Flore Touil

I See You30*30 Acrylic Paint

Introduction My name is Flore Touil, I am a 3rd year Media and Entertainment Management student in The Hague, The Netherland.

From September until December 2012, I participated with the Erasmus programe. I did a Journalism minor at Robert Gordon University, Aberdeen, Scotland. Followed by two months working experience as a reporter at The Underground, an expat newspaper in The Hague.

Having had a little taste of the publishing industry, I would like to continue on this path. My goals are to land a six months internship in a marketing positing in the publishing world and hopefully write my thesis in the same field.

Writing and arts have become a hobby of mine, I want to learn more about those skills and perhaps be published.This portfolio is a compilationof my published work as well as my minor projects ( The Highland Paranormal and Graham The Cartoonist). I took the liberty to add my own artwork.

I hope you will enjoy leafing through these works as much as enjoyed making them.

ContentReviews

Painting Stuff

Paper Stuff

Interviews

Articles

Maison Indochine2 Graham The Cartoonist26Friends of the Family, O Merry Men20

Can Men and Women be “Just Friends”?3

Highland Paranormal12

Fair Phone5

Aangeschoten Wild6

Rolled Ikea11Cranes Away10Butterflies away10

Red Stripes4

Green Scratches19Craving fo Colour14 The origin of Light16

Chasing Tentacles8Red Sky4

The Idea Man27Blue Velvet25Druken Jealousy25

Brain Fumes24

Harold, Melinda, Jasper24

Comic Mickey30

Celine Fading13I See You

The Big Swoosh23

Dirty Blood

Maison Indochine Can Men and Woman Be “Just Friends”Chequita and Alvin Chan are the proud owners of Maison Indochine. This Bed & Breakfast, based in downtown The Hague has two rooms avail-able. Breakfast is served between 8.00am and 12.00pm. Guests are welcomed by friendly faces, kind words and helpful tips. However, this is not just about being hoteliers, for Chequita and Alvin it’s about the human experience.

Why the name?‘We wanted something that represented both of us’”. Chan comes from Australia but originally from Maleisie. Chequita has always lived in The Hague, but her family is originally from Indonesia. Indochine is a mix of both and a French word. They both love French style and Maison was added for the French touch.Upon meeting this couple, you notice their harmony and happiness and it is quite contagious. The Bird Room and the Golden Room are two cosy and glowing

spaces. They are very calm-ing and welcoming. I would say a home away from home only more ‘Chic’. They have a distinctive Asian vibe to them, with rich colours lanterns, and some French elements, such as the chairs. Chequita decorated the Golden Room and Alvin the Bird Room. Each room has its own character. The bird room is a bit busier than the other, with its bird patterned wallpaper. Some-how they fit together and, by being different, avoid the impersonal, cold hotel standard.

This B&B adventure started about two years’ ago. How?This is more Chequita’s baby than Alvin’s. She used to work for Shell but didn’t want to anymore. She didn’t want to have a boss either. The couple had experience in hospitality; it also fitted with their personal char-acter. The Bed & Breakfast came from there. They searched for an ideal spa-cious house for a year and then found it. They wanted somewhere away from the beach, which is already full of B&Bs. They settled for

a place that is 10 minutes from the centre. The neigh-bourhood offers the best restaurants of The Hague, little shops and a pleasant, quiet atmosphere.Welcoming people in your home, because that is the principle of B&B, is not for everybody. You can tell it’s for this couple. They are the kind of people who instinctively know what their guests are looking for; whether it’s a bit of quite or a nice chat, hanging out for breakfast, and so on.

They meet people from all over the world. Even people who live in Amsterdam and want to have a little get-away. Very romantic. Some of their guests come back regularly, so much so that they are like friends. An ex-ample is one of their regular guests who ”Comes into the living room and we share a beer and popcorn while watching a good movie”

It’s all about charming per-sonality, premium location and lovely rooms.

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Can Men and Woman Be “Just Friends”

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Who is right? Sally or Harry? Can men and women truly be friends? Can we interact with each other without flirting, or thinking about sexing each other up? Nothing more than platonic feelings. We have all asked ourselves the question. We have all discussed the question. And we have all fought over that question.

Instead of waiting for people to argue on the matter for an indefinite period of time, scientists took matters into their own hands, to find the answer to that mystical question once and for all. Platonic friends of op-posite sexes were invited to participate in a survey. They had to rank the level of attraction they felt towards their friends; say if they thought their

friends were attracted to them, etc. The survey found some interesting notions. Surprisingly, or maybe not, men and women’s views on the inquiry were drastically different.

