Half way through the dark!

 As we approach the crossing of that temporal line and Star Date 2011 looms ahead. On board the good ship 'Cocteau' we're much sated and somewhat rounder from lots of good rations and fuzzy times. Having safely navigated the Santa Nebula. We're now preparing for active duty on a new mission Code name: 'Ghost Echoes'. I will be writing and producing a 'radio show'. You youngsters can take a moment and Google that now.

 It's been a full year, getting to see so many of you on my jaunts to Blighty and the USA. Your smiles, hugs and conversations, have as always stimulated and inspired me. It was heartening to see that nothing short of a Zombie Apocalypse could cut our numbers down and prevent art from happening. Perhaps, Zombies produce art too? I mean, look at all those unique walks they have? Similar yet distinct?




Reminds me of the Chinese artist Ai Weiwei's 'Sun flower seeds'. Which I got a chance to see but not touch at the Tate Modern in London. The work is immense, one hundred million porcelain "seeds" individually hand-painted by 1,600 Chinese artisans, and scattered over a large area of the massive hall entrance to the museum.

The artist wanted visitors to walk across and touch the work, to experience it. The work is simple and transforming on so many levels. He wanted to take something which was small and mass produce it. Creating out of the sheer number of them, a piece of art which called out to you to interact with it. He was also, by commissioning the project, giving work to those villages of artisans. Whose skills at producing fine Ming pottery has come to be in real danger of dying out. This wonderful photo shows you, one of the few times, people were actually allowed to interact with this powerful piece of art. Before, it became the victim of one twat from 'Health and Safety' who decided, that because a tiny amount of porcelain dust was rising in the air as people touched and walked on it. That it might affect people with respiratory problems. So, instead of just warning the public about the safety hazard and allowing you to enter at your own risk. They put on security guards with air quality meters and roped the whole thing off. It was so sad, so many of us standing right next to this beautiful work of art, without being allowed to do the one thing it had been created for. It's irresistible looking at this massive field of seeds. Your hands itch to pick them up and your feet are in danger of stepping over the white rope!

  So, why I am telling you about this? Because, I've been thinking about the power of the small. How, like those seeds piled up become something more by there mere number. We too are like that. All of us creating our own art, in our own ways. Our collective efforts and energies make a difference. So, besides making you pick up seeds what is the power of the small? Well, an asteroid over a long expanse of time can move out of it's established orbit with just a tiny fraction of sunlight hitting it. They figure the push is the equivalent to the weight of a shot glass, mine of course filled with Captain Jack.

 And that's the thought that I send you this New year. A shot glass full of art can make the largest of obstacles move out of it's seemingly, unchangeable orbit. It can bring light to the darkest of nights. So, when the time comes raise your glass and keep the fires burning. For art is a flame that humans cannot help but come and get warmed by. I leave you with a link to the artwork which I have created this year. Love and peace. Your pal Andrew. "

Listen to the Dark it may be talking to you:

Halloween night, Londoners rush past me in the cool darkness, so many faces basking in the glow of mobile devices, as they check their digital pulse, by text, tweet or call. It reminds me of a needy lover to whom too much attention must be paid. I wonder, if we will notice our own species demise unless someone updates it on their status? I find myself, closing my eyes and soaking up the sound. Here in my personal darkness, the swiftly passing strangers becomes a steady drum beat of footfalls. Over which an lapping stream of conversations pours by, full of the secrets of their lives, troubles and romances, tribulations and chit-chat all given away at full volume. No care or woe to whom may be listening in this new century. As I am, to a small group of tourists next to me, who are excitedly laughing and swapping places with each other, inside and out of a classic bright red telephone booth. Back in the day, these once plentiful dinosaurs gave someone making a call some privacy. Nowadays, the few left are neutered, unable to phone anywhere. Their purpose in extinction to give visitors somewhere to be photographed in an icon from of an England long gone.

  I move on and become again part of this night crawl towards Piccadilly Circus. My mind drifts backwards as I move forward with the crowd. It's been a splendid few days, which started from the quietness of Gibraltar's little airport and brought me here, clattering around on the noisy London Tube. It's more than a quarter century since I've lived in this city but my love for it has never left me. It's funny what you miss? This afternoon, as I strolled across acres of green grass in Hyde park with a lovely bolt of warm sun on my face. I realized, how much I have missed the delicious rustle which leaves make moving on a cool autumn breeze and the pure fun of stepping into those fallen piles of red, brown and gold. The delightful sound as you crunch and crackle through them searching for 'Conkers'.

