I feel like I've been summarised and then pulled inside out. Not a very pretty or eloquent description but oh well. 

Art's finished, the exhibition went alright - though mine wasn't really a hub of creative joy what with my lack of coloured card and cloth and elaborate labels which everyone else seemed to deem necessary. Mr Benefer sat down and had a 'talk' with me about my art though which was ... refreshing, if critical, he basically said I only came runner up for the art scholarship because he wasn't going to give it to anyone who gave in a 2 year old portfolio because they were too bone-idle to make some new work. Fair enough. Instead of making me petulantly angry though, in that I-agree-but-don't-want-to-acknowledge-it sort of way, I think I might've taken it onboard. Looking at everyone else's art just really made me want to put in the effort ... I don't know, whatever. I need to work out how I'm going to get my steel frame home now though.

And on the subject of art: Richard Rodgers has an exhibition on at the design museum, yum. And Emily got accepted for the Hayley programme at the Bush which has her bouncing off the walls ... I really need to join Theatre soc. I miss drama a bit, I wish we were allowed to take it for GCSE.

But my justification for making a generalised post about my life was passover. My uncle decided we'd read in english now that he's the head of the household in order to educate us wicked and simple children and I was thinking about the slaying of the first-born. That final plague has always disturbed me more than any other account of mass killing and I only just discovered why. To my knowledge it's the only massacre where the victims have been slaughtered in accordance with their family context - does anyone know of any others? I mean how disgusting is that, to kill only in relation to the poor people who will be left behind. Just ... indescribably horrible.

And that's another thing I find awkward about passover with the family - I can never work out, as a non-Jew, whether I'm allowed to air these opinions or to make the passover jokes and criticisms which everyone else makes or whether it would be inappropriate coming from me. 

So I've analysed my creative 'soul' my religious 'soul' and that probably leads nicely into therapy. = P

HA HA HA. In your face Dad, the therapist agrees with me, now what will you do? Molly's therapy seems to be going really well, I think he gave her the task to compliment people and she's been smiling like a Romantic poet on acid.

Hm ... I forgot I had this. 

That's not really a very interesting start though so I think I'll prattle a bit about the play I saw yesterday. 

'Random' is just finishing up at the Royal Court this week and, unsurprisingly has been sold out for almost the entirety of its 6 week run. Its a 4 character soliloquy (It'll make sense in half-a-sec)  which starts off as a naturalistic urban comedy revolving around the morning rituals of an estate family: the proactive daughter, the kevin-and-perry style son, the mum with her cornflake and clothing anxieties and the (mostly sleeping) dad. It's thrown off half way through by the boy and is then preoccupied by the raging grief of the sister as she goes to ID the body with her dad. All of the parts were played by one woman, standing alone on the stage.

It was mostly incredible. Least that's what I thought, and it managed to use street slang without sacrificing description or making it desperately contrived - I should probably look up the playwright - but what really pissed me off and made me a little cynical towards the piece was the group of guys sitting behind us up on the balcony. There was the background music of shit R 'n' B ring tones offset by sniggering and normally I wouldn't even be that bothered (we were up in the cheap seats, you get used to the school-trip white-noise) but it was just ... what the hell? Evidently some poor, well-meaning school teacher had dragged them along in hopes of introducing them to theatre in a relatable context. And  whoever their teacher was was right. Because actually those guys were the precise target audience, if it was going to be anyone in that theatre, they'd be the people who random happens to - or  friend or a brother or sister. Of the 2 cases where I've actually known a relation/ex/friend of the victim it's all been in the same bloody social context - and yes the government is pathetic when it comes to the destruction culture south of the river - but why can't those morons actually listen for what, 50 minutes?! Yes, theatre going north-west Londoners'll get beaten up for their phones or their jumpers of whatever but really that's (apart from the odd psycho) the worst the happens. The pointless knifings and purposeless violence breeds in the south-east and frankly those fuckwits should have made the effort to try and engage.

I'm not even going to bother suggesting that courtesy towards the performer might have hinted to them to keep their mouths (and phones) shut.

I think 'Random' should've been done in Brixton Academy with forced attendance for community criminals. In the Royal Court it's preaching to the middle-class, socially sympathetic and curiously inept choir.  

Urgh - this is me avoiding art. When I'm avoiding art I get bitchy. I have 10 sketches to do ... I wonder if you can buy motivation at the 24-hour-newsagent. And sweet-potatoe gnocchi is weighing down my creative spirit *snort* and everything else. They're like lead pellets in my stomach - I should not try to cook. 

Anyway ... apart from botched trips to the theatre and bad Italian food this post is me offering a grumpy hello. I think between the social-ranting and my art comments I've pretty much covered my interests as for personal info - let's see what lj recommends I write here:

Bands: Bloc Party, Bob Dylan, Snow Patrol, Placebo, Architecture in Helsinki, Clogs.

Films: Fight Club, Spirited Away, Anything with Eva Green in it, The Man who would be King.

Books: Magical-realism and Christ Stopped at Eboli.

And now I've shared. Gold star if you got this far.