How myths are born

Honest, I can bounce now, just like this.

With a little help from a trampoline that arrived yesterday (a christmas present for the girls from the vitparents) that's going to change my life, tone up my thighs (for thighs, read BUM), - oh yeah, it's for the girls - entertain my children, give them some exercise (it has a fantastic safety net, before anyone looks at me in horror like the in-laws/sogros did) and scare the crap out of people walking past who will only see a great big vit 'n' madge flying up in the air, calling out "bom diiiiiia!" to them. ahahahahahahahah. evil laugh. obviously.

baDOING!

look, you aren't ever going to persuade me to draw cars...

... so you can just get the drivers instead. But due to my obsession with the roads in this country...ie. THEY SUCK... I need to draw something car related.

In Portugal EVERYONE has a new car it seems (except me). How can there be that many people in this relatively small country that can afford Mercs, Porsches, high-end BMWs etc etc etc. I know I live near Lisbon and live next door to a place that's thought of as a desirable neighbourhood, so I'm bound to see more expensivo cars... but really, everywhere I go, nearly everyon has a car that is less than three years old. HOW? The average wage is crap. The cost of living is quite high. There must be something I don't know. WHAT IS IT?

Today, I must be brief... for I have a thing that goes BOING! to assemble, a load of ideas to think of, a nasty SOMETHING-I-still-don't-know-what-it-was to recuperate from (that may take me to the doctor yet...ugh), and two impatient things waiting for the thing that goes BOING! to be assembled before the impatience gets to them and they kill their mother.

My tummy hurts.

tags: illustration

Uplift

I was trawling through my hard drive for something to post today because I'm thoroughly flaked with this awful stomach thing that has had me doubled in pain for three days and unable to think very clearly and incapable of writing anything funny/interesting/thrilling yak yak yak... and there wasn't much there that hasn't been up already, since madge usally just draws to order whatever vit's whim is that day. and what's left on the hard drive is either stuff for other real world projects or drivel that I gave up with. And I was just giving up and giving in and thinking the world could do without a post today (unTHINKable) when I found this four second scribble that I had started for some reason and then stopped (obviously, four seconds later) and I thought, GOSH, what an uplifting sort of drawing, just the sort of drawing I need because my head is spinning, my stomach is aching and I feel like falling asleep, I've been feeling like I'm getting old too quickly recently, and being a mummy is incredibly hard and there's NEVER a break from it apart from when they are at nursery school which hasn't been very often recently, and living where and how we live is quite hard sometimes ... so a girl does need a lift up sometimes. A haircut used to suffice in the old days, pre baby days, pre Portugal days, so I gave my self a fringe, the first fringe I've had since I grew out my last skinhead (ah ... those were the days ... the only time vitsma was lost for words in her life was the first time she ever saw me with half a millimetre of hair) and though it took a few years off, the effect of the fringe on the inside of my head didn't last for long and with this horrid aching gut and chilled bones I feel like I'm about ninety and I haven't even gone out to get the girls yet, or taken them to the park which I promised (though I despise our park, full of nasty sand, no shade, nowhere for mummies to sit and nasty little boys and snooty little girls who stare when I talk to my girls in english) and I'm dreading it, knowing that once we're in there it'll take at least an hour to get out again and my pleas of "but your mama is ILL" won't sink through any skull and I just don't know what to make for their supper, though mine is easy, I've been craving a curry all week and that'll clear whatever is lurking in my guts right out, the bastard.

Erm.. what was I saying? Oh, yes....here is a gently uplifting, very simple drawing to make a hard drawn out week feel a bit better on a thursday afternoon.

And if you understood much of that, answers on a postcard.

As for the Fátima Lopes off her Skin Post, I'll be rewriting it when I feel better. I've had some help. thanks, ;)

And as my dear ria in beautiful Roma has just pointed out, the comments ain't a-commenting! I dunno why, but it's just temporary. I hope. So if you want to comment, stick it in the the blogger comments and I'll move them over if the thing ever comes back. mwah mwah mwahzity mwah.

on a lighter note again....

Blaugustine's 2nd Blogday
Happy Blogday Natalie - long may you continue making my little head spin!

Cruelty, stupidity and mediocrity praised

I have removed the text from this post. I am feeling sufficiently ill and icky to mistrust my judgement as far as the inflamatory topics of the fur trade and stupid people. So, I'll re-address it when I feel better.

but I like the drawing. the drawing stays.

is this disturbing or what?

It is a beautiful day here in grotty grotsville, so I'm going to do some work in the garden.

I thought I'd just have a little clear up first and look what I found. I'm concerned that the madge girls are becoming occultists.

I just hope they don't summon up the devil in my house.

A drawing later... I promise... but right now the garden, a large mug of coffee, a pile of cookbooks, a packet of chocoloate chip cookies, a sketchbook, a pile of paper and pens are calling my name...

Lisboa Sossegada

By dint of some portugueseness (*snigger* well, it's true!), I had a meeting to go to yesterday... i.e. the aforedescribed 25th April. I drove in because I wan't sure what the hell the trains would be doing on a national holiday and couldn't be arsed to look it up on the internet. And I gave myself plenty of time to get into the city, because being the end of a long weekend, there are usually enormous traffic jams on the motorway getting back. But strangely, there weren't any traffic jams, so I got there über early, got to where I was going and just sat around, watching and chilling out for a while (I knew I was going to get the pissed taken out of me for being on time, I didn't want extra piss taken for being super early, now, did I?), for there were barely any people or cars in Lisbon and the few people I did see were happy and chilled and relaxed. Lisbon was, for a change, wonderfully calm. Being an out-of-towner, I usually go to Lisbon during shopping hours, eating hours, cinema hours, working hours, when everyone is doing everything and being grumpy and stressed and horrible (like every big city in the world) so this was a treat.. because I do love Lisbon in that grumpy critical nasty way of mine.

