IntoTheHallowedHallOfLoss

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If you are excited by the idea of losing money on fees while banking there are other means of getting rid of cash. The easy way. Grab your savings and follow me…

1 + 1 is nothing

From the moment you enter the Crow Casino, that curious cash register on the Yarra, that dimlit, dimwit, Hall of Hope, the emphasis seems to be on expressions of getting lost in opulence. This is to be my first ever visit deeper then a frontal look. I am about to enter the guts of the beastie. The place of money machinations. The glimmering dark where folk like to think they get rich. And unseen folk do...

The enticing entrance hall, three long black gleaming limos casually parked out front, is all glass, polished black granite, diffused lighting, Chandeliers, reflections, reflections of reflections, soothing yet energetic sounds of running water, lines of lights emphasising forms and blurring reality and sheets of light emphasising the expense of the architecture. To the ordinary punter all this is very impressive, to the throng it is the start to an Alice in Wonderland type of getting lost experience, down the black hole, down the black hole… goes the cash...

In the second hall, a little deeper into the dragon, we come upon the main portal of income doom. The sound of water, to silence the warnings of the immanent purse attack, increases. This space is darker, larger, is all reflections.

Off to the side of this Hallowed Hall of Loss, the godlike brand names of the retard retail industry strut their stuff. Here, anything from a humble pair of undies to the black shiny business case, aided by clever glass case presentations and state of the art lighting, is elevated to the level of High Art. That and the increased overlay of mirrors are there to remind us how ordinary we really look, and are. Better go and get some of that easy winning cash...

I move further into the monster and soon arrive at its heartless centre, the place where, in the main, my age group play havoc with their savings and food budgets. Having been fooled all their lives to toil for little they are now fooled, once again, out of the little they have left. This central space is huge and buzzes with a weird ambience. In its generosity this tribute to Jeff Kennett’s creative spirit has designed plenty of space for the income challenged. More then plenty of space. Here everything is based on the magic concept of ‘More’. Here also the concept of ‘Mirage’ replaces the expected concept of ‘oasis’. Now you see it, now you don’t. Now you have it, now you won’t…

In all this noise and coloured confusion the absolute calm and immaculate appearance of the croupiers mesmerises. Their hand movements beautiful and ballet like. Cards and coins tumble and slide with great precision. A almost Zen like feeling, next to which the mindless banging away on the slot machines is decidedly ugly...

I wander about in wonder. Where am I?  It is both fascinating and depressing, this central gaming room for everyone where it is neither day nor night, but where I experience the twilight zone of questionable comfort. Where am I? While hundreds are having fun loosing money I already experience despair. Here where many lights flash, where the sounds of water has now been replaced by that of cascading coins, where every surface is reflective, where a confusing soundtrack penetrates everything, a feeling of not knowing exactly where you are is cleverly created. Where am I? Anywhere, but definitely not in my own reality...

A black ceiling filled with starlike lights creates a heavy type heaven set amongst the sounds of hell. In all we, the public, are in a totally confusing and overbearing mind-numbing place which gets under your skin, into your bloodstream, takes over your nervous system so that, not long after arrival every possibility of rational thought has been banished by the keep-sane delete button.  An ambience of both stressed relaxation and hurried calm reaches into every corner of this cosmic cash space…

Well beyond the sounds of win and loss a hardly noticeable, but insistent, frantic modern jazz track adds to the feeling of general mental disorder, entices us along the seams of our purse into it, melts the credit cards, becomes careless with our coins and turns our notes into nothing. Trying to block out this maddening all-around sound, the small voice of reason has no chance in (this) hell…

Walking about this losers paradise I do not notice shame or any other expressions of emotion, such as frustration, anger, despair, annoyance, but a more an atmosphere of passive acceptance. After living life you die, after living gambling you loose, same damn thing, no? The addicted are all in the same boat, not up, but down that proverbial stinking creek, are all among family, though little familiar interaction or conversation takes place. The only exchange which seems to take place is solitary, the exchange of cash for the dubious fun of losing…

