeness, and the other is beyond people’s imagination.

WHEN TECHNOLOGY MEETS ART… I think technology does make certain art forms easier and allows the artist to spend more time on the creative process. However technology can’t make a person more creative or more artistic. I believe even in 100 years time pencil and brushes will still be the artist’s favorite tools.

LIVE PAINTING IS… Just like living my faith with God. People can watch how each stroke and each line comes alive under an artist’s hand. The artist takes the viewer on a journey and often they won’t get the entire picture until the end of the painting process. However the artist knows what he is going to paint. In each stage of my life there are struggles and doubts and unless I trust God and keep going till the end I won’t see the entire picture he has painted for my life. And it is a beautiful picture.

IF I COULD TRANSFORM… I haven’t thought of anything I’d transformed into. But if I can I’d like to sleep less and draw more.

THE BEST ADVICE I EVER GOT WAS… Be yourself.

RED BULL STEREOPTICON IS….. A cool platform for artists to express the unique way they see the world onto canvas.

Check out Dennis in action at Red Bull Stereopticon | Christchurch.

Where: Christchurch – Sol Square

When: Friday 16th July, 5pm

I AM… Fairly ok at drawing pretty pictures, some might call me an artist, or an illustrator, a scribbler, a mess maker, an art-fag, or a dirty vandal?

I GREW UP… Living in the Cook Islands, on a tiny little island called Rarotonga. Getting up to mischief in the tropics, painting, drawing, swimming, spear fishing, and driving 50cc scooters way too fast.

MY ART IS… A take on modern illustration, that pays homage to traditional artists, children’s book illustrations and folklore. A huge part of my practice is working large-scale, painting murals, so naturally my work cross-pollinates with a slight street art aesthetic.

TOOLS OF THE TRADE ARE… HB pencils, 0.005 pigment liner pens, brushes, acrylics, aerosols, rollers, squeegee brushes, car window washing wipers, my computer and tablet.

I’M INSPIRED BY… My friends and family, fellow artist friends, and any body else that’s productive with what they love. My girlfriends cooking, nature, travel, and what ever else is happening in my life.

IT MAKES ME HAPPY… When I’m drinking a strong cup of coffee and have time to work on my own projects.

THE BEST PLACE I… Ever traveled too and probably drank a little too much, but had the time of my life, was Vang Vieng in Laos. Floating down a river in a rubber tube drinking ridiculously cheap Chang Beer, surrounded by the most incredible lush jungle terrain and mountain ranges. Good fun!

EVERYDAY I… Create, scribble, draw, and hang out with my lovely lady.

WORKING AS AN ARTIST IN NEW ZEALAND… Can be good fun but also allot of hard work, especially if your main focus is aerosol art. People tend to jump to judgmental opinions at first glance. But there is a really strong tight knit art community, which can be very inviting and inspiring. Just stick to your guns, work hard, and have fun.

I THINK THE BEST ART… Delivers a strong message and challenges the viewer. It can be viewed and appreciated by anybody and doesn’t have to hide behind the stereotypical gallery facade or live up to any hierarchical status. It should be open for discussion, hold its own stylistically, be fun, humorous, and not take itself too seriously.

WHEN TECHNOLOGY MEETS ART…. You get one big bad mother of an event like Stereopticon!

LIVE PAINTING IS… Sometimes a little intimidating but also ridiculously fun! Nothing a few brews can’t sort out.

IF I COULD TRANSFORM…. I’d be Optimus Prime.

THE BEST ADVICE I EVER GOT WAS… To keep your head in the clouds but your feet firmly on the ground.

RED BULL STEREOPTICON IS…. Going to be a hell of a lot of fun!

Check out Cinzah in action at Red Bull Stereopticon | Wellington.

Where: Wellington – The St Johns Ambulance Bar

When: Saturday 17th July, 8pm

Still I missed the click and clunk of my old analog, the anticipation and uncertainty, the physicality. In the foggy banks of my memory film was crisp and pure… but expensive. If I was ever going to shoot film again India was the place. Thanks to the third world economy, a roll of film in India costs about a tenth of the price in Japan, processing is about the same. So I left my digital SLR camera at home, bought an old, sturdy as fuck Nikon FE, circa nineteen seventy something, and attempted to take some photos.

