Lead me to the truth and I will follow with my whole lie.

Graphite, water colour, gelatin pen and copic marker on paper.
50cm x 70cm

Wonderland.

Saddles shift through fog,
Venom saturates her tongue,
Bubble gum baked black pulls dry her stretched mind-
How she longs for the sound of sleeping.

Ferris wheel bends to the heat of her thoughts,
Riding the space between carriages they race,
Bowing down to only the plastic entwined in canine teeth-
That dog knows not the sound of sleeping.

Where whispers balance between the flint and the fringe,
Where sails tear to the crying of the wind,
There mercy and murder befriend,
There she finds the sound of sleeping.

Solid tones bellow from between two lips,
Twigs scrape cement,
The damage is damned.

Beneath the yellow brick road paved across the sea,
Buried by her parents,
Is where she will know the sound of sleeping-
Ash in mouth and delivering butterflies from her hand.

DB.

Papercuts Exhibition at Trocadero Art Space.

Papercuts Exhibition- Papercuts is a celebration of the flat stuff. Gathering together a host of different artists including Aaron MARTIN, Anne KUCERA, Autumn TANSEY, Dave HAUSER, Danielle BONGIOVANNI, Deanne JOLLEY, Georg WHELAN, Grant GRONEWALD, Jacob PILKINGTON, Jenny Zhe CHANG, Jess WILSON, Katja MOUVLIN, Marnie ADAMSON, Matt HOBSON, Nikki LAM, Ross DE WINTER, Sarah GARRECHT, Sophia DARCIA, Susie SCHOLEM. Papercuts explores the limitless potential of a natural canvas.

Curated by Lou Molesworth, Jess Wilson and Ben Snaith.

Opening: Saturday December 4th from 4pm to 7pm
Address: TROCADERO Art Space
Level 1, 119 Hopkins St Footscray
Melbourne, Victoria 3011

For more information about TROCADERO Art Space and other exhibitions, visit:
http://www.trocaderoartspace.com.au/

Image taken by Susie Scholem

Make another telephone call, think of you and me.

Graphite and colour pencil on paper.
65cm x 80cm

About London.

Could I hear in death your voice and your breath?- Night terrors.

Graphite, water colour, silver gelatin pen, copic marker and tissue paper on paper.
50cm x 70cm

Don't drown in your tears, we have to sail.

Graphite, water colour, silver gelatin pen and copic marker on paper.
50cm x 65cm

Talking with ghosts (part two).

Graphite on paper.
50cm x 70cm

Talking with ghosts (part one).

Graphite on paper.
50cm x 70cm

Ring Tailed Lemurs are said to symbolise the souls of the dead (mainly because of their ghostly appearance).

I found a liquor store where I danced on the floor, eyes darted 'round.

Graphite, water colour, bronze gelatin pen and copic marker on paper.
50cm x 65cm

Drawing with details.

Ghost Eyes- music made by Andrew Duckett and Matthew Hayman.

http://www.myspace.com/ghosteyes

Music made by my dear friends living in London.... I have been waiting so long and finally my room is being filled with their sweet sweet tunes... makes me want to get my ghetto on (ha ha... that's for you Andrew!).
Love it xx

Image by: Emma Hartvig

Second image was the poster the boys used for the UK tour :).... done a while after this post...

The beauty of his death will carry on so.

Graphite and colour pencil on paper. Work in progress.

Space stars fall about you.

Graphite, colour pencil, silver gelatin pen, acrylic paint and tissue paper on paper.

(Really shit reproductions of original).



"And I was so shallow to the one man who stuck around, Sunk so low that I nearly drowned, And I screamed of his heart when he wasn't around, Consoled him recklessly, I knew he was down. Oh, I watched him cry, A broken heart at the hands of a child, And I'll keep on going, I've got nothing to lose, I gave up morals when I took up you"- Laura Marling.

Since I fell.

Type C photograph.

Herbert Von Karajan

Studies of Herbert Von Karajan (conductor) for M + C.
Graphite, ink and colour pencil on paper.

Could I hear in death your voice and your breath?

Graphite on paper. Scribble.

Tobacco cane smoulders between darkening skin
as tambourines touch
and pretty voices sound.

Blank breath drawn
killer sharpens her tongue,
pauses, and vomits yellow teeth.

Soldier white pages lay upon loose flesh
but slowly they find themselves being drenched in thoughtless black
that bloats and wields it's way onto the gradient.

Plastic caught beneath the tracks
leading to the shore where platted flowers hum over a stone cold bed,
sheets buried in the sand.
Bubble gum pink bubble popped. Dry.
Mind stretched and milk blood drawn from your sons and daughters,
their shoes untied. You smile.

Gargoyles drag carcasses from an empty sea,
there my head rests. Cryptic.
Entombed. DB.

The needle and the damage done.

Digital Photographs. Brainstorming ideas.


Cancerous breath swollen in the wake of a murderous day,
beautiful things lay. Still.

Fingertips dance light like lash brushed cheeks.
And you didn’t think to remember me while you were trumpeting vendetta,
sewing machines belted to bike wheels ploughing skin.

Bequeath to thee a drowned sailor's unrest.
Instantaneous. Solemn. DB.

What a typically shit thing to do.

Graphite on paper. Work in progress.