Yesterday, I could even hear the birds tweeting.

The next time there's a holiday, I might just arrange a meeting to go to.

tags: illustration

stick that in your gun and make it look pretty!

Bum.

I mean, how can I possibly take the piss out of the 25th April? Really. Because one cannot take the piss out of a thing that did extreme good in a country other than mine own (and that explains an awful lot of stuff that goes on today).

I'd like to because I'm mean and nasty and english, but I'm not going to because I'm decent and reasonable and english....(ha ha ha).

So, all I'm going to do is explain in extraordinarily vague terms what the 25th April means to Portugal and the Portuguse for the benefit of our non-pt visitors... so if you're pt, don't bother reading on because you know it already (and I don't want anyone picking holes in my bullshit because you know I'll get bits of it wrong...we're talking VAGUE here)

On the 25th April 1974 a virtually bloodless coup carried out by the military overthrew the nasty men who were dictating a dictatorship over the country. It had been under this regime since 1928, when a horrid but clever man called Salazar became prime minister and decided that Portugal should be ruled under strict Catholicism, strict authority and strict strictness. It was a fairly nasty regime at times and intruded on most people's lives (though I don't think it probably affected the rich british who inhabited Porto and Cascais and Estoril in those days, do you?). Portugal was maintained as a peasant nation, Salazar wanted to keep it poor, there was no democracy and various police forces kept the people under the country's thumb. It was pretty crappy.... not as bad as living in Soviet Russia or Maoist China... but all the same, fairly crappy. so that's why the revolution happened... (the first, there were a couple more to get to where we are now, in the two years following... rather like aftershocks of an earthquake... SEE? I should have been a historian!) because the people were sick of the Salazarist regime (even though Salazer had now been dead since 1970 and Mister Caetano was prime minister) and because they had been sending a continuous stream of men to the wars in Africa (in a US/Vietnam kind of a way).

Now, that's the best potted history you're going to find of a revolution that took place thirty-one years ago that brought democracy to a country on the day that it is commemorated every year since in a national holiday that is more important than christmas, easter and portugal day rolled into one in what is generally regarded as a hysterically humourous (though some say not, humourless bastards) blog, written in english with pictures....isn't it?

And the carnations?

That was the grannies of the troops as they made their way to revolt ("granny, I'm off to revolt")... they didn't have time to crochet any nice borders, so they dropped carnations into the barrels of their grandsons' rifles to make them look pretty and sent them on their way ... but only after they'd eaten a proper bowl of soup.



*vitriolica ducks as someone is sure not to take kindly to her taking even the tiniest liberties with the story of the carnation revolution*

If you want a PROPER potted history of Portugal and it's many MANY regimes, revolutions and r... I can't think of any more Rs.... here is a reasonable place to start.

oh, by the way....

HAPPY 25th APRIL, PORTUGAL!

it's sunday, I'm stumped about what to post for tomorrow let alone today...

(tomorrow being 25th April...if you don't know what 25th April means in Portugal, I'll tell you tomorrow) so I thought I'd paint a nice little picture and it suddenly dawned on me why I call myself (and am) an illustrator and why I don't call myself (and am not) an artist.... I never know what to paint, so I have to illustrate something. (it makes sense in my head anyway.

So, then I thought, hmmmm what to illustrate today? and I couldn't think of anything. But I did want to share something funny. Now, my kids say an awful lot of funny stuff, (obvious, really, because they are my children and they are brillantly clever and witty and beautiful) and I'm sure it's mostly funny only to me, and since this blog is mostly about other stuff like being horrid to Portugal and the trials of being a tortured illustrator, I don't usually post it. But sod it... just for once, just because it made me laugh my head off, and it gave me the opportunity to paint cliché cheese... a kind of amalgam of cheddar, gouda and gruyère....really... a girl likes to paint in clichés...:

«Mama, I'm going to say cheese in French!» said my beautiful clever witty five and a half year old.

«groovy,» I said. «That pré-primária school is really cutting then, huh?... sorry darling you were saying?»

«MAMA, I said, I'm going to say cheese in French!»

«Sorry, go ahead, cherie.»


....



....










tags: illustration

and talking of revolting...

... which believe me, I am... (well...at least I'm THINKING of revolting...oh, no this is complicated... I'm not thinking of revolting like "I am thinking of revolting because I am an oppressed person and I'm paying taxes for the privilege"... rather I'm thinking of revolting as in repulsive, disgusting, nojento, bleurgh, eeeugughggh, hughie for a project I'm working on that I'll tell you about when it happens, I ain't gonna jinx it (anymore)).

WHOA!!.. . did I say complicated?. Start again:
Good morning. Would you like to see something REVOLTING, that a five year old thinks is HYSTERICALLY funny?:



There. To translate for you, via babelfish: "Look, Mama, a wobbly tooth".