Apparently men were more likely to be attracted to their female friends. They were also more likely to think that said friends would return those feeling. A tad self-assured, isn’t it? Meanwhile, women often stated not feeling any attraction whatsoever towards their counterparts, and also thought it to be the same for their men friends. Blind much?

A follow-up survey asked the sample if the evolution from platonic friends to being romantically in-volved would be a negative or positive change.

The trend tipped towards negative. Platonic friends, both male and female, thought it would be quite a hassle or awkward to switch from friends to lov-ers. However, among those who answered positively to the question, men were the majority.

Hollywood likes the con-cept of friendship evolving into love. It has a big drama factor. Nowadays movies are so influential that the notion of platonic friend-ship with the opposite sex is almost non-existent. In the movies, it always leads to romance, or at least sex. Imagine how anti-climactic it would have been if Harry and Sally did remain friends. Or if Justin and Mila didn’t do the dirty, there wouldn’t even be a movie. Whatever the surveys say, the supposed impossibility for members

of the opposite sex to be friends, will always be fueled by movies, series or books.

However, what does being “just friends” mean after all? Can you be just friends when the friendship and the feelings involved are a 100% platonic? As a person who develops crushes at an industrial rate, I like to think that even though I am attracted to some of my guy friends, we are still just that – friends. Is my definition of friends wrong? And also, if the definition is only based on this attraction, does it mean that bisexuals cannot have friends?

All in all, some say we can, some say we can’t. It’s a debate that will last forever.

The real question is: can we remain friends once the nasty has been done?

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Red Sky

Red StripesAfter us, the Deluge.

Oddly violent. Or strangely calming

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Fair PhoneMobile phones go through a complex process to end as high tech tools used almost every minute. Did you know though that this process, from mining the minerals to manufacturing the devices, involves human right violations and unfair profit distribution?Fair Phone wants to put a stop to the injustice by designing and producing a smartphone that respects and protect the people and the planet.

We’ve all heard about blood diamonds but what about blood phones? In fact, in Congo, many workers digging for days end stuck underground. They work in the risk of tunnels collapsing, drowning in a sudden flood. After being mined, the minerals have to be rinsed, sometimes by children no older than seven years old. Precious min-erals used in phones such as gold, tin and coltan help financing rebel groups making it an optimal environment for conflicts and violence. Do you still feel comfortable using your smartphone after knowing those facts?Fair Phones decided they would not stand for it anymore and took matter in their own hands to change those dreadful conditions. The initiative started in 2012 and the company already managed to use fair, near conflict-free tin, by talking to the miners, officials and investors. Fair Phones is now looking into fair trade for gold in South America, as well as better working conditions during the manufacturing process. It is a step by step pro-cess, needing tact and great negotiating skills.The objective is to design and produce 10.000 fair smartphones by the end of 2013. Fair Phones prefer to keep it small to avoid big investors stealing their freedom and corrupting their vision.

fights for human rights and environment

Red Sky 5

Heady, Bubbly, Overwhemingly Good

Aangeschoten Wild 2013The music was bouncing off the walls, people were mingling, laughing, dancing, relaxing. Creativ-ity was in the air. Paint on our fingers, rifle in our hands. Aangeschoten Wild was the festival to be at for an insanely good time. And by the power of Grey Skull, so much to do, so much to see!

We can safely say that this fifth edition of Aangescho-ten Wild was a resounding success. Hundreds of vol-unteers, dozens of bands and artist were hard at work for the festival goer’s pleasure. They really delivered.

I arrived there around 3.30pm, the music was already going, activities were set up and ready to go. The risk with arriving so early is that the party is not at full capacity yet, however you get to do activities that are later packed away to free the dancefloor. That is how I find myself in a blue disposable poncho, playing artist with a bunch of strangers. The principle is to brush the canvas, pause take a picture, add something, pause take a picture and so on and so forth. The result is a colourful animation of a piece of art painting itself. Stop Motion Action Painting.

Very dynamic and chaotic, so many people participat

ing with their own signature and style, very interest-ing to see. While holding the brush, I was questioned about what I was doing, before I can answer, the girl to my right says: ‘Shh, it’s art’.

Moving right along I go to the Jachthuis, where bands are playing. It’s Joe and the drummer, then it will be JATSH!’s turn. And boy does she pack a voice. Outside the snow is falling, but that does not stop people playing with a life size chess board for the brainiacs or the rifles for the actionmen. I have to admit I am quite proud of my target score, four out of seven in the middle rings. Not bad for a first timer. The material is courtesy from the Haagsch Studenten Schutters Korps.

