been feelin’ rough from the had enoughs until I found some abandoned chefs’ tiles that definitely needed some colour….
really gettin’ into the smaller picture fitting in with the overall theme like the birds in the top left. readin’ up and enjoyin’ de kooning again, funny thing is so many times I’ve wanted to round it (my art) all up and burn in a big pile.
I’ll hold off right now coz its raining pretty hard. love and peace…

Via Flickr:
by bird 2013
ink, paint, ceramic tile, framed

From a distance, I’ve watched my family grow. I moved to the US before Luke and Lucy were born.

If I remember correctly, my sister was carrying Luke on their first trip to Orlando, Florida.

It was a Disney from the womb tour and it was also the first of many many transatlantic journeys over the next few years. I went home to London. The family came to see me over here. We had a lot of fun. Always.

I don’t go back to the UK so much anymore, for no particular reason. Perhaps just the cost?

My work lately has gravitated me towards the decorative arts and as I squeezed glitter glue out of a tube this morning, I couldn’t help but remember watching my Mum ice birthday cakes. Or for  christmas. She could turn a dollop of freshly mixed ‘icing’ – you know, the real stuff, like wedding cakes used to have - in to the most novel and imaginary places perched on top.

In fact, it was much more than a cake. Everything she touched, became more beautiful. More alive. More bright. In the garden. Sew and thread. A soft lacy christening blanket to knit.

I never viewed or saw my mother ‘as an artist’. Whatever that’s supposed to mean or should I say ‘well, what’s one’s supposed to look like?’

But she most certainly was!

And a natural at it.

My Mum, Barbara Ann Bird. 

She was also an amazing grandmother to my niece, Lucy and nephew, Luke.

My sister’s family. The Swanns.

Lesley Bird, my older sister by three years, married a Swann.

And a couple of years ago, they flew to San Francisco to visit Auntie Helen.

At the time I was knee-deep in art and photography, ramblin’ all over The City lookin’ for street art and graffiti.

Experimenting with all kinds of stuff. Stencils. Big canvas and spray paint.

Anyway, one of my most favourite places to go was up under the Golden Gate Bridge.

City side.

I knew a path off Crissy Field that led you straight up there. There’s a pretty steep shimmy up a gutter and then you’re there.

‘Oh My God, Helen. where are you takin’ us?’ ‘hey, hang in  there – you’ll see. the kids will love it!’

‘I don’t know, this is kinda scary.’ ‘oh, you can do it.’

We all clambered up and looked around at the totally rad sight in front of our eyes. Wall to wall graff on abandoned World War II bunkers. A crazy cool clear look under the bridge. And turnin’ back, an incredible view of The City by The Bay.

Glistening in the afternoon sun. Bathed in color. Lots of color.

Luke turned round and said to Lucy ‘Auntie Helen’s wayyyy cool’. Nah, kids.

You’re the cool ones. Love you both. God bless. 

Happy Birthday Luke

Reblogged from vernonrust:

As a confederate " SAWBONES " ,  my Great, Great Grandfather was almost hung for treason,for amputating a yankee's leg, to save his life.

The enemy soldier may well have just burned his house and shot his best friend, for all he knew.

It didn't matter, he was going to cheat death out of one less young life that day, rules be damned.

Read more… 433 more words

an unseen force

 they walk the streets by day

and by night.

 their home upon the back

a pack to go.

 ready to blow.

you don’t see them

  but they’re always there.

their’s is to strike fear

 in our hearts

for they no longer care

  if they live or die.

why would they care about you?

it’s a long hot dusty road.

well traversed by the lost…

the lonely…the lookin’.

there is no sidewalk.

walk the tight rope.

only a treacherous semi dirt crumbled tarmac with an ankle bustin’ precipice.

its loud.

we’re almost up the hill.

our home on our backs splutters and dies.

what once would have freaked us out merely causes us to smile.

at each other.

now we prepare.

a caravan meant not for many a days journey.

 a 420 big block with a twelve gallon tank.

“are you sure we are out?”

but block she does.

a full lane.

Port side.

cars pass by. furiously.

drivers rev engines, irritate and raw from the trouble we’re in.

not us.

their’s the inconvenience.

horn’s honk. few people smile.

one gallon proves too small. and flatter land is sought.

 stoppin’ barely of gleamin’ used car lots

and bright yellow chain fence, short.

a red faced salesman stands hands on hip and disapproves.

more fuel is needed. fetched from a down the road.

five o’clock to wish they were home.

yell and groan. honk and squeal.

the light goes green to red. yet cars stand still.

now this should work. more fuel in the beast.

turn the engine quick.

lets get out of this fix.

oh no, one thing more….

the ignition goes click

hard times on dickerson pike

….reflections on a retro life on the roads of Nashville, in an antique motorhome with vernon rust folk-rockslinger

my graffiti hunting days have taken me far and wide. nowadays I have the time to unhurriedly sift through thousands of old files on flickr, find the best of the best, crack my knuckles and get down to the business of re-living and writing about such a ‘once odd and unique obsession’. from the simplest of stickers on a lamp post, to a freight train waiting on the tracks or, my favourite, the isolated or abandoned place so out of the way, only the artists know where to go…

this cool find was back in ’07 Weimar, Germany

my first apartment in San Francisco happened to be in the Marina and had rooftop access just in case there was the odd nice sunset or something. the Marina is built on a landfill in The Bay, sort of like cereal in a box, so you feel any and every earthquake activity…hmmm, reminds me of ‘contents will settle after shipping’. I had left hurricanes in Florida and enjoyed my first real rattler (a 4.8) at 0400 when my pictures fell off the walls…

the golden gate

thats fast. golden gate park

there’s always something going on in

Golden Gate Park

or on the streets

of San Francisco…

it’s a Love fest weekend

or a Peace  party gathering

people getting together

to enjoy watching people

completely free,

life breathing creative spirits

celebrating being alive

and without my camera

 I’d miss moments like this…

Emetophobia plagued me growing up. Then I became a nurse to overcome this irrational fear. Talk about facing s*** head on.
Then I got myself in to street art, namely graffiti where all references to doing so are vomit, barfing & throwing up related.
It’s kinda sick, really.