If you know me well enough to know that just the word "Dentist" sends me all a quiver (and that ain't cos I fancy my dentist, though Nigel is a dish) you'll know that someone, anyone, even if it my first born who I would kill for, die for, go to see terrible films for (have you SEEN Pinocchio 3000? Awful. AWFUL! I really mean AWFUL!), comes to me and wobbles a tooth at me, I'm going to feel REVOLTED.

Hence today's theme of REVOLTING.

I mean, I'm attached to the tooth that's coming out, because she was actually born with that tooth, and it's colleague tooth, which was a bit weird, because I was so completely stoned on nitrous oxide (the ONLY way to give birth... and that's a message to all the Pt gynaes/Obs reading this.... bring back nitrous oxide and stop inducing people for your convenience. thank you) and I was already stunned that I had produced a baby (I actually said... "Look! It's a BABY!") and then the first thing I saw were two teeth, well you can imagine..... "AAAAAAAGH!" or rather "OUCH!"

So, back to thinking about revolting. Or maybe I should just think about revolting. No, that's for Monday.

tags: illustration

thank god for well behaved children

Right. Hands up who had a surreal experience in a french-owned book and media chain store last night.

*vit SHOOTS up her hand*



Imagine you know a person through the computer but you've never met, you email each other, you may have even spoken on the phone and then you meet for the first time. It's a slightly weird experience isn't it?

Well, for last night, multiply that by twelve people... heightening the "wierd" factor exponentially with each person.

So, it was the book launch of the Acidental book I mentioned yesterday at Fnac and I was determined to go.. so when babysitting didn't happen, I thought sod it, I'll trust the little darlings to be nice, put them in some clean clothes and dragged them off to Cowombo (as they call it)(Cowombo, non-pts, is a gigantic mall de shopping). I had toyed with the idea of putting on some mickey mouse ears, since I have tried and failed to do the "mickey-mouse-do" that madge insists on drawing for my delicate and densely packed head, but in the end decided on (my version of) normality and headed off to Lithbon (as the girls call it). I was so determined to go because I'm always missing these things and never getting to meet people who I talk to on the phone or through email, being a mummy I get stuck at home a lot... so I got there, found the prof, installed the girls in the espaço infantil and went shyly into the breach and met a great load of people all in one go... some bloggers (Officelounging - {LA promised he'd wear a Vitória Setúbal shirt so I'd recognise him ... he didn't, but then I didn't have my "penteado a la vit" nor did I go round putting stickers on people with their names on as I had promised ;)}, Xanelcinco {miss pearls, I promise I'll sort the tshirt problem out}, Jaquinzinhos - {what about a TIE with a drawing on it?}, and some acidentalistas.... HELLOOOOOOOO!), some not bloggers... all completely different from how I imagined them and all lovely friendly people... a very very strange experience... hey, I'm used to grumpy bata wearers... (I'm sitting here hoping that now they've all heard my surrealist portuglish they don't think I'm a raving lunatic).

Anyway, the launch was a great success, the book ranneth out, my girls were very good though did disappear a couple of times (apologies to anyone if I ran away suddenly for no obvious reason in the middle of a conversation...it will have been that I hadn't spotted my spawn for a while, panicked and gone orf to look for them) .... and for next time (I dunno, there must surely be a next time when a load of Lisbon (and Azeitão and Setúbal) bloggers are in the same room together, I'm hoping that all the other dozens of bloggers that were there will bring a large banner, saying "Hello, my name is..... my blog is ....... " just to enhance the WEIRD factor.

tags: illustration

never knowingly over grumped

I pass this women every day, either on foot or in my car.

I, as is my obnoxious way, smile sweetly, wave or say bom dia every single day.

I have never known her to do anything other than scowl at me.

Nasty lady.

Maybe my bata's not up to scratch.

grrrrrrrrrr.

tags: illustration

Retrato do Livro

While I'm buzzing round the house, doing crap like er... ug.. h.o.u.s.e...w.o.r.k. (god I hate it) this morning here's a little something to tide us over... till I'm inspired by a spot of hoovering into a post about the crap one finds under the sofa... one of the two other blogs I "do" stuff for is O Acidental (the other afixe.net, one rightish, one leftish... so HA! you still don't know my politics!), and the book of selected texts from O Acidental is launched tonight - Fnac, Colombo, 21.00 hrs.... so I thought I'd do an on-line ad for it:



Good luck with it, equipa do Acidental.

a gentle, interesting way to network... BOOKS!

As we all know if we were paying attention last week, the Vitparents came to stay, and we had a lovely week of pootling and pottering and happy little Madgedaughters and everything went swimmiola. We went to *sing hallelujah* IKEA *sing hallelujah* because papavit was desperate to buy us this year's model of IKEA hammock which he has just bought for himself at home making a grand total of FOUR hammocks in their garden, which is a bit of overkill if you ask me, but then papavit goes for overkill with his hobbies... just ask the birds sitting around the multifarious birdfeeders he has invented and constructed in his garden... cos they ain't going to fly away as you get closer, they're too fat... And so he bought us the hammock and it is the most dangerous invention ever. Why? Because I get in it, I don't want to get out of it. I take a book, lie down and I liquify before your very eyes and turn into... you've got it... vitrischmolica soup. It's heaven, it's a dream, it's a great reminder of why I have to have a garden, and couldn't ever live in the city during the few moments in the day when I get a bit lonely for un Bata-ed company and sad for not having a coffee or shops right outside the door.
*sing in a bad imitation of billy holliday* "I got my hammock now, and I'm a happy...yack yack yack" *o, I'm not a lyricist... I'm a writer of bullshit and a illustrator of crap, what do I know about songwriting*