Meanwhile, a band took place on the podium of the Muziekfabrik, it’s Mama Franko, and indeed they can make people dance. I feel my feet shuffling and my knees bobbing without my consent. I’ll just roll with it. Next door, a play is being acted out, while a girl is typing out compliments from her Compliment Booth to anybody who wants a little pick me up.

Anne Kemp, my contact person within the festival

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tells me a bit more about this festival. How Sint Jansbrug, the student club organising this event wants to give a boost to upcoming artists and bands. How within five years, this festival has developed the culture side of the festival. It is true that those smaller acts are now as important as the bands.

Throughout the years, Aangeschoten Wild keeps the same décor, there is always that checkers floor and the stairs with bean bags where people can sit back and relax. The theme is also the same, a little like a safari, wild. ‘There a theme within that theme though.’This year its Australia. Check out the kangaroo and the huge tribal mask in the Jachthuis. Anne made the mask. Be impressed, that thing is ginormous. Save the nine people part of the core committee, hundreds of volunteers are involve in the project, setting up the stage, lights, sound. Painting and making the décor. Finding the bands and acts. That is the result of student rolling their sleeves up I acommon effort to deliver something unique. The best of this festival is that there is something to see and do for all age and moods. Reggaeton to dance, punk-rock, poesy, arts.

There is always something to see and do. Look the

orchestra is beginning. I turn my head, my friend is crying to the music. ‘It’s just so beautiful’. I just wish I could duplicate myself to be able to see everything.

A friend of mine is speaking to two sassy looking ladies. One is holding the conversation and the other is doodling away, in the background Nina June is enchanting the puplic. What is going on here? This is another of Aangeschoten Wild’s trick and gift. De Opfrisdames weave through the party, flashy green skirt, polka dot blouse, red lipstick and charming ways. They engage the subject in a little chat. While one is talking the other draws about the conversation and subject. The result is a refreshing drawing about the subject’s ‘specialness’.

That night was truly memorable. I could ramble on and on about it. I think I already did. I don’t know about you but I sure will be saving my night for the sixth edition. Remember folks, Friday 28 March 2014.

Oh, by the way…

Is that man breathing fire?

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Chasing Tentacles

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Cranes Away

Butterflies Away

Let them fly.

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19*17 Origami Magasine

36*18 Origami Magasine

Rolled Ikea

Keep rollin’ rollin’ rollin’.11

52*37 Ikea Protection paper

Highland ParanormalHighland Paranormal: highly trained ama-teurs uncovering the unknown.Karma Lounge, even the name sounds obscure. The bar is decorated in black and red, giving a mystic vibe to the place. Chairs and couches are strategically placed around a screen. The couches have pieces of fabric thrown on them, the hippie type, washed off die and intricate designs. Celtic design, moons, starts, eyes.

The bartender has purple hair, a lip pierc-ing, one of those quirky panda scarfs that are not quirky anymore because everybody has them, they are just mainstream. She puts too much foam in the beer and in the lemonade too.………………..

mostly. A woman waits for her foamy beer. She looks around 55, well preserved. Laughing wrinkles frame her heavily made up spar-klingly blue eyes and her red mouth. Her bleached blond frail looking hair fall down her shoulder and her forehead is covered by a stiffly styled fringe.

She seems to have lived well. On her small hands, the skin is loose, marked by too much sun. On each of her long and slender fingers, there is are rings, big, with dark gems stones, interlacing snakes, or exotic looking plates of silver. She wears a long fur coat.

On one of the paranormal couches, a man

I’m famished, I order a burger. The Karma Burger Special, let-tuce, onion, tomato, pickles.

……………….The age average, 40. Females

Celine Fading

I see a young woman fading away, maybe the princess of hell... Others see a kiwi

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quietly lifts his bottle to his mouth. He has cropped short grey hair, almost hiding the fact that he is balding. He wears a non-descriptive beige jacket over a dark blue sweater with a white line above his chest, jeans and worn yet comfy looking Nike trainers. He is your average middle class Mister Everybody, save the fact that the bottle lifted regularly to his lips is a bright blue cocktail usually drunk by nervous looking 16 year old girls who snuck into-clubs with a fake ID.