It really did take some getting used to again, but once I got in to it, again the pros seemed to outweigh the cons. I had less money around my neck to worry about. I had no digital display to show the kids who seemed forever present, yelling “Photo! Photo!”  And as I was travelling and developing at different labs the colour and quality always came back different, which was exciting also.

For all the shitters than ended up in the rubbish I managed to get a few pics that I think are worth sharing. I don’t think I could have taken them on digital either. Analog to me just seems raw and real, much like India. So in that respect these photos captured my months there in a way only film could.

Part One
Varanasi

Also known as Benares, Varanasi is one of the oldest constantly inhabited places in the world. Once you arrive in India many a traveller and local alike will tell you “You have to see it.” It’s the kind of place you either love or you don’t. Some will tell you that it is amazing, full of life and art and music, and others will say it is the closest thing to hell, full of stench, liars, cheats, disease, decay and death.

For many, particularly Buddhists and Hindus, Varanasi is undoubtedly a holy city, if not the holiest. It sits on the banks of the River Ganga, it is where the goddess Sati’s earrings fell and nearby the Great Bhudda gave his first sermon. It has been home to many prominent Indian philosophers, poets, writers and musicians, such as Kabir and Tulsidas.

Varanasi receives more than a million pilgrims each year. Many come for inspiration, to learn music or to make art, though most come to pray and many to die. The smoke from the pyres on which their bodies burn wafts across the roof tops from the river banks.

I think one of the hardest and best things about spending time in Varanasi is the smells. One moment you get a nostril full of rich boiling curry, the next a fly infested cow pat. One street the scent of flowery incense, turn the corner into a steaming puddle of fresh human urine.

Personally I liked it. Though very intense at times it is never boring. It’s tight cobblestone alleys, decaying castles and temples are medieval… If I hit my head and forgot the year it would have been hard to figure it out. Mark Twain wrote that “Benares is older than history, older than tradition, older even than legend, and looks twice as old as all of them put together.”

Coming to Sideroom.com next week:

India in Analog | Part Two – Hindustan and the Mustached Men

Exit Through the Gift Shop could be Banksy’s biggest prank yet. But would you expect anything less from the stencil master who snuck his own paintings into the Tate, painted escape routes on sections of the West Bank, and dropped a fake Guantanamo prisoner into a ride at Disneyland?

In Gift Shop Banksy turns the camera around on the purported filmmaker of this documentary, Thierry Guetta, a diminutive Frenchman with an all-consuming compulsion to film the world around him. “The film’s the story of what happened when this guy tried to make a documentary about me, but he was a lot more interesting than I am,” says Banksy, “so now the film is kind of about him.”

Obsessively carrying his camera everywhere (even, as we discover early on in the piece, to the toilet), Guetta gets his introduction to the world of street art through his cousin Invader in Paris. Upon his return to LA, the Frenchman ingratiates himself with Shepherd ‘Obey’ Fairey and starts following him and other well-known street art figures around the world, documenting their practices and even lending a hand.

Guetta eventually bags his biggest catch – Banksy – and films him as he prepares for his debut show ‘Barely Legal’ in LA. All of this is straightforward until Banksy presses Guetta to assemble the documentary he has supposedly been collecting footage for. It quickly becomes apparent that Guetta is not a filmmaker, but simply a neurotic dude with a camera.

Taking over the film project, Banksy sends Guetta back to LA and suggests he make his own street art despite the fact that Guetta so far hasn’t shown any artistic tendencies of his own.

And here’s where the film gets really interesting. Guetta decides he doesn’t want to just create street art, he wants all of the fanfare, hoopla and acclaim he witnessed at Banksy’s own LA art show and sets out to surpass him in every way. Setting up a studio of designers and artists, he arbitrates over these creative workers churning out a bunch of derivative, uninspired, photoshopped ‘art pieces’ under the moniker Mr Brain Wash and proceeds to mount a huge exhibition of some 4000 works in an old movie studio. He generates enough publicity (through the exploitation of quotes he’s garnered from Obey and Banksy) to see an art opening attended by over 7000 people and close to a million dollars worth of sales.