And talking of BOOKS, well I mentioned A book, didn't I?:

Jorge of "A Peste", the most delightfully named blog ever (if you're a non pt speaker, it means The Plague/Pestilence/Screaming Blue Lurgy) has challenged me with this book challengey questiony quizzy thing that's doing the rounds (I haven't apologized profusely to Menina Rica for never having done her sex toy one a couple of months ago... in the end I just couldn't bring myself to talk about dildos in a blog my mother reads) as well as posing an interesting papal question (my thoughts are just wouldn't it have been eminiently refreshing to have had the African hopeful popeful win?, other than that I'm lost with catholicism):
ANYWAY:

Não podendo sair do Fahrenheit 451, que livro quererias ser?
(I think this means) Apart from Fahrenheit 451, which book would you like to be?

Er.... The Oxford English Dictionary... bloody clever and long-winded as hell, and contains more words than you could shove in a knapsack and take out to sea... well it's what I'd LIKE to be.


Já alguma vez ficaste apanhadinho por uma personagem de ficção?
Have you ever been really struck by a fictional character?

Yeah, the bloke in The Shipping News..., Quoyle (who shouldn't have been played by kevin lovely but odd spacey in the film, actually, I don't think one should watch films of books one loves at all, always crap).. who's kind of a loser but heroic in a strange way, the first loser in a novel that I've really liked and understood.

Qual foi o último livro que compraste?
what was the last book you bought?

Frederick (ou Frederico) the mouse. for a little friend's fourth birthday. A book I had when I was small about a mouse (who is illustrated by torn up paper collage) who doesn't help in the harvest, but just sits and "collects" colours and warmth and words in his head... and the others get annoyed cos he just ain't helping. When the middle of the winter comes and they've run out of food, Frederick keeps them entertained by reciting colours and warmth and words. It has the best last page ever. "Oh, Frederick," say the other mice "You are a POET!"... and Frederick blushes and says "I know!". I was delighted to have found it and to be able to give it to a small person.

Qual foi o último livro que leste?
What was the last book you read?

Annie Proulx - That Old Ace In The Hole



Que livros estás a ler?
Which books are you reading?

Food: A History... by Felipe Fernandez-Armesto.. well, what else am I going to read a history of? Politics? Bleugh! Someone else can do that.
The Easter Parade... by Richard Yates


Cinco livros que levarias para uma ilha deserta?
Which five books would you take to a desert island?
My big Portugese to English dictionary... (it doesn't have English to Portuguese, it's more challenging that way) to learn every single word in it before being rescued and coming home and impressing everyone with my vocab.
The Bible... well, I ought to read it one day.
The Shipping News... so I could have time to work out why I love it so much and how Annie Proulx can evoke such a hostile place as Newfoundland as somewhere I'd love to visit.
That enormous copy of a load of Leonardo da Vinci's drawings and writings that weighs about eighty kilos... so I could learn how to build a helicopter and get off the island as no-one is ready to come and rescue me (click on this link and move your mouse over leo's face! hysterical if you're ten year old like me).
I, Leonardo... by Ralph Steadman, about his hero, stuffed full of beautiful illustrations... so I can study two of my heros in one... and think about the book I'll write and paint when I get home.

A quem vais passar este testemunho (três pessoas) e porquê?
To whom are you going to send this erm... let's say confession...and why? (three people)


Bernardo of Afixe
Natalie of Blaugustine
Nuno of Rua da Judiaria

Why? Because I know they'll all easily come up with something much more interesting than me!

who sews slow joe crows clothes?

ME, stoopid.
It was one of those moments in life that becomes a Dr Seuss moment. My amazingly funny, clever, acrobatic and physically dense (it's like picking up a sack of cememnt that's been left out in the rain) three-year-old put on a pair of tights this morning (with my help, obviamente) to find that there was a hole in the toe. After a summit meeting over to discuss the options (change the tights, keep the tights on but try to manoeuvre the hole away from the big toe, keep the tights on but stick the big toe right through the whole thus ensuring a snug fit and a gangrenous toe, sew up the hole) stupenda-la-three-year-old decided it would be fun to see mummy wrestling through blurry bleary early morning eyes to thread a needle.

And so we sewed up the toe while she was wearing her tights and I suddenly felt like Sue, Sue who sews slow Joe Crow's clothes in Fox in Socks, while they hang around in the blue goo and wait for the noodle poodle beetle paddle battle in a bottle to begin (I’m paraphrasing). It helped that she was wearing red tights and a stripey red and white tshirt because she looked just like a “thing” from Cat in the Hat (she acts like one too, most days).

And then I wondered if it is just me that has Dr Seuss moments, because if it is just me that would be very sad, because it is extremely funky to have the odd Dr Seuss moment in life (I also have Roald Dahl/Quentin Blake moments, Richard Scarry moments, Ralph Steadman moments and the very occasional Annie Proulx moment… och, you KNOW I’m not consistent).

To change the subject (because you’re probably thinking “lorks, she’s off on one again, too much caffeine, not enough sleep, I do wish she’d change the subject) I got two SUPER things in the post this morning.

There were some 7”x5” (you do the maths, I can't be bothered: 1" = 2.54cm) prints from photobox that I ordered on Thursday of some drawings from the Ite and they are fan-bleedin-tastic. So, I’ve added some more drawings to the gallery that are suitable for smaller prints and have put the 7”x5” up for sale at just £2 each (now THAT’S a bargain)…. G.O…B.U.Y…S.O.M.E.