In this inner sanctum of madness there are of course the occasional winners, the coins rattle loudly into their metal containers for all to hear, there to be swept up and deposited right back in the false hope of more, more, more. The deadly chant of the gambler. But here more turns out to be definitely less, unless you mean the real winners, which are there, hidden behind the dark reflective glass of this feast of feral fun and parlour games…

However, there are positives, the food is cheap, there is totally comfortable seating everywhere, stewardess-like game flight attendants serve complimentary drinks to the reality disabled and, just like the size of the winnings, the drinks are miniscule. Quick refreshment, get on with the real stuff of the game, the two cent game…

Most of the machines attended are those of one and two cent games, there are others, but these seem to be the most popular. Just imagine, five games for only ten cents, FIFTY GAMES FOR JUST ONE DOLLAR. And, here you don’t need coins, those annoying reminders of your real earnings, of the hard work you had to perform to earn these coins. No, here we use play money, make-believe money, and just like the make believe money there are only make believe winnings, because you better not believe that you get out of there with more then you entered. Additionally, and as a real plus, the time it takes to play a game is about the time it takes to push a button. Two cents…two cents, an inventive way for the government to get its pensioner cheques back…

There are no clocks, but for me it is definitely time to leave. Now, where was it I entered, everything looks the same, there are no hints of where you are, everything is reflected,  same people, same loss ration, same hellish sound track…Arghhhh…

When I finally walk out into a glorious Melbourne spring evening, it is the outside which appears unreal. An unreal winner…

and I? I am the loser, I came I to the casino with my wallet and when I got to the train station I was san wallet. Lifted from my pocket. I didn't play a game but still lost, that is the true magic of the money munching machine……

                                                                      

Breadmaking, a trilogy (3)

 While teaching a ceramic workshop in Ireland, 

and while we were waiting for pots to dry for firing

i thought it would be good to spend a day in a similar activity

that of bread making.

since we were going to be outside firing a wood kiln

the electric kiln was utilised for our bread making

the ceramic department never smelled so sweet

    

 Meanwhile, let’s have a sip of tea. The afternoon glow is brightening the trunks of the birch trees with dappled shade, the sprinkler rains delight upon the vegetable garden, the soughing of pines is heard in the kettle on the boil. Let us dream a little, in this,  the present moment, and linger on the beautiful romantics of things.  

The Poet and Baker both nourish the world

A few weeks ago, after my story about making bread, a friend caught me buying a loaf in town. “Why are you buying bread?” was the question. That day instead of eating bread, I had to eat my words.

When recently, I took my latest loaf of bread from the oven the thought of: ‘I have finally arrived’ came about spontaneously and to my own surprise. This after years of messing around with dough. I thought the bread was finally right. I had achieved something with it. An ease of making.

The bread was beyond my wildest expectations and was the result of once again going back to the source, which was the use of basic food stuffs and the pure pleasure of creating beautiful things to eat. Bread in this case. Baked in a simple manner. No bread making machines. No bread making mix. The enjoyment and pleasures associated with wood-heated oven cooking. Attending the most basic expression of the ancient craft. However this time the bread had not been enhanced with fancy ingredients. Just an expression of the making and cooking of a strong and simple loaf.

Not long after this event took place, I attended a talk by Richard Perry on the meditative qualities of the Japanese Tea Bowl. As part of his presentation he showed a bowl which, in Japan, is regarded as a national treasure. Its title was ‘Fuji-san’ Fuji Mountain. A simple, and at the same time complex, Shino bowl. Its Beauty in its simplicity. My last loaf of bread, and I say this in all modesty, has a hint of a similar quality.

During Richard’s presentation, I recalled that my initial bread making, some thirty years ago, was originally inspired by traditional bread makers with their wood-heated ovens, which I had learned about as a result of my travels in Europe. Plus an initial interest in, don’t be surprised to see this in relation to bread making, Zen Buddhism. All this came back to me when Richard mentioned the concept of: ‘a good bowl leads the mind inward and outward’. Which I interpreted as: ‘A good loaf nourishes the inner and outer being’.