  I've spent hours like this walking, taking in the buildings, colors and tastes of this beautiful old lady which is London and the endless variations of it's inhabitants. My need to soak up this and some art, to re-charge my engines, has also coincided with the pleasure of meeting up with old friends. As I am tonight. I cut through a side street to try and speed up my journey. The huge din of human voices drops dramatically off and a queer, muffled silence falls around me. I walk through this eye in the storm for a few minutes, almost alone. My body shivers and I quickly pull up my hoodie to warm myself against the cold wind pushing me forwards. The drop in temperature feels sudden. “What supernatural?” Quips, the cynical, horror fan inside of me. And then, the next moment I find myself gasping with surprise as a long line of gory Zombie roller skaters, slides past me at breakneck speed. Their bodies all moving as the undead do, in a gruesome, sicking parody of human motion. I laugh out loud at having been tricked. So, that's where the costumes have been hiding? I had been wondering about the lack of Halloween attire? But then, as if by some dark magic, as I followed in the wake of the undead skaters into the circle of Piccadilly. The costumed were everywhere and the creatures were here to play!!! I smiled, the English have taken on this 'Halloween' thing rather well. Yet, another American delicacy absorbed and transmuted into a Blighty version of Yankee form.

I find myself in the centre of 'Piccadilly Circus' which under it's Big Top lighting looks marvelous. Huge monitor screens above us are throwing off gigantic commercials in tsunami waves of vibrant neon colors. A blazing, kinetic kaleidoscope of logos and brands pours down and basks the statue of 'Eros' and I in their Siren's glow. I remember the glittering canyon which is 'Times Square' and having stood there earlier in the year. One half of my life spent happily on the other side of the pond and another half spent growing up here. Both cultures melded in me with a large dose of Gibraltarian to taste. The quietness I had in that side street collapses and the roar of humans out on the prowl is so electric and charged, that it drowns out the circling traffic. It would seem that love could be in trouble? For the famous archer of true romance, is encircled by the children of the night who are dressed up to meet and greet as the no-longer living.

All in all. It's warming up to be a howling good Halloween.

Did I tell you about the Ape babies?

 The long hot summer has brought literally tons of customers from all over the world. At Cable Car the sheer grind of bringing this endless parade of people to the Top of the Rock has taken it's annual toll. Leaving everyone working at the top and bottom stations, feeling like deep fried toast from the heat and crush of summer's tourists. The Ape's have reached their own saturation point as our furry cousins are whacked up on all the junk-food coursing through their blood streams. These items having been liberated from those foolish enough to bring food into the Nature Reserve. Of course we warn people on the way up in the Cable cars about the ape's teeth and claws. How you shouldn't feed or touch them and never...ever...ever touch their babies. Strangely, nearly everyone laughs when we tell them to be careful about their plastic bags? The laughter is mostly a mixture of hubris from the men, nervous chuckles from the women and squeals of glee from the children who imagine cheeky monkeys a la mode of Curious George. 
 
This is my third summer watching Ape vs Human and it's truly humbling to see them work the crowd with such dexterity, intelligence and quick silver speed. These Simians are professionals at the re-distribution of snacks. Leaving some visitors in a pile of scattered potato chips only a few yards and moments after leaving the cable car. 

All we can do with this barrage of monkey activity is muddle through and try to keep people from being bitten. The silver lining though is every season someone visits our Nature Reserve who is so stupid that they bring deep, dark chuckles to our weary hearts and minds. This year's was a young man who bragged to his large adoring family on the way up that, “No thieving ape was going to get the drop on him and he would punch one if they tried!” I smiled and told him that we had a hospital. He scoffed and strode off the cable car with that serious hard-on stroll men use when they're puffing up their feathers.

 I didn't see him again for about an hour. Then as my cable car was about fifty yards out and approaching the Top Station. I heard a voice screaming for help and caught sight of the owner of the blood curdling cry running across the platform. His two legs pounding away in cartoon style as he desperately tried reaching Warp speed to escape our Alpha Male Gregory, who was in hot pursuit.