Some of them are sitting on the special couches, others are clustered head bent together, whispering, as if organising a conspiracy against a greater a force. Very little laughs are heard.

game. Well not game, because this is no laughing matter. Black hoodies, hands in pockets, straight faces. Very professional.

A small guy, forehead shining, as much as the Rolex on his wrist, he wears a T-shirt with the organisation’s name on it, in fact the only one with a T-shirt and not a hood-ie, he is definitely the leader. He comes forwards. The room quietens downs, he has authority.

Official title: Inverness Team Leader. Name: Liam Shand.

“First we’ll have a little slideshow, with pictures and video and audio, we will

This is serisous business. ………………..

Highland Paranormal is the name, ghost hunting is the

Craving fo Colour

Deep down we are all the same. We are all looking for our little piece of colour.

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not talk about private cases because we have a confidentiality clause, then we will have a quick break. And we will show you our equipment. May I remind you that we do not do exorcism or any-thing like that.”

………………..

The slideshow starts; the image is huge, the pixels too. The first photograph is set in a club, with purple walls and a whimsical design on it. One team member is standing on the side, hands in pockets. What are we supposed to see? The untrained eyes cannot catch the subtleties just yet.

“Orbs.”“Orbs?”“Yes orbs.”“Do you know what orbs are?” Shake head.“They are manifestations of spirits only seen on camera, be it video or pictures.” Indeed, on two places in the image, there are white spots, perfectly round, approximately the size of someone’s hands.

Next picture, more orbs. Next one, some more orbs. Next: orbs. This first series of pictures was taken in a pub, The Skipinnish Ceilidh House. The owner and staff members reported weird shadows, footsteps, presence,

feelings of uneasiness. During the team’s investigation the Electromagnetic meter was going crazy, orbs were spotted, the smell as well. When walking under the arc of the underground pub, a team member smelled, a surgical odour, like a hospital, it was gone right away and would not come back, ever. Fun fact: it used to be an emergency hospital ward during the war.

That was the input of the electrical expert of the team. Official title: Lead Investigator. Name: Gary Davies. Mountain of a man, Gary. He is physically imposing, so much so that he struggles with the chairs. He started working with the team 2 years ago,

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when, in his electrical shop, he asked his 11 year old daughter to bring something in the cellar. She does it like an obedient little girl. Suddenly, a very long and high pitched yell resounds in the house.The girl screams all the way to the top of the stairs. In hysterics, whaling, trem-bling. She saw a ghost, a man passing in front of her, going right through the wall. Gary believe it was true, she would never lie.“And she’s not the best of actress”

………………..

My burger arrives. Heaps of fries. But in the burger bun, just the meat and some

grilled onions.“Sorry, sweetheart. We don’t have any toppings anymore, it’s ordering day. Sorry, honey,” that’s the chef and proud owner of this fine establishment, Dale.

………………..

The slide show continues. More orbs. They are the next hot stuff, those orbs. And look on that picture, there is a green tinted one. Those ones are rare, they are usually white. “It was interesting,” says Liam.

………………..

Next series of photos: Another pub, a

a table in a corner, blue chair, looking like your average pubs. The picture shows a blurry spot is hanging above the chairs. It looks like mist or maybe steam, the spot was hot, as if someone was sitting there. Next picture, same setting, the blur is gone.“No matter what we did, it wouldn’t come back, it was interesting.”The audience mutters in awe and ap-proval.

………………..

“Now we have an audio piece for you to listen.”A crinkling noise comes out of his lap-top, it sounds like white noise turned to

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loud, and then a mumbling. Purple Hair says we can hook it up to the big speakers and have a clearer sound. Dale, the owner/chef is the man of the situation. Cables are groped, plugged, the computer is fiddled with. The projector shuts off. Testing, testing. Nothing. All the heads in the bar are turned towards Liam and Dale. ”we are having a few technical problems, thank you for your patience”. Everybody is understanding, nods with a serious expression on their faces. Ten minutes later, “Sorry our sounds system doesn’t work anymore”. No audio footage.

………………..

Those are some salty fries.

………………..

The Ness Island, lots of stuff happening there. Mists, weird lights, orbs, EMF freaking out, changes of temperature by 5 degree Celsius. And Mike picking up things.Official title: Medium. Name: Mike Murray.Mike the Medium felt stuff; he is a highly sensitive and spiritual healer. He walks around until things let their presence know. In the darkness of that island, in between the tree on his way to the deep water of the river, he felt it, she was lying on his path, well her residual

The Origin of LightIt all starts somewhere.