It was this last thought that made my bread making clear, even though I did not know this at the time. It has always been my intention to create objects of meditative quality. Now, as a consequence of attending the talk, I realised that I, as a baker also, have been practicing my skills and making bread in such a way that it has become an activity of simple yet universal proportions.

I feel that I have arrived, at the end of a seemingly circular journey, where I started. With, at the start of this journey not knowing anything and at the end knowing only that which is expressed in a simple loaf. A thing of beauty. A bit like a tree which finds itself all of a sudden, and to its own surprise, with blossoms and fruit. And the continuation of that journey now becoming one of producing more fruits and, consequently, seeds. The seeds for more bread-making. The seeds of meditation. The seeds of continuation.

The latest loaves then, which I took out of the oven this year, provided me with a stronger consideration of ‘the loaf of bread as one of the most beautiful meditative objects’. A loaf to get lost in, a loaf to lead the mind inward and outward. The reason why this thinking is somewhat difficult to appreciate for the layman is most probably because it is best appreciated in stillness, something our society of noise and speed does not do too well. A way of looking and consideration that is not a quality that has come with industrialisation, an event which also seems to have send the concepts of elegance and refinement of food, actions and manners out of the door. However, even people without the consideration of ‘quietly observing’ seem in the main intrigued by both the quietness and strength of a simple loaf resting on a flour dusted wooden table.

The loaves, finely made, are decorated, with and without intention, by the flames/heat of the fire. As the baker I have used the dough and the fire to tell the story of its making, plus that something extra.

In essence I hope to express, through this bread making, the delightfulness of that which exists. The pleasure of making beautiful things by hand and the expression of relatively simple skills to make wholesome food.

Petrus 

                                                                                     

MoreBread

Four loaves of bread in a field

Here, after having received 

some interesting responses to my recent bread post 

is another meditation on the making of bread

During this time of year, when I plant my summer vegetable garden, I am always reminded of that other simple but beautiful and earthing activity. The activity of making one’s own bread. Two simple activities which seem to go hand in hand. Planting a garden and making bread.

When I think of ‘Bread’, I think of one of the most beautiful words in our language.

‘Nothing says lovin’ like something from the oven’

Although, nothing compared to the choices of bread available in other parts of the world, we here are also beginning to have all types of bread. From the nutty flavour of the complex whole grain loaf to the total blandness of white bread, from the romantic loveliness of the fancy bread croissant to the simple elegance of the down to earth breadstick, we are presented with enough choice to make us forget that bread basically is nothing more then a mix of flour and water, plus maybe a little salt, and that all else is extra. In this simple understanding lies the possibility of the act of making one’s own bread. An activity as simple as growing one’s own vegetables. We could greatly simplify an understanding of our lives if we re-connected with these two basic activities.   

“we need more cooks, not more cookbooks” (or, for that matter TV cook shows).

Bread making itself. Where we take flour and mix it with the correct amount of water to form a dough, roll it into a ball, flatten it a little and place it on a tray then bake it. It is that simple. Perform this ancient act once and feel connected to an inherent part of your history. Your traditions thought forgotten, but rekindled with this simple act. Perform this ancient act once and recognise a dormant skill. A skill which simply cannot be forgotten. Even if you have never done it before, you are able to remember the making of bread. Flour/water/loaf.

And, as a result of the inherently creative creatures we are, we will want to play with this amazing material. This dough, this stretchy, pleasant to the touch, claylike plastic material which lends itself to shaping in many different ways. We realise that we are able to make a mark and personalise this simple loaf, that it does not have to look like a thing from the supermarket, but can take any form. A loaf of bread comes in as many forms as there are individual creative people making it. And everyone who makes as simple loaf of bread, is involved in the creative act

Another interesting aspect of bread making is that we do not have to learn how to do it. We, all of us, already know how to make bread. It is part of our gene make up. Once we make a loaf of bread we recognise the skill within us. A skill which has existed from a time well before our intellect and emotions came into being. A primal skill which you recognise as an old acquaintance, an old and trusted friend.

