>>>Art & Gum

All I can bear to do is do the do

2011-11-01T20:59:00.000Z

I can’t help doodling. I have no idea if it’s rude or betrays a restless mind, or unfocused addlebrain. I know they’re not good; but then, more than photographs, for me (but less than music and scents), they remind me of a moment in time so intensely. Being at a meeting, in a 1960s hotel, with the seat making my summer dress stick to my thighs; the coffee being less than good, and how we all ate cakes despite not wanting to.

Like the time I doodled a girl whilst we were doing a pub quiz, and he said: ‘she looks like my ex-girlfriend’ and I felt insanely jealous of my own creation. And she haunted me then, my picture, even though I liked the ‘v’ of her lips.

And how when you were away, I drew you on a couch, and dreamed and dreamed and dreamed we would have a future with a couch in it.

Brighton and Doodles

2011-10-18T07:47:00.001+01:00

>>>meeting doodles

2011-10-04T20:16:00.002+01:00

Wet ones

2011-10-04T01:02:00.001+01:00

Copy

2011-10-04T00:15:00.004+01:00

Hospital Diary

I

The strip lighting, unlike coenzyme Q10, sucks
moisture from skin – papier-mâché masks
of in his case, a GI, and in my dad’s case,
a tall and capable salesman.
Sitting in the upright, I trace the wires, pipes
and other routes in and out of the wall. Yellow
dials are roadwork Stop and Go signs. Oxygen
40% signals a steep incline.
They give him Robinson’s Sugar Free and Lucozade
and mother speaks to nurse of aspartame and
tartrazine; of how the latter made me hyperactive,
and I remember dad at the bottom of the slide,
making his hands warm in the crook of his thighs.

-

The Birds

“Hold them with the blades down and away from you.”
You had such light wrists, they moved like tendrils of smoke. When the scissor metal flashed I held my breath, like mothers must when children play with cutters. You took them to the bathroom with you, despite my pleas. We’d been shaping coloured tissue paper to stick against the windowpanes. A sugar-paper owl with luminous purple, green and red panels of breast stood behind the basil, flat against the glass, painting shards of coloured light onto our wipe-clean tablecloth.

When you came back from the bathroom (I discovered your pile of neatly snipped toilet roll triangles at bedtime – you thought they would be useful) you said, “Let’s make black birds,” and by that you meant the jackdaws, crows and ravens that thrilled you so. I remember the first time you saw a raven striding across the botanical gardens. You squawked with excitement and its neck snapped round at the shrill sound. It looked like a key figure in royal history – a dark usurper in a gleaming, inky cloak.
“Why is that crow so big?” you asked, yours and its eyes locked together. Capable of cruelty, that bird, I thought. I didn’t like you looking at it – it seemed depraved and dangerous. A villain.

“That’s a raven. They’re of the same family as crows–” but before I could finish facting you, you had said, “I love him!” You got closer than I’d thought possible – close enough to pet its shifty head, but you didn’t. You mirrored its birdy movements and made your fingers into a shadow puppet beak. You funny little thing.

You drew ravens, crows, jays, rooks and jackdaws anywhere you could find a paper space. The corners of serviettes at birthday parties (everyone in your class was turning six), at the back of the address book on my writing desk, on electricity bills and a note to the milkman. So, we snipped the sugar-paper into corvus birds of different sizes, but we didn’t cut out panels for our stained glass, because you’d said, “No, they must be blacker than the night.”

-

Disarmament

I dreamt a raven lost its beak.
Humpty Dumpty on the wall -
looks down, and off it comes,
like fake Santa’s beard.

The glossy fingertrap,
or gothic ring, rests on butter blades
of spring grass.

He’s not in pain and I’m amused –
black feathered bowling pin,
has been disarmed and can’t caw
death tales now, or other mischief.

-

5.

Around the same time the Tories asked, What Makes Us Happy,
another question, equally questionable, popped up on the radio:
What’s Your Favourite Number?
This wasn’t talk on first dates, like do you prefer yellow or red
(the coward or the beater; optimist or the lover; Norwich or Manchester)
But a grown man mathematic writer, data gatherer, motivation cultivator,
freakanomic spectator, called Alex. It’s really caught people’s imaginations!

I went for a walk

2011-10-03T20:52:00.009+01:00

It was stiflingly hot and the whir of the fan is one of my least favourite sounds, though I enjoy rain, grandfather clock-ticks and the clack of a train*. The pavements were as bright as mirrors and I didn’t find a breeze except in the emissions of an exhaust pipe. The hour went quickly because I got lost.

Having no camera but the inbuilt one on my phone, and being rubbish at taking photographs anyway, these tiny snaps are embarrassingly trite. But in a bid to do more things I thought it was as good a place to start as any.

Having a two week headache doesn’t help the fluidity of thought nor word, nor troubleshooting at work. I think it has something to do with caffeine and belated, ripe plum emotions.

I realised I spawned my weirdest meeting doodle yet. Gone are entwined love limbs, the pregnant promise of stamens and the mindless copycatting of William Morris. Hello, dog biscuits.

*Sounds on the iSleep app most likely.

We made a little Shane film.

2011-08-09T10:41:00.002+01:00

Which is old news by now. But Shane makes compelling viewing. In my opinion.

See it on YouTube, here

THIS BLOG IS CURRENTLY BEING PRUNED

2011-08-09T10:14:00.003+01:00

Thank you for your patience.

In other news, I have downloaded FL Studio, also known as FruityLoops.

New Track - hear it here first...

2011-04-04T19:49:00.002+01:00

http://soundcloud.com/mia-vigar
for your ears

Look what we did! (The collective and broad We)

2010-12-22T17:46:00.004Z

Watch this! Spot your friends!

Tontena/ Hungry Audio and the wonderful Shane - new record alert!

2010-11-10T07:42:00.005Z

Something exceptional has happened this week, which has made those of us at Tontena Records/ Hungry Audio squeal with joy. The Shane Olinski record is finally finished – all seventeen wild, wise, nutty, and most of all, GENIUS tracks of it. Shane and my dad, who has produced the album under Shane’s anything but conventional direction, have been working on this for about a year and a half, and Shane has been a staple visitor to their abode every Sunday, come rain, come shine, even when he’s been out the night before.
Getting Closer is innovative, full of imagery, challenging, subtle, vulnerable, confusing, dark, light, and most of all, smart. Shane devours the English language, spitting out surprising turns of phrase that delight in the same way Shakespeare can. It’s funny too. And something you might not expect – it’s a sophisticated record. I love it. Even the dog, Frank, didn’t leave the lounge once when it was on (like he does with my music) but instead cocked his head at the speakers in a fond manner. For seventeen tracks, except for the bit where he stood by the fridge until I gave him a carrot. We all love it.
I can’t wait to share an MP3 taster of it with you.

In the studio today...

2010-06-01T15:55:00.008+01:00