Oh, I'm sorry folks, but I've gone mad for a spell, hopefully I'll regain my senses soon. Life in contemporary times is maddening, even if one is in a safe haven like Auz. The climb up the garbage heap by the ruthless gets your face stood upon. Lucky I'm reading "The Snow Leopard", its Zen nature-tripping is the perfect antidote to my existential blues.
Someone who's trying to fuck with my head got this sour pic onto my Google page of images. So many other wankers sneak onto the page as well, the way Google connects us all is mystifying! What the fuck! It makes me laugh, I happen to love sour cream. There's a lot of shit-heads out there, the arts field has more than its fair share. I'm beyond sour/bitter/perverse, I'm fulfilled, light-filled, grateful, wonder-full.
|One legged ballerina. 2011|
(By the way, I got rejected when I applied to go to the National Art School, THEY didn't want a gutter scumbag like me rocking the boat, creating subversive satire instead of arse-wipe, meaningless abstract expressionism. Thankfully I got accepted into the Communications degree at University of Technology Sydney where I majored in Writing and Text Studies.)
|Eat the Kids.2012 - Toby Zoates|
|Pyrrmont Squats Wall Mural 1984 - 1989|
|My one and only book cover - 1980 - Toby Zoates|
|The Radicallty of Garbage - Pollies. 2015|
Recently, at the 2nd Redfern Biennale, with the theme of "The Radicality of Garbage", an old gronk in stubby shorts rushed along the exhibits and tore them down, screwing them up and throwing them into a dumpster, calling us all fuck-wits. Unknowingly he was going with the spirit of the show, improving on my effort, a political poster left to shred in the wind. The life of an artist can be like that, serendipity striking when it's needed most. I went and fished the works out of the bin, straightened them out and put them back up, and had a big laugh, for the old shit must've been gnashing his teeth that I had surfed the chaos yet again.
|My one and only record cover - 1985|
|Sadhu freak 2007- Toby Zoates|
When I'm fed up with the rat-race in the West I hit the road and live the life of a vagabond freak, wandering the world, mostly in India, far from the competitive crowd and I'm very happy and at peace for the few months I can break free.
On first hitting Sydney in 1977, after a five year stint in India, I got a job at a community center called Stanley Palmers where I put on Arts Festivals and taught silk-screen printing to the local streeties. In making this poster a turps-rag fell on a bar-heater and started a fire, spreading to other tins of paint and rags, which nearly burned the place down, us with it. Luckily one of the kids had the presence of mind to run for a fire extinguisher he knew of and put out the flames that were licking at my feet, no kidding!
The journey has been the buzz, the few beautiful personalities I met along the way, such as the women Fifi, Geraldine, Nicorette, Margaret, Nuala, Sybil and Nikki made life for me, behind the tears, ecstatic. And there were some cool guys too, Tony, Vanyo, David and Paul, and my Indian friends Iqbal, Umesh, Pankaj and Ravi, all of them straight, strange for a gay lib guy like me but it wasn't a matter of sexuality, it was all about heart. They are worth staying alive for, they are ART and KNOWLEDGE in the flesh.