12 August 2018

There was a forgotten message on Facebook from 2007 today that brought some surprising memories back to me.

The message was from the third man I ever went on a date with, and he mentioned that in Paris my name had rung a bell with a Mercedes Lady. It happened to be Claudio, and I will never forget her performing to the entire school, and the disinterest bordering on disrespect I heard from the crowd of girls who had no inkling of her talent.

Every time I see her success I am so happy for her - she played here at the NGV last year and although I didn't go, I wanted to, just to pay my respects to her hard work. When I read a now-successful artist talking about their school days, the first memory that comes to mind in sympathy is my visceral memory of the crowd in the gym that day.

He was the lovely man that I went on one date with after breaking up with Curo, and that was a bit more complicated than it should have been. Although I technically went on dates with Mark and Curo, Rafer definitely was my first stereotypical date.

He had spotted me immediately when he started at ADI, and he wore Tommy which was my favourite smell, and no way to judge a man. Nevertheless I said yes, and he picked me up from Joel Terrace with a bouquet of Chuppa Chups (my sugar dependency clearly showing).

We went to Mt Lawley I think, and at one point I was uncool about the dermatitis on his hands, and that was the end of that venture.

It is so funny trying to remember the men who thought they were dating me. I don't really remember them, and I wonder how they think of me now.

I mean, almost every man I dated (and could have dated) invited me to their engagement parties, sometimes their weddings, so I think I was not monstrous. But they are so invisible in my memories, only serving to fill out a list that shows they are all sweet-natured clones of each other.

19 July 2006

Revisiting some of my writing has reminded me that I have fond wishes for my writing to travel and change with each reader.

I would like just one line written by me to survive the apocalypse - although I hope it will be used by the right people!

I would like at least one of my articles to be so subversive that it is banned by someone who likes banning stuff - although I have had a very unsatisfactory partial experience of that before also.

I would like to have someone disagree with me so violently that they need to write about it.

Bear with A Head Cold (Reprise) is my most read blog post, and it collected pretty much the only comment on the entire blog. I am incredibly proud that it has gone on to be used to debunk the email that inspired my ire and my writing.

Debunking

No explanation needed

Make sure you include me!

It also attracted one of the only pieces of criticism from a stranger I have been fortunate enough to find. Rather perversely I find his criticism to be very complimentary. I am particularly pleased that he thinks I diagram my sentences, as I had to look up diagramming to work out what he was talking about! He also accuses me of logical dissection, which is very charming of him. I just call it ranting, to be honest.

Much as I like the Corvette criticism however, my fondest piece of feedback was positive feedback. It is a piece of art forwarded to me by someone who read my American Politics writing through the Org, the artistic collective that sprung up around zeFrank’s The Show.

a bomb nation entitled this image "let me out! - or - an explanation of why americans love clairemadeleine's blog" and I will never forget his explanation for the image:

a bomb nation - let me out!

He said that while he did not agree with my politics - he was a Republican and I most certainly was not – he found my spontaneous and untried analysis was free of the noise of the American Media, and gave him a clearer lines of discussion in the politics of his nation.

Now that is a beautiful compliment to receive; and it reminds me that providing a little bit of clarity is actually the number one thing that I want the reader to experience from my written opinions.

16 July 2004

It’s summer in London and there is an Australian on the bar in the Trader.

She wears pearl-pink heels, a pleated grey cotton skirt and she has an open pink plastic umbrella over one shoulder, despite the possible bad luck. She is short enough that she can twirl the umbrella with one hand and bounce an inflatable beach ball in the other without hitting the roof with either, for she is ON the bar, pacing and humming show tunes under her breath. She hasn’t been drinking. She is just bored and the pub is almost empty, so why not?

Later she talks to the few barflies around, telling them she is a Retired Boot Scooting Champion, having won the World Title aged twelve. Post retirement she has established herself in the Karaoke Video Clip Industry in Singapore, and is doing very well for herself. Australian? I sure am! My Mum gave birth to me on Ayres Rock in the hope I would somehow be able to draw Azaria Chamberlain’s spirit to her so she could find out the truth of what happened.

On the way home the Tube provides a soundtrack for her night as the doors open to stations with buskers playing progressively Jazzier tunes down the Central Line.

9 July

Max has found a wedding in the countryside and a film starring my first genuinely talented signing for me, and both remind me how wonderful friends and art are.

Groove Armada has a song, My Friend, which is pretty much the only song I have ever listened to and thought “I want that played at my funeral.”

Friends for me are the people who generously share their experience and wisdom, and make me a better person in the sharing. The friendships forged in London shaped the course of my two years, and the friends made at the Evangelical Alliance set the English tone of my stay. This wedding was the penultimate activity I would share with them before leaving for Australia.

Once I started working at a specific level with artists, I experienced an exchange of ideas and experiences through talent that came very close to the exchange of true friendship. Much as I make fun of Screaming Fangurls, I am in fact one of them, because I find connection through art to be a profound one. And it is not hard to see why you would develop a feeling of connection with a good artist through your experience of their art.

The overwhelming memories of the wedding and the film for me are the contentment of seeing two people who love each other come together for life, and the continuing joy I experienced being able to help a talented artist. Which is why so much art is about friends, and so many friends like to share art.

Whenever I'm down
I call on you my friend
A helping hand you lend
In my time of need
And all that's going on
Is really going on
Just one of those days
You say the right things
To keep me moving on
To keep me going strong