An Illustrated Fashion Blog by Angie Réhe

Greetings from Delhi!  Much to the amusement of my friends (admittedly, I can be a bit of a princess*), I find myself here in India, at the half way point of a 16-day work visit.

Prone to extreme impatience and need for personal space, I’m doing surprisingly well!  Even more surprising is still being in one piece after 8 days of spending a minimum of 2hrs per day in the kamikaze Delhi traffic.  Seat belts?  Of course!  There’s just nothing to plug them into – Each day is a little like playing Russian roulette.  If ever there was a need for xanax it’s now – keep your fingers crossed for me…

*Understatement

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There was a time as a youngster when I was SO lucky, my parents banned me from entering any more raffles or competitions.  Trouble was, I was so damn cute, my brother’s friend felt sorry for me and bought me a ticket in a bride doll raffle. I won.  As punishment, my parents made me gift the doll to my sister and there began a lifetime of competitive bitchiness.

In this Carnivale, there will be no such issues.  This year’s Illustrators Australia (17th Annual) 9×5 Exhibition, themed Carnivale, opens next Friday night November 9th, with carnivale performances, drinks, nibbles, and the all important silent auction.  You can bid online now, or bid in person on the night.  At starting bids of $195, this is your rare chance to bag an original artwork from an artist you’d normally have to pay a lot more for.  There’s nothing not to love about this.  Come say hello to me…

6 – 9pm, Friday 9th November, Space 39, Level 2, 39 Little Collins St, Melbourne

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Goodbyes have never been my strong point – I come from a family of people who would run dog-style down the driveway after departing guests, still talking and squeezing in one more laugh until they were around the corner and out of sight.  What can I say? – We loved company!

One goodbye I’m happy to make though is the one to winter fruit.  If I eat one more pear this year I may poke myself in the eye. Mangoes have appeared at the supermarket and while their flavour may not have arrived yet, it’s time to say hello stone fruit, hello fruits of the tropics, hello pineapples!  I love you all with equal passion.

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Aren’t we all?

I find this true in all areas of life.  Just sayin’

It could definitely be said that not stopping when I should have has caused me many of the problems I’ve experienced in life.  But if you stopped when you really should have, how would you ever know that it was the right decision?!  Accident is the mother of invention, we learn by our mistakes, no such thing as a stupid question, regret is life’s greatest tragedy (I made that up) etc etc etc.

The same applies to drawing.  You’ll never know if that little bit more of something would have been a good thing or not unless you risk the outcome of your drawing and just do it.  So do it – scan or photograph the damn thing then say yes to colour, yes to paint, yes to anything.

Speaking of which, I think my glass is empty…

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If in doubt, wear red.

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A very fine day was the last day of winter – a procession of extremo enjoyable activities.

Still high on post-yoga lustfulness and possibly even higher from having nothing but caffeine in my stomach, I was treated to fabulous and varied poetry readings at the Melbourne Writer’s Festival’s The Necessary Poet. Germaine Greer is one of only 3 people I’ve lined up to have sign books for me, and even though she shits me at times (please stop talking about Julia’s jackets, true though it is), I love her still.  That glare.  That glare! She sat on the panel of 6 waiting to read, and as we all filed in that look could have vaporised anyone or anything.  I’m going to remember this the next time someone points out that I’m doing my involuntary death-stare.

Thanks to Omar Musa for introducing me to the poetry of Anne Sexton, and the joy of hearing poetry read with such masculinity – ooh la la… Melissa Cranenburgh provided a sad and sweet moment with her reading of Charles Bukowski’s Bluebird.  It’s so fine to be reminded of something so fabulous, sitting forgotten on your own shelf, and there’s really nothing like being read to…

Bluebird

there’s a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I’m too tough for him,

I say, stay in there, I’m not going

to let anybody see

you.

there’s a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I pour whiskey on him and inhale

cigarette smoke

and the whores and the bartenders

and the grocery clerks

never know that

he’s

in there.

there’s a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I’m too tough for him,

I say,

stay down, do you want to mess

me up?

you want to screw up the

works?

you want to blow my book sales in

Europe?

there’s a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I’m too clever I only let him out

at night sometimes

when everybody’s asleep.

I say, I know that you’re there,

so don’t be

sad.

then I put him back,

but he’s singing a little

in there, I haven’t quite let him

die

and we sleep together like

that with our

secret pact

and it’s nice enough to

make a man

weep, but I don’t

weep, do

you?

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Of all the pleasures of working from a home studio – and there are many – my hands down favourite is the optionality of dressing.  If the entire day and evening can pass like this I consider it like finding Willy Wonker’s golden ticket. Yesterday was such a day.

So imagine my dismay when persistent knocking at the door sent me diving for cover, and crawling commando-style to the kitchen to see who was simultaneously calling my phone and watching the house from across the street.  Duh, a handyman I’d organised to come.  Cue the flailing arms of someone getting dressed in less time than it takes for a man to cross a street, and frantic patting down of the bird’s nest that was my hair.  So many diaries, so many organisational apps, you’d think I’d use one.  Apparently not!