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energy was, she answered to the sweet name of Ruth, and a certain Thomas was there as well. . And around that one bush, he picked up less friendly pres-ences; they were just up for a visit. Spirit can apparently get bored at times, dur-ing their eternal wandering in search of the thing that will send them to the next step. In the meanwhile they go for a road trip.Liam and Angela. Official title: Lead Analyst/Investigator/Liam’s wife. Name: Angela Shand. They were on that island with the rest of the team, walking a bit ahead, guided with the help of their equipment and by something to some-where. They arrive at a bush, suddenly a horrendous smell, and the worst smell

that could grace your nose, something like decay. They both smelled it. It was gone immediately; the rest of the team couldn’t catch it.“I decided I didn’t want to go any fur-ther towards that bush because of the smell.”Liam is a leader, and a careful one.

………………..

It’s break time.The half-eaten fries are brought back to the bar“Thank you.”

………………..

She’s around 60, plump and using a cane. Her eyes are very blue, hidden behind glasses and her pepper and salt hair fall on her shoulder down to her back in greasy lumps.“I expected to see more loonies here. I mean I am a sceptical about all this, but I saw something myself ” Did She?“I was coming out of the pub; it was my husband’s birthday. I was walking across the market place and all of a sudden there is a guy dressed as a rider. You know with a cape, armour, a sword and he passed by and went into that street. He was gone! And it’s a cul-de-sac! I literally shat my pants”Literally?

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Next to her, a thirty-ish year old mother of two. Very well dress, her yellow top matches the lining of her brown boots, which match her belt. Her black jacket echoes the boats on her yellow silky shawl. Her nails are manicured and painted bright red.“I smell smoke. And I don’t smoke.”She would be standing in a room and the cigarette smoke would surround her. Nobody else can smell it.“Maybe I am cursed,” she laughs.She looks at Gary with big hopeful eyes.

………………..

He is wearing army cargo pants, an old adidas tracksuit jacket, he has greasy

your children.”“Why is your daughter evil?”No answer.“When I was pregnant, we scanned my son’s brain. It was just the brain. It looked like there were 666 written in it, but it was just the brain.”Her family might be open to the inex-plicable and paranormal.

………………..

People are messing around with the laptop. We can check out the audio evidence. Angela is in command of the machine; her long shimmering purple nails expertly click and navigate the files. She has bright blond hair with

heir on his head, mid-long, a rat like face and a missing tooth in his small badly cared of mouth, he doesn’t open it often. His wife looks well groomed, natural make-up on, jeans and one of those plushy coats. They were at a wedding in a castle no-torious for its weird happenings. Their daughter was complaining about a man in the room. However the room was empty except for the women attending the wedding. Earlier on she told that her daughter got annoyed by a man in her room, there was no man.“My daughter is evil.” “I do believe that children see more than adults; that’s why I would never a use a Ouija board. They do things to

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brown roots, a long and delicate face. Like the rest of the group she wears the Highland Paranormal hoodie. On we go with the audio evidence; they use a small voice recorder. According to Gary, they are highly sensitive and pick up sounds that remain unheard to the human ear. As with the images an untrained person that is unfamiliar with the ways of the spirits might not be able to pick up the subtle sign of the paranormal.A lot of sizzling, indistinct noises that are apparently not remarkable, sud-denly the woman perks up. A small, short high pitch sound can be heard. It doesn’t really sounds like anything. It could have been an animal cry or the

wind making something move. How-ever the expert ears of the specialist can discern the meaning of the message, indeed it says “Mama,” it is being pro-nounces by a little girl. Angela becomes emotional. Being a mother she feels that something terrible happened to that child and should be helped. Cases involving children always get to her. She puts a hand on her heart, looking forlorn and out of breath.When asked what she would do if a spirit would follow her home, as they are known to do in movies.

She answered: “I’d probably cry.”

End.

Green ScratchesLayer upon layer. Scratched and scarred to see what’s

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O Merry Men

Gijs, Ramón, Koen, Alex, Arthur, Pascal, Camiel, They come from Schi-erotterhaagdam. they just met six months ago and already their band is on the rise. Mumford and Sons, Beirut, Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros are their influences. Throw in some of their own essence and you get Friends of the Family and catchy, enchanting tunes. I met them while they were shooting a video clip with Rockstone Sessions.

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street on our way to the new location, the Paleistuin. We look like a troubadour act walking, playing instruments, singing along the streets. Finally relocated, the filming starts after finally focusing this bunch of excited boys.