Flour/water, thin mix for pancakes, flour/water, thick mix for bread. Simple. Easy. Now, as the basic craft of bread making is recognised, felt at home with, play. Play as understood in the basis of all learning. Simple, add some, take some away, try this, try that, observe, easy steps. Like walking on a new path you recognise. You cannot get lost making bread. You will be guided. Guided by your forefathers and theirs. You know everything already through them. Cook, create, express and above all be adventurous and remain playful.  

Making one’s own bread teaches. Teaches respect for ingredients, materials, tools and little things, plus an understanding of the economy of movement, which ultimately manifests itself in the concept of ‘no waste’. Making one’s own bread creates a connection to the real world by providing one’s own food. A connection we seem to have given away. And with that a basic power, a power which has been compromised.

Why is this important? You may well ask. Especially in this world where so much is unreal, meaning 'unconnected to the source'. That forgotten part of the world where we are able to centre ourselves and as a result become and remain strong. Thus the need to be occasionally connected. To be connected to the earth. The earth as the ultimate provider. The earth we are in danger of losing as a result of our unconnectedness, our carelessness, our indifference, our ‘want it now’, ‘have it now’ way of life.

Get reconnected, start with a simple loaf of bread. Plant one tomato seedling and plant it close to the backdoor. Then imagine this, a slice of freshly baked nutty bread with a slice of sun ripened tomato, on it a leaf of basil, plus a little salt. Beat that. Remember that you have always known both of these activities of growing intimately. You just forgot. Forgot to remember. And, if you need another reminder about the inherent loveliness of bread making, remember another thing you have not forgotten: “it is so nice to be kneaded”.    

BREAD

Have I talked about this before

have i told you that i think 

that one of the most beautiful words 

in the English language is 

BREAD

here is my longest blog to date

the story of my connection with 

both a loaf of bread and a loaf of clay

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The most important aspect, in relation to the expression of any craft, is the attitude with which it is practiced. This is, and definitely has been, the common element in my personal experience in the crafts of both Bread and Ceramic making.

Certain strict attitudes toward the making process, the materials, the tools, and the spirit of place, (the bakery), were instilled during my time as an apprentice. These were imposed with a strong sense of discipline. A discipline enforced by an authority based on knowledge. Later, earned with practice and trust, this was allowed to turn, or develop slowly, into ‘self-discipline’.

I carried the disciplines from one craft into the other without any difficulty, because the manipulation, the forming and baking of both dough and clay are very similar and based on the same premise. The premise of learning the basics first, being followed by the development of those skills to the point where they became a personal expression. Skills first learned when entering the craft through a school, an apprenticeship, or a workshop situation.

In my case there was a specialised school in combination with a practical learning experience. Yes, an old-fashioned apprenticeship. Every move I made, and skill I learned, was carefully monitored and appraised until the particular authority deemed it good enough. This careful process of learning and acquiring skills encouraged the steady development of a professional approach towards the materials, tools, and working space. With the successful development of these skills and attitudes, came more responsibility, which meant more ownership.

Both the crafts of bread and ceramic making have, within the confines of their material restrictions,  plenty of room for personal expression. The development of a personal expression of any craft can only come about once the basic skill structure is in place. Not only in place, but preferably transcended. Transcending a skill means to know it to such an extent that it does not place any restrictions upon the practitioner. The maker has become liberated from the limitations of emerging skills and is now free to make the choices of what to do with them. When this transcendence of the basic and necessary skills occurs, it is a natural development for the maker to make the process his/her own. To make it an expression of his/her own particular spirit. To place a personal stamp on it. To find one’s language in it, and express it.

When the authorities deemed that I had a acceptable grasp of the basic skills, a three year period of working in three different bakeries followed. One per year. This gave me the experience of working under the supervision of three masters of the craft, and learn about their particular specialties. After satisfactorily completing this time, I was ready to start my own bakery, create my own specialities. Be my own man.