The second I’m already wearing; I found another tshirt printer in Italy and I ordered a tank top from them to see how it worked out and it’s GORGEOUS! Unfortunately, they don’t have a third party ordering system, but I think they’re working on it, so stay tuned.. BUT in the meantime, if you’re interested in a vitshirt, let me know and we can work it out. The Italian site has loads of different styles, except a v neck for the big boobed, sadly, and loads of different and reasonable prices.

And be proud of me… I lost this WHOLE post and rewrote the WHOLE thing from scratch (in Word this time) because Blogger crashed and saved the first three line in its new recover post thingy and if there’s something I’m really not very good at is doing something more than once and enjoying it.


tags: illustration

Look out, sir, your head is about to explode!

I wonder what etiquette demands when the person sitting opposite you in a metro train looks seriously close to death. He is such a bright pinkish red colour that you can tell his blood pressure is so high that his heart is going to give out and his veins are going to burst. And not only is he about to explode in front of your very eyes, but his sinuses seem to be stuffed up and he insists on snorting horribly every few seconds to clear them, pinching his nose to aid the process. I have a fairly strong stomach but for some reason snot and catarrh belonging to other people makes me want to puke (copiously over that person)... so the noise and gurgle of this snorting and sniffling of the machinations of this man's sinuses added to the extreme pinkness of his imminently exploding head made for an uncomfortable ride between stations. He was a very un-Lisbon looking bloke, much more East End London, but this just means he was a Lisbonite.Lisboeta.whatever you want to call him, because if this guy was from the East End of London he jolly well wouldn't be in Lisbon, he would be down on the AAAAlgahhhve, playing golf and smoking copiously... jingling his jewellery and smelling of "old spice".

So, confronted with someone ELSE'S mortality this time, does one sit up and calmly expalin to this man that if he doesn't change his lifestyle within literally minutes he is going to just blow up and splatter the rest of us with his innards, literally or metaphorically?

Or does one ignore him and his catarrh and his tasteless pink and hope he's not driving a car when his veins give up the ghost?

I don't know. Maybe I'm just a sick bastard.

ah-HAH!

and look, I finally got round to make a viticon for the address bar...look up, look up....la lah lahahahala... sounds like a cheesey Lloyd Webber number.... loooook UP!

tags: illustration

nothing new under the sun

Tired, head full of stuff, lots to do, but need to blog something (habit, addiction, fear of not-blogging?).

Well, if you live here, just get out of the house for a bit, away from the kids, go to Lisbon, use lots of public transport, walk around a bit, go to a café or two (because of a super unco-operative bladder and/or a desperate need for choccy), come home a couple of hours later and tadah!... you've got a weeks worth of blogging.

So, I'm making my way home, through a metro station and I'm confronted by my mortality... or at least my getting older every second. ...

Look, I know this is exaggerating things, but I found three grey hairs this week, the first... I don't feel much different from when I was eighteen and I remember what I thought of very nearly almost thirty five year olds then... "hey, man, you're really f**king OLD".. so now that I AM very nearly almost thirty five and I'm walking through a metro station with THREE grey hairs on my head and I come across these two lovelies, completely absorbed in their stripey-sockedness and themselves and they are dressed how I dressed twenty years ago ... *breathe* ... do I think "oh lorks, there really IS nothing new under the sun and my parents are going to just love it in an «we TOLD you so» kind of way when I tell them about these two dressed exactly how I dressed twenty years ago and how I had to surpress a rather large giggle because they do look really f**king ridiculous, but I'm kind of in a bit of a dilemma because I also think they're kind of brave for walking around Portugal dressed like that cos they WILL be openly laughed at or tutted at or stared at and actually the other people in the metro station who are openly giggling at them are also completely laughable in their predictability and sensibly-dressedness".

... *breathe* ...

So, you see my problem?

Plus, my walking round Lisbon in very old, very faded, hop-sack dungarees probably doesn't make me a good candidate for laughing at the state of anyone else.

and even more...

this one from demian, whose idea it was in the first place...

dem - guild of ghostwriters

(it's not to late to send me stuff if you want)

Luckily, I'm having the blogging done for me

because I'm semi-vegetized after a week of the girls at home almost all the time over-excited and refusing to sleep until late, getting up early and three times each night, having a lovely time with my ma and pa, lots of trips to Lisbon, and just now a meeting all in Portuguese which always zones me out, because I really REALLY have to concentrate to hear it all (but I didn't miss anything THIS time, guv, honest!)

So, how lucky am I? Here are two MORE birthday cards/portraits! thanks Jean-Claude, thanks Hilda!

jean-claude - sur le zinc





hilda - planeta hilda

as a thank you

as a thank you for yesterday's lovely portraits and messages my five year old house artist has drawn us a picture. It is a picture of me (I don't have yellow hair, I only once had yellow hair and that was a very long time ago, nor do I have a blue tshirt with a big heart on it, nor orange trousers... and I do have hands and feet, but hey, I'm picking nits)... the rabbit is waiting for its own mummy to turn up, apparently.

So, thank you, thank you for yesterday's wonderful portraits, messages and posts in your blogs that have inspired me to carry on to another year, let's see what I can take the piss out of this year.



(I did have to copy this drawing into my software by hand, as the scanner's buggered... but I promise this is a faithful repro)

and now it's the ITE's birthday!

happy birthday to the ite, happy birthday to the ite, nya nya nya nya nya nyah nyah...blah blah blah blah blah!