The groupies and I are asked to casually stand in the background. The music starts, and it is enchanting, torturous, in a way whimsical. And then, the words, sung by a smoke roughened voice, Gijs’, edgy! It has a small vibe of Mumford and Sons.

Cafe Cremers, famous coffeshop in The Hague is our destination. Mark Boulas, executive producer at Rockstone Sessions, leads the way. We invade the small café. Stoners look a bit freaked out by the herd. Can’t find a quiet place to roll a joint in peace anymore. There is a scene, and lights in the basement. Instruments are being unpacked, tuned, and plucked. The jam session starts. Oh wait.

‘We forgot the tambourine, do we have time to go and get it?’

‘No’

‘Anyone has €50?’

A couple of people run out. They come back, brand new tambourine in hand.For some obscure reason, the location is not adequate anymore. Instruments still out, bags grabbed, we exit Cremers. The jamming session just continues in the

Logic. It’s their common inspiration. Six months ago, before they all met, they were at an open mic in Rotterdam. Ramón was onstage playing The Cave with his guitar.

‘I immediately ran on stage and sung the secondary vocals’

That’s how it started. They all came to-gether around a loved band, threw some of their individual references and formed a band of their own. However they were all guitarists.‘And we are not The Eagles’

So they had master other instruments. You couldn’t tell that one of their man started learning how to play the banjo less than six months ago. Well he did. They all picked up some new sounds. Banjo, man-dolin, flute…Each member could be a one man band. Multiply that by seven, and you get an overwhelmingly good combo.

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big manic smiles on their faces. The pas-sion of the music, pure and simple. They really are a joyous bunch. And it’s what they want to communicate in their live performances. People who share their love for music and come together to exchange emotions , experiences, laughter. Their gig is a gig where you have to be and live with it, through your ears, eyes and whole body.

Finally finished with the shooting, we decide to head to Grote Markt for a

little chat. We take over a U-shaped bench. We all jam ourselves in there, groupies, guitars, band and reporter.

‘Who wants to drink what?’

Friends of the Family - what an odd name. There must be a story behind this. And there is. Several of them actually. After meeting, they were always at each other’s places, meeting parents and sib-lings; logically they are the Friends of the Family. Or, our seven musicians are the Family and the others are the Friend.

‘That is the perfect example’ says Alex, pointing to a street cleaner. The man, still in his bright orange uniform sits down on the low table in the middle of the U-bench, borrowed one of the guitars. He’s playing like mad, the banjo is following. One of the friends starts to sing. Friends

In between takes, the boys gather in small groups playing together, singing at each other, stomping their feet,

Mark reminds the boys that their band name should be mentioned at the begin-ning of the video. By luck, a friend of theirs has it tattooed on his thigh. And that naked thigh will be on camera.

‘You already have a die-hard fan!’

‘No, he got a free guitar out of it.’

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of the Family.Perhaps we are all Friends and music is our Family.

Wise words from Gijs.

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Death? Is that you?50*60 Acrylic Paint

Harold Melinda Jasper

Brain FumesA family of weirdos but a family nonetheless

Is there a way to stop it?

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Drunken Jealousy

Blue VelvetAlcohol+jealousy+paint2520*20 Acrylic Paint

13*20 Velvet balls, Glue

Graham The Cartoonist“Fuck it, I’ll become a cartoonist”.

That’s what Graham Murdoch told himself while contemplating the great paintings in the Rijksmuseum.

……………………

He is waiting for me at the bus stop, af-ter I got lost and had to call him to find my way back. Being the kind man he is, he gave me directions and collected me. There he was, leaning against the fence, dark trousers, beige rain jacket, cane in hand, and a weird green stain on his cheek, looking suspiciously like paint. His eyes are already full of laughter due to my poor sense of direction.

they were delightful.”He cuts the scones in two and spreads a healthy layer of butter. “I bought it at the local store; I don’t know if it’s any good”.We sit; him on the computer chair, me on the cushioned wicker couch, a rusty radiator in between us.