Guetta has taken the subversive, maverick quality of the artists he was originally documented and reduced their practice to something pathetic, all influence and no originality, all hype, huge price tages and no meaning. “Andy Warhol took cultural icons and repeated them until they became meaningless” says Banksy. “Thierry made them really meaningless.”

But is it real? Speculation has been rife that the entire documentary is a hoax, and Banksy is having the last laugh. I’m talking about a Richard Koufey style prank here but on an elaborate scale. The figure of Guetta could merely be a smokescreen for Banksy to stage his own large-scale, vacuous art show. Why? To illustrate how easy it is to ‘be’ somebody in the art world, simply because you can generate the hype, attract the crowds and manage to fool people into buying your works at vastly over inflated prices.

Street art, like everything else, has become fashionable, ensuring that prices have skyrocketed and everyone wants a piece. While Banksy himself is guilty of being in this arena, with works going for tens of thousands of dollars in auction, he is also in the position to argue that he didn’t ask for fame (he’s still anonymous for Pete’s sake) or fortune (the ‘shop’ on his website doesn’t offer anything for sale, and it could be argued that he wouldn’t see much of the auction money his work generates).

Whether he’s taking us for a ride or not, Banksy has used Mr Brain Wash to make a not-so-subtle point about the the artist, the buyer and the state of art today, portrayed tongue-in-cheek through this hilarious film.

MY ART ISN’T… Sharp, I like loose wonky lines, curves and wobbly parts.

TOOLS OF THE TRADE ARE… For inspiration it’s usually a plane ticket to an interesting location, or a bike ride into town. For the making of images it’s acrylic paint, spray paint, shellac based inks, silk screens, Sumi Ink, pens, HB pencils, erasers, brushes, markers and laptop, scanner, Photoshop.

WHERE I LIVE NOW IS… In sunny Perth, it’s famous for being one of the most isolated cities in the world, which means you can always find a spot on the beach to yourself. There is a creative vibe in this city and a lot of talented artists are doing their thing.

WHERE I WAS BEFORE… Bangkok. I was living and working there for a year and a half, and painting most Sundays with four local artists. Hanging out with local guys, going to their houses and parties and eating noodles on the side of the road gave me a great insight into the Thai culture. An experience I’m sure I wouldn’t have gotten if I was just there as a tourist.

AUSTRALIA SHOULD... Be more accepting.

NEW ZEALAND IS… Fantastic.

KINGBROWN WILL… Be having an exhibition at the end of June. www.kingbrownmag.com

WHEN I WAS YOUNG I… Would build elaborate jumps to attack with my BMX.

THE MOST IMPORTANT… Thing is being good to people and doing the right thing by them, looking out for your friends and fellow humans.

WHEN I DAYDREAM I… Think about what it would be like to live in a tree house.

I LOVE… Super, good, aromatic, futuristic quality coffee, imagination, old circus fonts, beards.

I HATE… Pretentiousness, small dogs with little jackets and french names, the wrong wind.

THE WORLD RIGHT NOW… Is in denial.

IF HAD IT MY WAY I WOULD… Make more animals; just invent my own species of animal with great colour schemes and special powers, like being able to do your tax and making good coffee.

THE BEST PLACE I… Like to travel to is somewhere I haven’t been yet.

OLEX IS… The name of my new tax form filling animals.

IF I COULD EAT ONLY ONE THING FOR THE REST OF MY DAYS IT WOULD BE… Coffee.

DON’T TRUST… People with moustaches.

SOME PEOPLE… Are attractive.

THE BEST ADVICE… Is to stay positive, keep your head up, if you fail try again. Do your homework and practice.

EVERY DAY I… Use the internet.

TREASURE… Your talents.

www.theyok.com
www.kingbrownmag.com