So Vitriolica Webb's Ite is one year old today... and in an act of extreme vanity (and predicted blogging/drawing laziness for the day...well, I've got to have ONE day off in a year, don't I?) I/we/they (aaagh) asked a bunch of my/our/their blogging friends, none of whom know me in person, to draw/paint/write a birthday portrait of me/us/them as they imagine the Vitster, the Madgester (and in one case the Violetster).

And they did and here they are... I/we/(oh gawd, YOU know) are absolutely thrilled that they all took the time to do this for the little ol' first birthday of the Ite.... don't forget to pay them a visit.

thank you, bloggers!

gibel - afixe





janey - janey's journey






kevin hayden - american street






michael - michael nobbs dot com





renato - inépcia





vivi - dispatches from france




a john - bloga la disto





augustine and natalie - blaugustine





andre - a beautiful revolution




Vit fell into a pot of Portuguese magic
Sometimes she smiles, sometimes she screams
Magic is not all sparkles; nasty spells come with it too
Thank God gin & tonics make things go not so tragic!

So Vit paddles on, comforted by her soul mate Madge
Who turns the odds whenever she draws
Beautiful things can come out of frustration too
And there is amusement to be had in a country’s flaws

Vit and Madge are fortunate
The pair lives in a nation of farinheiras and pig’s feet;
Had they been vegetarian
They would have been a lot of trouble indeed

Exile works in mysterious ways
Some days you’re behind, some days you’re ahead
Who knows? What if one day,
We wake up to see Vit and Madge in batas instead?

clô - lost in translation





elvira - tabacaria





luz and sombra - luz e sombra






zé das couves -life, the universe and everything

p.s. don't forget, this IS a portuguese blog, so we ain't going to be too worried if the deadline was breached. ;) hehehehehehehe

p.p.s. forgive me if I seem to have been less than responsive in the comment box this past few days... the notifier seems to have ground slowly to a halt, so that now I have no idea when new comments have been left.

p.p.p.s. thank you for the lovely, LUVVERLY things you've all been saying today.

middles on view

Spring really has sprung, sprung over the belts and waistbands of millions of unsuspecting (unsuspecting of the results of cake consumption) women.

It's an odd time of year in Portugal for clothing, when some people still dress for winter with several coats and heavy shoes and some already dress for the summer in odd mixtures of turquoise and pink with stiletto shoes pinching their feet and making them hobble over cobble, and of course, it is very funny to watch (and to blog about later). But the predominant fashion statements for women of many ages is the bare tummy...whether they can get away with it or absolutely not... or even more common, clothes two sizes too small, that only just button up... suits straining under the pressure.

There were tummies wobbling out in the open air and "clothes-at-the-edge-of-endurance" all over Parque das Nações yesterday on a beautiful warm spring day, where vitsma, papavit and I pootled around for a bit of the afternoon. It quite put me off my stride being blinded by a white flash of flesh every few metres. The vitparents were less bothered by it, England being heavily populated ALL YEAR ROUND by inexplicable and extraordinary bare tummidom, even in the depths of winter.

I wonder... is it because they can't find t-shirts long enough (I must say they are extremely difficult to find) or are they just plain proud of the wobbly stuff?

tags: illustration

happy girls

Never have two little girls been SO happy.. they've got their grandparents to stay for a whole week, lots of cuddles, lots of stories, lots of games of football with very made-up rules, lots of late nights and giggling, lots of getting away with absolute murder. happy. happy. happy. It makes a mummy happy too.

BUT

Never have two little girls been so miserable as this morning when I said they had to go to nursery school just for one day, because granny vitsma and grandpa papavit and mummy have got some things to do that don't require small people attached (just one day for just grow'd ups... is that too much to ask?).... they were begging BEGGING me not to leave them at their usually beloved school. But, I won't feel the slightest bit guilty. really. I don't feel guilty. no. no. no, I don't.

So, we grow'd ups is going out for a jaunt and you never know... blogging material may just come our way.

tags: illustration

in-sou-FLÁ-vel

One of my favourite words in Portuguese is insouflável... means inflatable. But that's got nothing to do with it. We went to an inflatable birthday party on the weekend at the Serafina Parque Insouflável, an absolute riot... blurry children and brightly coloured ENORMOUS inflatables....WHY are they called inflatables not inflateds?... thank you little JP for your fourth birthday party.

So, I apologise for the extremely gaudy colours to wake you up on a monday morning (and the not so nice drawing but this is going to be a much better drawing when I get a chance to redo it of bouncing children going ping) but I'm in a hurry, off to Lisbon with Papavit to do some very important shopping.... BOING!

But another thing, just to say, it ain't just me who dreams of silly things (like gorillas in the fridge)... Zed dreamt about me and Petite getting in her way in her office this weekend. And she thinks I'm a nutter. And if you like a good love story that'll make you swoon....


tags: illustration

Commemorative Mugs (arf arf)

well, erljlkeeeeurrrrr one simply errreeerururururu.rr....rururruuuuuu


I don't normally get all current affairsy, do I. But sometimes, a girl just can't 'elp it!
tags: illustration

Wisteria

My brain used to work like a finely tuned bag of rubber components that knew their place, could zip to the other side, hang out for the morning dealing with synapses not their own, then pootle home to somewhere else, bouncing all the way, carrying every fact and factoid that I knew straight to the tip of my tongue and being the gimpish sort, I always had a lot of factoids, names of things, statistics, phone numbers, addresses, crap, etc. bouncing around in their. I could flash my flashy brain power around like the gemini show off that I am. Always impressively lazy, but always with a fact at hand.