……………………

This place is how he met Sam. Sami is the man that he seems to come hand in hand with. The friend is as small and grumpy as Graham seems tall and joyful, an unlikely duo. He rented a room in here for three months. Graham would sleep on the couch, which

It’s a one bedroom flat he’s owned for 20 years. The place is surprisingly bare and dark for an artist. The broken white walls have the occasional cluster of papers pinned on them, numbers, references, and some drawings, the blue carpet is obviously just vacuumed, the machine still leaning against a cup-board full of comic books. Right by the entrance door, there is a table with bot-tles of paints and an unfinished drawing of a 1921 blue Cadillac on it, next to it, a computer mouse linked to a “PC who pretends to be a Mac, but really isn’t”.“I made cheese scones, this morning. Or tried to. This is an experiment. I hope they’re cheesy enough. I went to a café with a friend, we had scones and

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was different and bigger of course. Sam thought that Graham ate his food be-hind his back. But it was in fact the cat.“The cat?” “Yes, it would sneak into the cupboard and eat the food” “It had a very human like behaviour, you see. It opened the sliding door of the cupboard, eat my food and slide it closed again”“Snoody lived 20 years, he didn’t expect to live that long, me neither. I think he was rather confused, looking at me, “why am I still alive?” I think I kept it alive so it would live to be 21”“For his 18th birthday party, I had my rich friends over and they bought him fancy food, I used to buy him the

cheapest cat food”“Did he like the fancy food?” “Oh yes, he adored it, then he would look around, wondering where the food went and look at me as if saying, “you bought me shit all these years!””

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The man comes from Peterhead, well Mintlaw actually, but nobody knows it. He goes on Google maps, zooming in on the city. It’s a tough place, “if you want to make a Glaswegian man cry, you should put him in prison there.” Why is it so tough? “Because of the wind coming from Russia”. Graham takes a healthy bite of his scones and

The Idea ManLet them ideas shine 27

13*18, Acrylic Paint

enjoys it noisily.He didn’t go to art school after that; he went to the Shetlands, away from his dreadful parents. He worked with fish, all day and would drink all night. “There were a lot of Russian up there, they gave us little Lenin badges and cigarettes that tasted like tea!”. The place is way up north on the same level as the tip of Greenland. He drags the map over until he finds Greenland and laughs, delighted to be right.He opens a file on his not mac and goes through it. A lot of drawings and a lot of pictures. Pictures of France. He finds it to be a fantastic place. He got asked by a friend to go France with him in his student years.

then broken French, “jambe, amputée?”, she said “oui”. The next morning, he lifts the sheet and his leg is still here. He imitates himself, big eyes, shaking from fear, still high on drugs, he lift his pre-tend sheets with an unsteady hand, then deflate like an emptying balloon from relief and joy. He rolls up his trousers and there it is. Still reddish, as thick as a finger, slightly sunken in, going from his ankle up to his knee, it’s quite an ugly scar, not the tough kind, the nasty kind. “French surgery”. Another bite.Yes, but how come he went to art school? “Oh I send my application and I was accepted”, why did he choose art school. “For the girls of course!”

The timing was perfect, his dad wasn’t helping towards his education, he had to sleep on friends’ flat floors. The friend and him go to Manchester, first get a Deux Chevaux there and then head of to the South of France. The map comes up, drags it to an area around Marseille. “How long did it take?” “Too fucking long.”The friend partied and drunk all day and night. They had a car accident. Graham found himself in the hospital, in a room full of amputees and the white tiles on the wall were like “How do you call it? Bucher. Slagerij in Dutch, if remember well”. He was so scared, he tried to tell the female surgeon in his

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thought about which studies welcomed a lot of girls and there is where he went, he looks very proud of that, his eyes are sparkling, his lips form a big goofy grin and his arms are spread as if to share this absolute truth with the world. “Don’t believe it when boy say differ-ently, it’s always for the girls.”

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Girls is subject that seems a bit sensitive with Graham. On his computer, a photo pops up, a young lady with strawberry blond hair,quite pretty, holding a laugh-ing baby’s hand. That’s Dee. It was com-plicated with Dee. “Were you the other man?”, “yes” he says laughing wildly.

paint. In the background, a man can be seen from the side, long black hair “a wig of course”, red clothing, brandish-ing a sword. Graham played as an extra in The Highlanders for one week. “We had extra swordsmanship training” he says having his arms wildly, in a vaguely skilled fashion, imitating the stab and slashing of an imaginary weapon. “They had a crew protected Lambert from Glaswegian extras.”

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“Do you want another scone?” he wob-bles to the kitchen, cuts in two, spreads the butter. Scones, second round. Healthy, humming bite, butter on the

He changes subjects. Just like Sandy, “is she your wife?”, “No, we were never married”. They have a son though. He is 19 and starting medical school, just like his mother. When Graham met her, she was studying and dealing some hash on the side. She had a story with the roommate at the time. The kid is named Lorne, after a bed and breakfast, the last stop before he was conceived.