Freedom, as expressed in the baking and ceramic process, in itself and like all freedom, is shapeless and without form and as such does not work. However, through practice, self discipline and responsibility we are able to give this ‘freedom’ a shape, our own shape, and thus make it work for us. Within the boundaries of the material, we will feel free in our chosen field. It is interesting to note here, that the creative process cannot be restricted by any material restrictions.

I started my ‘Making’ life by learning the craft of bread-making and from there moved into the craft of ceramic-making. In the first, the end product was a loaf of bread, in the second the process started with a loaf. A loaf of clay.

There are of course some differences between the crafts of bread and ceramic making. One of which is the way society views and accepts the finished work.

My reason for moving from one craft to the other had to do with ‘freedom of expression’. At the time, the craft of bread making was more restrictive than that of ceramic making. To a large extent this was a result of the expectation of the public, who wanted the same fresh loaf of bread each and every day. The repetitive nature of this kind of work, combined with the unnaturally early hours involved, became oppressive. For me there existed an element of drudgery. A spirit killer.

I realise that the process of both bread and ceramic making have the same creative potential. However, at the time I practiced bread making, the food consciousness of Australia had not moved much beyond ‘the-white-loaf’ expression. At this time also, my creative spirit, developed and nurtured within the rich tradition and variety of European bread making, became more and more frustrated because it was unable to express itself fully.

The practice of ceramics, on the other hand, offered a much larger space for the expression of my creativity. I felt I owed it to myself to move into a field where I could be as creative as possible. I believe that the more one allows the creative spirit to manifest, the more one is partaking in life. Life expressed creatively. Life creating itself. Being a-life.

The practice of each and every craft has the potential to be special. It also has the potential to be magic. Over the years of practice, I have wondered how that quality is achieved? What is the formula?

One of the enemies of the creative spirit, and the development of ‘specialness’, is taking things for granted. In most cases we take our fresh daily loaf of bread for granted. By the repetitive nature of this purchase, we have been lulled into the belief that this is a normal expectation. We have forgotten that it is a privilege. That it is special. Thus, as soon as ‘For Granted’ arrives, the concepts of ‘Special’ and ‘Magic’ disappear. That ‘special loaf’ becomes ‘just a loaf’.

Unfortunately there is, in our culture, far more room for the expression of specialness in the field of ceramics then that of bread making. Probably because ceramic making isn’t related to our daily expectations and therefore much more space is allowed for experimentation and expression. A much larger play space is available. I love that space.

Another big difference is that ceramics are placed on a plinth which bestows it with ‘attention’, which is the magic ingredient for specialness. Yet, after working in both occupations, I see just as much beauty in a loaf of bread.

Imagine, a loaf of bread on a plinth!

Although artistic expression is possible in both disciplines, it seems easier in one than the other. We can choose the one which suits our particular spirit. My engagement with bread making was chosen by my elders, my environment and social circumstance. My engagement with ceramic making came about because I expressed my freedom of choice and a strong need to be creative

Petrus

   

                                                                                             

GodCreatedTheWorld,GoAndSeeIt

 i recently took a journey north

to the town of bellingen

the journey took me through a soft green landscape

where groups of trees stood knee deep in

large fields of golden light

for mile after mile

i camped near this landscape

which reminded me of a fred williams painting

in parts the landscape was growing,

the flat was flatter, the horizons wider

and the roads as if drawn with a ruler

then all of a sudden i was back in the land of the big brown paddock

 or this moody landscape

where i sat for hours contemplating

my good luck in having danced the big C out of my life

for now that is

and later the curves are back into the road

the straight roads left behind

the dead straight, emphasis on 'dead'

or the straight and narrow

an equally 'leave it behind' concept

and finding peaceful places to camp

in all a journey filled with wonder

the wonder of the ever changing vistas

from the flat to the undulating to the mountainess

and how privileged i am to be in it

to partake in its beauty

and to be continuously surprised by its aahhhh.... factor

"After each big event, take some time off"

NotKnowingWhereYouAreGoing

special seating will be limited

an artist talk, without the talk

a show and not tell.

where artist petrus spronk, shares his art education,

his apprenticeship, his extensive travels

and consequent art career in images 

and some music.

be amazed, be surprised,

(as in, you did not know the above 

was one of his works)

be enchanted, be entertained, 

be excited, be inspired, 

by a visual feast of many intriguing images.