Then two things happened. 1. I had babies. 2. I had to learn a whole new language from scratch. and the result is this... this fuzzy logic driven pinkish grey mush sloshing around my skull.... that hasn't had nearly enough sleep for six years (since the second half of my first pregnancy when every night was punctuated with seven or eight trips to the loo) and has had to accomodate another ten thousand words to describe the crap that dwells inside my head.

And I really have to thank mindmaps® and post-it® notes and moleskine© and uniball© and microsoft© and mozilla© for acting like a kind of group zimmer frame® for my brain.

You really must try mindmapping, if you ever want to think up more stuff than you do. They're fab. This drawing is a rather crappy, rather sorry mindmap, but you get the gist of it.

But, sometimes, the best way to remember something is to forget about it... not try so hard to remember it. I've been looking at a beautiful flower that I have always know the name of for days trying to remember what the hell it's called. ... Bougainvilea.. Hyacinth, Acanthus, Tree, Mould, Hibiscus, Wellington Boot, Durian fruit, Pomegranate..... then I stopped thinking....

WISTERIA!

Run for the hills!!!! The English are coming!!!!

and I don't mean the Vitparents (vitsma and papavit, who you may know from the comment box)... although... run for the hills!!! the vitparents actually are coming, making their way here today (slowly, cos they won't be here till Sunday... they know how to take their time).




The sun has got his hat on and the English are back on the Margem Sul (when I say English, I mean British, but anywhere outside of Britain, or Amerka ("oh, you're briddish? I love your accent!"... "I haven't GOT an accent, YOU have!") one suddenly becomes inglês or inglesa, and hey, I forget these days). Ladies stepping out in their bought-for-the-holiday ensembles in pink and white or the inexplicable lemon yellow, turquoise and navy blue combo.... bright pink faces from the sun and confusion. Portugal does that. "Abroad" does that.

I met these three in the soomarkit (house word for supermarket, obviously) this morning looking dazed and confused in the fruit and veg section, peering at the strawberries like they were alien craft. I say I met them... rather, I ducked and spoke in my strongest pt accent and tried to look all savvy to the ladies behind the deli counter ... but I couldn't help staring (discreetly, through the lettuce, because I'm BRITISH) because they just typified middle englishness on holiday so perfectly... they couldn't BE from anywhere else. Can you imagine these three being from say Denmark? Russia? Spain? Germany? Italy?... ANYWHERE except England? (and here I MEAN England).
tags: illustration

When animals go bad

There used to be a joke about art students that boiled down to the fact that they spend their days staring out of the window, along the lines of the "what do you say to a media studies graduate? big mac and fries please." number... but I can't remember what it was, but I always thought it unfair, not because art students are the most honourable hard working bunch in the world (hahahahahahahahahaha) but when I was an art student, I never had time to stare out of the window... I had far more interesting things to do to avoid working... smoking fags, eating kitkats, eyeing up men, and eating further kitkats... staring out the window just never did it for me. Now, though, sitting in my office-stroke-corridor-stroke-mousehole I am more drawn to the not-quite-two-foot-wide window at the end of it, reminding me that there's more to life than the interior of my office-stroke-corridor-stroke-mousehole.

Today, for instance (and I've been more glued in front of my screen than usual, finishing off a load of things) I have seen a tree, the top half of which got thoroughly burnt off in this winter's frosts, the nasty green fence, which we had to put up because I couldn't stand another summer of being stared at in my own garden, and a bird. You see? Nature's bounty. One tree. One bird. One metal fence.
Coo.

So, I watched the bird for a good long while, thinking "how lovely, I may just draw him, for I have no other subject for my electronic web log today", as he stood there, just kind of hanging out, watching the world go by (lucky sod, he gets panoramic views, unlike my not-quite-two-feet views).. I picked up my electric pencil, drew his beak, and the little bastard flew away. He knew.

And that's why I gave him a fag to smoke, to distract you from the "generic bird" look of the rest of him.

Hmmm. I'd better get back to work, hadn't I.

tags: illustration

trying to be weird

enough of the e-commerce already.. it's all up and running now, so no more blatent advertising... honest... here at least...back to normal blogging service.

I wonder what makes different people work in different ways. Once every so often I try to do something weird or be weird or cooky. And I can't do it. It always comes out looking like I'm taking the piss.

Maybe I am.

Same thing happens when I try going retro.

Yah boo sucks.

Ze teeshirtz iz a readinks...

actually, strike that and ignore this post, as I now discover that tshirt zoo just seems to be in hiding... I can't get the damn thing to work... am trying hard to find other suppliers/printers on demand... we may not be in luck... BUGGER!


... or rather: the t-shirts are ready to order. And that's why I haven't posted anything all day (how very un vit of me) as I have been htmling my little fingers off (god, I'm slow at that html business) getting a special page of THIRTY EIGHT madge drawings together for your delectation and consumering. So... go HERE to see the drawinks, click on BUY to buy one (or as many as you can fit in your drawers) then click on BACK TO BLOG to jolly well come back here and tell me if there are any cock-ups.