It looked Kinda like this!

           (click here)

This normally gentle monkey was running at full speed, in battle-mode with his teeth and claws out. His intent to dispatch a little discipline on Mr. Muscles who was by now a wailing, cry baby of his former heroic self. 

In seconds both human and Ape flew up the stairs onto the crowded terraces. Drawing fresh screams from the people up there who had now inadvertently become eye-witnesses to this primal chase. Meanwhile as my cable car docked at the top station. His desperately worried and completely breathless family members rushed onto the platform. They had been following the plight of their wrinkled paper tiger as close behind as they dared. Having of course to be careful to keep their distance from the ape going postal in front of them! I halted their race towards the stairs and asked them what had happened? A literally shaking woman explained that her brother had done the one thing you must never...ever...do. Never touch one of the Ape's babies! I hope this finds you all well and I shall write at you again soon.  

I arrived Tuesday...my bag arrived Thursday...I'm hoping my soul will be here soon!

A week has passed with no sign of my incorporeal self landing upon these shores and those desperately wistful thoughts, scribbled upon my arrival back here in Gibraltar, are still centre stage. Yet, regardless of my lack soul, I'm back at work and harnessed on top of the Cable Car as it crawls slowly up the track rope, fourteen hundred feet towards the top station.


As the ton and half car makes it's way upward I look down and outwards towards the bay. Which is covered in a thick white heat mist which stretches right across the Straits. My mind is as cloudy as the sea and my heart is drenched in sweet melancholy as if I've left a lover on another shore? For it's there faraway in the good old USA that my soul still lingers, taking in one last dance with the smiling lady in the summer dress. Hoping for one last kiss full of romance.


The ground keeps falling below me and the height which once had me clinging like a child. Now, on this foggy day, has me feeling like a sailor perched high on the mast in the crow's nest. Just then a beautiful old world clipper ship comes gently sailing through the thick folds of white laying on the water and heads towards our harbour. Perhaps, that's my soul arriving in that ship? Maybe now, I can finally land.

Time-slip and it's weeks later and the fog has finally lifted. Funny what a little sleep in the right time zone can do for you? My bags full of goodies are stored away and all the upgrades to the ship's systems are up and purring. The bridge has attained critical attraction, it's walls awash with a collection of Art posters which I brought back with me. It was so good to restore my minds eye by dipping it into that palate of the imagination which is the Museum of Modern Art. Wandering through the galleries my eyes feasted on canvas after canvas absorbing and reveling in their moments, stories and jokes. Yes, I'm one of the few people who laughs out loud in an art gallery! It was especially lovely to see some Rothko's before heading over and having truly one of the best times I've had in the theatre.

I went to see 'Red' a play about the man's work I'd just seen and it was that rare theatrical script...great. Written in dialogue which allowed two fabulous actors to create superb performances. Capturing everyone in their dance and dazzling you with their timing. Drawing from an afternoon crowd a pin drop silence and a en-rapt audience. The Set, lighting and music were their equal in art also, making emotional statements and stirring hearts themselves. I felt as I did when 20 and first watching Equus, completely caught up in that very Greek play of ancient gods and horses. This time it was huge Red canvas paintings and the purpose of art. Art for arts sake? Money for God's sake! The old quandary played out with such understanding of the lightning which burns you unless you let it out to play. The gift and curse of art and why we cannot stop creating. After ninety minutes I left the theatre energized, my artistic engines recharged and ready to take me onwards in my journey. “The word is given...Warp speed.”

Keep it simple stupid!

"I've lost my inner dude!"

Hi folks,
Late afternoon here and finally some rays of sunshine have blessed our shores. Plus for a fracking change it's not raining. Foul weather has continued through the last two months and Gib has been soaked with powerful storms running across our little peninsula on their way across the globe. I almost went out on the street at three in the morning the other night just because it was not raining. That's how water logged with cabin fever I've been getting.

Otherwise, I'm doing well and have been slaving over a hot script, trying to get this damned piece out of my head. What started as a simple idea to learn an already existing script has morphed into my creating a new cut of Quentin's words. You know me since when did I like the easy road which had been explored before? So, at this point of the process I'm a man possessed. My body trapped in front of the computer screen's light. A moth drawn back again and again by the words flying around me. My fingers dancing across the keyboard trying to keep step with their rhythm. When I was a much younger man I used to imagine that when the muses took me. I was like a romantic figure, you know a painter in a Parisian garret room with a beautiful model draped at rest in the moody light. My frock covered in myriad splashes of paints.