 

there are some beautiful things

which he has seen and experienced

and which are now part of him

and from which he continues to draw

aesthetic considerations  

which make his work special.

where: daylesford neighbourhood house

when: 5th of October

time: 7 pm

cost: members of clayspace, free

non members $ 5.00

theme:

'if you don't know where you are going,

it doesn't matter how you get there'

an amazing performance

dear friends

on friday the 10th of august

I shall be appearing on t.v. to relate  the continuation of the story

of my dance with cancer.

this will be on abc news channel 24 at 6.45 pm (abc open)

repeat on the same day at 10.45 pm

in addition I would like to invite you

to my performance of

'The dance of life'

a story about my adventure with cancer

in all its amazing details.

this performance will be illustrated with actual footage of the treatment

and adorned with music by helen davey

 This performance is part of the Daylesford 'words in winter' program

I have secured a wonderful venue

the chapel at the Convent gallery, hill street, Daylesford

times: 10th of august at 8 - 9.30pm

11th of august at 3 - 4.30pm

tickets at the door

$15.00 concession $10.00

please also let your friends know

hoping to see you there

petrus

PearlDrops

this morning, early

when i walked out to feed the chooks

i looked up into the wintry geometry of the birch trees

of which there is a small copse which i planted 

when i first arrived, in honour of my father

(i remember standing on the veranda 

and throwing nine sticks into the air

then planting a birch in each spot they had landed)

this morning they offered me a gift

rows of clear pearl drops of rain

and each one reflecting the world around it

so many wortlds

so many stories

"there is no name for what i want to be when i grow up"

shhhh.......

 the forest provides 

that which we require in stillness

contemplation

meditation

relaxation

listening to your heart beat

finding you way 

out of confusion

finding answers

to your questions

practice this:

'sitting quietly, doing nothing'

AFlockOfChuffs

after my time as a guest blogger for the 'abc open' program

where i wrote about my journey with the big C

titled: the dance of life-the only dance there is

so very eloquently summed up by marc eiden

the open producer at ballarat

http://open.abc.net.au/posts/the-art-of-living-64dt3uz

i am back in my studio for two projects

one is titled: 'no harm'

commissioned by the hepburn council

more about that in time

and another one a series of bowls

but instead of black bowls this is a series of white bowls

for an exhibition in bendigo next year

plenty of time to play

 after a day in the studio i enjoy a walk in the forest 

it helps me to loosen up from the intensity of the work in the studio

today while walking in the forest 

a flock of chuffs, startled flew up through the trees

i 'saw' it, went home and got a small bucket of white clay

and on the blackboard of the trees

drew my experience

'for man is by nature an artist'

FoundBeauty

once again

driving from daylesford to ballarat

to be radiated,

filled with light

to eradicate the darkness

created by the troubling dance partner

the big ugly C.

i discovered this magnificent arch

(plus the marriage of trees and clouds

in creative harmony)

through which i entered 

into the magic of the landscape 

around dean

grateful for the unexpected beauty

found on this daily journey

                     We are sleep walking in The Garden of Eden and may awaken to it

 

 

Masterpiece/ploughed field

"Into one of the green hills a brown field is being drawn 

by a farmer with a stubby red pencil. 

His tractor. 

It labours up and down and slowly fills in the space 

with a wonderful deep cinnamon brown colour.

 The lines, left behind by the plough, 

follow the contours and undulations of the land 

and make for a fascinating texture 

and a beautiful strong drawing."

                                                                  petrus

from my abc blog, see the whole story on: 

http://open.abc.net.au/posts/the-dance-of-life-part-12-74gw4rt

The dance of life-the only dance there is

my latest and most challenging project