If you're wondering what I'm doing in this picture, by the way, well Madge insisted that we have a publicity drawing for the tshirts, so she got me to lie down on the grass modelling a rather large tshirt and waggle my arms and legs about a bit. Unfortunately, the only thing we acheived of any artistic merit was a "snail angel"... like a snow angel, but with snails... which made me feel a bit sick and grumpy.... so no cover of Vogue this month, but maybe next, hey.

And don't forget to ask about any drawing from the Ite if it's not there.

I am VERY pissed off about this. I hope it hasn't put anyone out.


tags: illustration

Stop looking at my goddam shoes, pá!

I swear it's a sickness, this Portuguese obsession about looks. Wherever one goes, one gets stared at, whoever one is, but if one isn't the spitting image of everyone else, one gets doubly stared at, shamelessly, especially outside of the city. It is so annoying. I'm sorry, I should be big enough to ignore it, but it irritates me to the core. And whatever I do, even if I dressed myself entirely the same as a Mrs Average Portugesa, I will always have the look of a foreigner, so there's not a great deal of point trying to fit in and hide. So, I suppose, I just have to get used to the gawking.

But, when the gawking/gawping is entirely shame-free, when the gawper stops dead in front of me, as this one did this morning, looks at my shoes for a whole ten seconds, then moves slowly upwards to check out the rest and then to see... what... to see if I have brushed my hair? (I probably haven't)... to see if I have two noses?... expressionless, as if I'm not a real person, just a foreign blob-statue on hire to Portugal, then I get crazy. I stared back at her shoes. Really hard. Until even her shoes felt embarrassed. She turned, huffily, on her unshapely ankle into the supermarket and I turned on my not so unshapely ankle back to my car.

I wasn't even wearing ANY of my bright red dorothy shoes, just boring blackish mulish things (I do love shoes, and one day, when I've sold lots of paintings, prints and children, sold thousands of books, I'm going to do "an imelda marcos" and fill my house with just shoes, stripey socks and a couple of blankets to wear with my shoes).

It's just so RUDE. Isn't it?

tags: illustration

a post at midnight...when mummies should be asleep

Two ridiculous hairdos:

don't ask me... why are you asking me? Why the hell would I know?

Teenage Life

This is the cover of "Teenage Life Magazine" (if there existed such a thing).
Lead article: "Impress your friends. When your overworked and grumpy mother insists you take the damn dog for a walk in the Easter school holiday (the cheek of that woman), do it, GRRRRRudgingly; make sure you have on your most fashionable clothes, your hair styled in a most acceptable manner, paint up your face (at least with the poutiest lip gloss suitable for a teenager of your age) and strut out of the door and onto the pavement.... don't forget the dog.

Strut meanfully and meaninglessly up and down the street for a couple of blocks until the dog is ready to do his thing. His thing maybe to hump a lamp post, piss on a car tyre or strain at the leash for a fight with next door's St Bernard. Most of the time, he will be wanting to shit. And of course, that has nothing to do with you, girlfriend, so just look away, pouting and looking like your eyelids have been sewn up with fishing weights and let him do the dirty on that pavement. When he is done, you just walk away, girlfriend, leave that huge pile of dog shit on that pavement, right outside someone's gate, right in the middle of the pavement. I mean, WHAT would your friends SAY if you have picked up the turd with a plastic bag or even moved the dog to a bit of sand or grass where no-one walks?

Teenagers. hmmmmmm.
tags: illustration

to counteract that crabby post... the smile that is causing my my lack of sleep: "mama, get UP...I'm AWAKE!"

is it or isn't it?

Oh, not again. not another harmony hairspray rhetorical question! bummer.

NO. Well, not really. No, I'm just a-wondering. Is it or isn't it sour grapes, or a similar-sour-grapesian kind of emotion, in the sense that something that one cannot reach OR understand must be claimed as sour or bad, that makes people hate novelty or rale against opinions other than their own vehemently and violently. Really. All the time I see around the world people with new ideas or ideas against the norm or ideas which conradict the previous new idea. Just see what happens in a university when a researcher suddenly discovers something like erm... er... evidence of molecules of water on the moon. "Ridiculous! He is rubbish!" Or someone dares to make fun of a thing not made fun of before. "Monstrous! She is insane!" Or when someone merely questions whichever god and all that is designated as being made by he/she "Blasphemous! How DARE they even ask the questions?"

I dunno. I can't really put exactly into words what I'm thinking. And I don't really know where this post came from, just that there have been a good few (not a few good) things that have happened around the world these past few weeks, important, not important, horrific, vaguely amusing, stinky, stupid, ugly.... boring, that have reminded me of this strange kneejerking reactionary behaviour, seen in all areas, all factions, all sides, all sexes, all countries, all ages. Can't everyone just LISTEN to each other calmly once in a while? and THINK? A LOT? I'm not saying don't argue, don't protest, those things are of utmost importance. Just think.

Shit. I'm getting all preachy. Shit.
Sorry. Do what you want. When you want. Vit says so. And buy my paintings and prints. I need that mac.

tags: illustration

Violet 'iggins is at it again.

eBay auction starts NOW. This time for me
(and violet's seven skinny children)
Click on the picture.

Two watercolours. I'll be putting up
more if this is successful.
You've got seven days.

click to see larger:




And don't forget you can buy prints in the UK and US now.
Look in ze sidebar... look in ze sidebar...
you are feeling sleepy... look in ze sidebar
Tshirts will be sorted soon, too, once I've sorted out a minor glitzch.


and if they don't sell, I'm considering cutting off a substantial part of my ear.