But my ex-wife Lois would attest to my being more like a demented Dr. Frankenstein in a castle laboratory hunkered down over the body of the creature. Plenty of blood smears on the white coat from the rush of words seeking to be put down. So, as to clothe the idea in flesh and finish the deed. So, close...so close. Now, if I only had a brain!

As delirious and obsessive as the ride has become. It shows no signs of slowing down. I have ahead of me the task of putting all these lines in my head in about 10 weeks. No, pressure! So I'll keep this one short and just say that I am arriving on May the 27th and will be in the states until June 13th. So, please make a note because I'd like to see as many of you as I can. I'll be more forthcoming in my next missive.

We have left space dock:

The Raven and the Blues.

The turn into the new decade has been completed and I find myself like everyone else in the unexplored future ahead of us. This old set of bones feel rather good after a couple of hard months dealing with Mom's health and facing the sobering responsibility I now have. Mom is well but I can see some deterioration in her energy and she tires quickly. I'm no longer just coming home to eat Mom's food. It's only in the last couple of weeks that it's hit me! Grown up stuff!!!

Crossing the Pond.

But do not despair kind reader for I am well. As always at these times it is the theatre which has been the healing balm. It has kept me going and given me somewhere to place the dark emotion and energy. Healing my moods inside by creating something on the outside with other people. Our show has just gone up as I write and our first flight was not too bad with only the normal bumps and scrapes of an opening night. It does look wonderful with delightful costumes and some fabulous props made for the stage. Production was busy with the various calamities that rear their head at every show as you prepare to get the 'Turkey' to fly. I have always loved the excitement of this last bit and the magic which happens as you and the other techs grow closer with the challenge and find new resources and ideas to fix what seem like unbeatable odds with the clock ticking.

His soul goes marching on.

The other thing which has come back and helped tremendously is that the Muses have been dancing in my eyes and I have begun painting again. It's been about two years since I have felt so drawn to work in this form and the release is just wonderful. This art comes from a side of my brain quite different from the theatre. This is less thought out ... more of a mystery. I do not know where I am going when I begin a new painting. There is no goal in sight. No story already laid out. Just the pull of the image and what it calls up in you. And this is what I leave you with these four new pieces. It's best to download and look at them full screen. Let me know what you think. Love and peace Andrew.

The Bride.

"It's going to be a bumpy night!"

My Dear Friends,

Rejoice, for at last the end is in sight. We have survived the 'Holly Juggernaut' of Xmas and now merely have to cross the drunken meridian of New Year's eve to be through the time barrier to...another unit of measure? As always at these moments the whole of Western Media is in meltdown mode as we leave the 00's and fall into the next. An endless barrage of analysis and remembrance has splashed across our eyes and ears. Gets to where I wonder did I live through the same piece of the time stream as these guys? And don't get me started on the lists of things which have spewed out to account for our first ten steps into the 21^st century. Best movies, Best music, Best Person, Best Butt! If only these experts of history could just recall some of it during the rest of the fracking decade. At this juncture, I must reveal my fondness for the 'Best Butt' as it was a cracking bit of reportage, full of insight and great buns.

As for me ? Like Shirley Bassey when you get to my age you don't include decades in your calender. Anyway, here on the bridge of the good ship Cocteau we're ready for the time shift. Many years doing this crossing have trained me to strap down all the important things. So, the booze and Mom are good to go.

As you can tell I've been in quite a good groove the last couple of weeks. We're busy building and painting the set for the panto and as you know the smallest of distractions into the world of make-believe help to keep my soul afloat. Also, my Quentin Crisp project is coming along well. He's turned out to be a truly fascinating person. What I thought would be a simple process of learning his lines has become so much more. Also and best of all! The good old itch to write has returned. Art is in the house! Well kids, the minutes are floating by and soon the 00's will be gone. So, I wish you all the very best for the next measure of units and send my love as always.

I leave with a few words of wisdom... 'Never turn your back on a monkey'.And yes Bill and Chris those are the very same cute guys I work with!