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Another photo pops up; it’s a picture from a journal. Christophe Lambert, a famous actor, is standing there look-ing glorious, intense and threatening, dressed as a Scotsman, kilt, fur and blue

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upper lip.

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How long did it take to finish uni? “Too fucking long”. He adds that he was kicked out. He looks at me with big round eyes, bushy eyebrows up to his hairline, and small pout on his lip. People into cartoon had more of a challenging spirit. For a school expedition, instead of bringing a painting kit, he brought a frying pan. “A big frying pan”, he holds his hands very wide apart. Why? “For an Indian frying experiment.”“The dean said they were indulgent enough with the cripple”. And that’s

that.

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Graham has a tattoo on his forearm. It’s a bluebird, around five centimetres long, two centimetres big, the colours are washed out but the edge clear and in good condition. It looks like a tattoo a marine would have. The man worked for shelter for the homeless as a kind of bouncer “yes, a bouncer, brilliant”, pleasantly surprised by this description. He would check for illegal alcohol and dead bodies in morning. “Did you find some?”, “One”.One morning he went to open a storage room, the door was jammed so he

Comic MickeyComic-ception

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250*170 mural, Comic book pages

that freckle!”, the bird is delicately arch-ing its beak up towards that small dark dot on a thin wrinkled arm which was once upon a time tanned.“You had quite a few odd jobs.” “yes”.Since his accident in France he couldn’t go anywhere and he decided to shake himself and travel once again. And that he did, to the Netherlands for the pickles, France for the wine. That that was hard on his back, “France is a pain-ful mistress, une maitresse painible”, laughter, “was the wine any good?”. The owner would say that the wine was as good as the next one, nothing special, maybe even worse. And still in France more recently, on a motorbike. Google map appears to show an area near

Avignon. A picture pops up; the man is sitting there with a friend, at a wooden picnic table, sun on his red face, wind in his hair, a content smile on his lips, just happy to be alive, content.The motor bikes are in the background, three of them. His is in the middle, surprisingly small for a man his size, cherry red. “It was so adorable and fast” he says with a touch of nostalgia in his voice, “I sold it to the bloke taking the picture I think”. It was a nice area, “I’ll show you on the map if you want”.Graham might not be able to go touring in France on a motor bike this summer. Three month ago his muscles started freezing, sometimes the right leg, or the left, even his hand. That’s why he is car

pushed quite forcefully, he looked into the room and there was a man “pants down his ankles, his legs were bend like an accordion”. Graham looks at me for too many seconds and gives me his version of a roaring laughter: a high pitch still manly giggle accompanied by a whizzing sound. “I am not joking; you couldn’t make something like that up!” The tattoo? “Oh right, yes, sorry!” During that job, nobody listened to him. All the other guys had tough tat-toos, he decided to get one, “not that it changed anything in the end”. When he went into the shop, all the designs were tough, “hammers, knifes, skulls, I didn’t like them”. He decided for the bluebird, and “it looks like it’s trying to gobble up

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on Google.com, he types with two fingers, eyes focused on the keyboard, the results are not conclusive, he did spend three month there in the pickle industry, he can sprout Dutch words like he did for the past two hours. “three month now and I’d be fluent”, I do see on the map where the castle is supposed to be. That pickle “augurken” time is around the time he went to the Rijks-museum, he still seem to be astonished and flabbergasted by the talent dis-played. Once again, self-imitation, a 22 year old Graham takes his head in his hands and moans “I’ll never be good by the time I’m 25”, completely distraught in front of Rembrandt’s Nachtwacht.

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“What if you finished university?”“I’d probably be married and working for the oil and gas industry, designing warning signs. If the man is green, he is dead.” Graham burst into his distinc-tively loud giggle.

End.

rying his therapeutic cane around. It’s aluminium grey, with a black handle, it makes a little “tic” noise every time it touches the ground, all in all, an ugly thing. Today it’s the left hand, he lifts it up. It would be a beautiful artistic hand, delicate and long fingers, trimmed nails, some aging spots and freckles on a slightly wrinkled skin, if it wasn’t for the puffy fingers, all swollen up.The hand looks like a baby’s hand, full of baby fat, not long and elegant anymore but chubby and unpractical. It shakes slightly, as if the effort to even wiggle the sausage like fingers is too much. It seems painful to even type on the keyboard, Trompenburgh’s castle, that’s what we are looking for. Click as

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Dirty Blood

30*30 Acrylic Paint