I read your letter, lines anxiously pulled in blue across the page forming structures that didn't mean a thing to me. Your confessions, ransoms confusingly noted in the emptiness that prevails of unkept promises; sewing through the mess. I search for you between my feet but you escaped after you broke in, swung between tiny veins, because you realised i didn't mean a thing to you. Its heavy and denied but to confess I knew you would break... me, freight train pulling me to it's gate because I knew I didn't mean a thing to you. DB.

"This is the moment that you know, That you told her that you loved her but you don't. You touch her skin and then you think, That she is beautiful but she don't mean a thing to me. Yeah, she is beautiful but she don't mean a thing to me. I wanted to believe in all the words that I was speaking, As we moved together in the dark. And all the friends that I was telling, All the playful misspellings and every bite I gave you left a mark. So one last touch and then you'll go, And we'll pretend that it meant something so much more. But it was vile, and it was cheap and you are beautiful but you don't mean a thing to me, yeah you are beautiful but you don't mean a thing to me". Death Cab for Cutie.

Hinting at space, to be unborn.

Digital Photographs. Brainstorming ideas.

"When I exit and recall your eyes; Leaden depth and dark, hinting at space. Oh the richness, hinting at everything, And unborn uncreate. To be unborn. Like an angle fallen whilst I saw your eyes, leaking lights". Michael Cashmore.

A bird with broken wing yet nothing more.

Brainstorming ideas. Graphite one paper.

"I know a dog much blacker than night, Who lives in a house where nothing is right, All sorrow and loving riches at bay. Lie true lie true lie true lie true. Lie true lie true lie true lie true. Lie true lie true lie true lie true. Lie true lie true lie true lie true."- Isobel Campbell

Imprint After.

Gouche, water colour and water pencil on paper.

"Why did you choose to stay? Are you sure about your life for once? Have you fell? How are you gonna live? I can tell you that you've gotten far. Why did you want to come back to me? Was it cause I didn't want to leave? I want you to know I'll keep you out of harm, but you got to know you left your mark...on me.
I don't want to talk about him, And how he wasn't shy. Don't tell me anymore about what you had, I know you're different now from what I had. It's a good time. I'm sorry i couldn't name the colour of your eyes. I don't want to talk about him, And how he wasn't shy. Don't tell me anymore about what you had, I know you're different now from what I had. It's a good time". Toro Y Moi

I hear flies.

Graphite on paper. Draft intended for dry point etching.

"Where O where have you been my love? Where O where can you be? It's been so long, since the moon has gone, And 0 what a wreck you've made me. Are you there over the ocean? Are you there, up in the sky? Until the return of my love, This lullaby. My Hope is on the horizon, Every face, it's your eyes i can see. I plead, i pray through each night & day, Our Embrace is only a dream. And as sure as days come from moments, Each hour becomes a life's time. When she'd left, i'd only begun this lullaby". Mark Lanegan & Queens of the Stone Age.

Tears streamed down her worn cheeks as she whispered to his reflection in the carriage window "I kill all beautiful things". - The last Friday we knew together. DB.

My Pussy Bites.

Graphite on paper and fabric. Brainstorming ideas.

"And I'm sorry to whichever man should meet my sorry state, Watch my sturdy, lonesome gait and beware, I will never love a man 'cause love and pain go hand in hand, And I can't do it, Again." Laura Marling

A really awful drawing however just something quick to get an idea onto the page...

When I feel lost I look at my picture of you... believe not that I love you.

Self Portrait. Digital Image. Brainstorming Ideas.

"I've been thinking on my wandering, On the way home from your house, That I love you and why I do, And if there'll ever be someone else. Young believers, Come and see her, She has pushed him to the ground,Though with one hand he could break her, With one hand split her in two. But the reason that we love him, Is a hope he don't want to, Is a hope he don't want to. And can you find for me a higher thing? So I can love he who will not fight for me, Cause I do not believe, Believe that I love he, So fight for me, think and feel for me. No I do not love thee, but believe that I love you. But believe that I love you. And when you're drinking alone, No it's bad for my soul, Took him back to the eagle, Though it songs in my window. Ask me deeming, Hear you moaning alone, Yes I heard the song, Like bullets to me, Put a carn in me, Knowing every scene, Who was fucking crazy." - Laura Marling.

When I feel lost I look at my picture of you... believe that I love you.

Self Portrait. Digital Image. Brainstorming Ideas.

I tend to immerse myself in fanciful infrastructures I create in my mind... at times completely fading away. DB.

So I Tongued You

Still image from flip book. Type C Photograph.

"We have material minds, And restless hands, Longing hearts, And lonely beds. But we purchase stuff, And work too hard, Use our heads, And fill our beds. And we’re left with wretched hearts, And mangled minds. But we live our lives, On broken earth. So caught up." - The Middle East.

I Found Love At A Graveyard

Self Portrait. Digital Image.

Whilst remaining apprehensive about the idea of self analysis, these images demonstrate the self as experienced from within whilst responding to the transient nature of human relationships and the sometimes deprecating effect they have on the individual.

The photographs reveal to me an element of vulnerability, displacency and uncertainty, "that I would have preferred not to know and not to have others know.” The images admit a pathetic desperateness unchanging over time where the subject (I) turns to the viewer helplessly looking for the answer. DB.