The Impossible Place

Studio IMP 24

2012-01-14T18:11:00.001-08:00

-

-

-
Not quite ready to get back on the horse but we are thinking about it...
-

Studio IMP 23

2011-11-30T22:00:00.000-08:00

-

64 page Zine
Limited edition of 80
The Impossible Place presents - Miscreants No.1
Signed and numbered
Email us if you want one
-

Studio IMP 22 - Gin soaked

2011-10-22T21:34:00.001-07:00

-

-
Gin soaking a page of text prior to scanning and incorporating into our next publication
The Impossible Place
Miscreants 1.
It's a 68 page wonder sketchbook incorporating images and some random text.
Check it out at Supanova Brisbane (4 - 6 November 2011).
http://www.supanova.com.au/
-

Studio IMP 21 - Doe

2011-10-15T23:06:00.000-07:00

In the city the concrete hurts my feet. Thousands of purposeful little steps but my stride lost. These things on my head grow, they weigh me down, make me less agile. Perhaps they are in my head, grown inward like roots. I listened to every word … who was I to doubt it was the truth? But maybe it was always a myth, a Cinderella fantasy. But if I can picture it mustn’t it be there?

Studio IMP 20

2011-10-01T17:29:00.000-07:00

-
The theme of this post is 'it's not just because we're slack asses'.

Justification? Possibly... but aside from the fact that we have been super busy in our day jobs and personal life we've also been burning some time considering where we want to take The Impossible Place from here. It's an evolutionary phase.

So for the moment we are focusing on putting new publications together. We haven't completely given up on the work-in-progress idea of the blog and may decide to go back to it at some point. But in the mean time, we'll be using the blog for more random posts, rough drawings and musings such as this, and of course, information about the new publications and at which Cons you can find us!

Thanks for your support and if you ever feel like chatting - come see me on Twitter @IMPGirl
-

-

Sketchbook - 25

2011-07-05T21:52:00.000-07:00

-

-

-

-
Thanks for all the support in Sydney
These are some new images perhaps for our next publication
See ya soon (well soonish)

Title - 19

2011-07-05T21:48:00.001-07:00

-

-

Studio IMP 19

2011-06-16T17:13:00.000-07:00

-

-

-
I'll be hand painting these for you in Sydney. See you there.

Studio IMP 18 - More Supanova

2011-06-12T17:44:00.000-07:00

-
We haven't been as prolific with the posts as we would have liked, but lots going on behind the scenes.

Wanted to say a huge thank you to everyone who bought copies of The Impossible Girl 1 at Supanova Brisbane and Melbourne. We were very humbled by some of the wonderful comments and awesome feedback.

All of the book buyers from Bris and Melb Supanova went into the draw for the original IGirl painting - we drew it randomly in May and the painting has since found its way to the winner's home - congrats Candace from the Gold Coast who bought a book in Brisbane.

In other news we will be attending Supanova Sydney next weekend (18 - 19 June) as well!

So if you're going to be at Sydney Supanova please come and visit us!

Chris is able to attend Sydney Supanova thanks to the support of his RADF grant. The Regional Arts Development Fund is a Queensland Government through Arts Queensland and Logan City Council partnership to support local arts and culture.
-

Impossible Girl - 41

2011-05-26T21:35:00.000-07:00

-

-
The apartment felt violated. A chemical residue lingered in the air and the cushions on the couch were in the wrong spot. Put in place by someone who didn’t know where they belonged.

She opened her wardrobe and imagined gloved hands touching her clothes, checking the pockets and lining, looking for clues… evidence of wrongdoing.

The Impossible Girl sat on the bed and kicked off her heels. What the f&*k was she going to do?

A bottle of duty free vodka was sitting on the top of her luggage so she unscrewed the cap and took a swig. It took about a millimetre of the edge off. She wondered if Rowan had anything stronger in his special guitar case but then remembered the police search. Detective B*#chface would definitely have mentioned it if they had found anything illegal in the place. The blue fairies? There had been almost a full box and the prescription was legal but a quick search told her they too were gone.

She took another swig of the vodka and sat back down. Thinking of the fairies made her think of her own need. Something had changed since the night with Marc and Belle. The urge was gone. Indefinitely? The Impossible Girl had no idea what was going on but her skin had been fabulous all week and there was no itch, no climbing the walls feeling of emptiness.

From day four of Tokyo Fashion Week she had been preparing for the compulsion to strike, but it never did. Two and a half years on and the disease just disappeared? She hadn’t been able to bring herself to believe it and the thought of the long haul flight made her nervous. On her last night in Tokyo the Impossible Girl had returned the advances of a drunk Japanese male model.

They ended up in her room. He was surprised but also excited when instead of fellating him, she had punctured his inner thigh and sipped from a plump vein beside his scrotum. She’d kicked him out soon after dick in hand. He probably thought she was a freak but it didn’t matter, his lips were sealed. He was engaged to be married to a very lovely girl from a prestigious family.

Had it even been necessary? What the hell was happening? She wanted the truth and she wanted Rowan but it didn’t look like either of them was coming home to her. All she had was a litre of duty free vodka and even that was now half gone. A fat tear rolled down the Impossible Girl’s cheek. She got up to brush her teeth and gurgled with another shot.

Her phone rang just as she fell into bed.

‘Mmmmmm..’

‘It’s me…. God you sound f*#ked up’
-

- -

Sketchbook - 24

2011-05-02T18:28:00.001-07:00

-

-

Impossible Girl - 40

2011-04-13T21:54:00.000-07:00

-
-
-
Arriving home to a sh*#storm
Conversation # IG (IGirl) DB (Detective Beekhuyzen) DD (Detective Daniels)

DB: Do you want a coffee? We got you a coffee. Are you comfortable?

IG: Of course I’m not comfortable.

DD: We understand you have been in Japan for the last nine days?

IG: What’s going on? Am I accused of something?

DD: When was the last time you spoke to your boyfriend?

IG: I want to know why I’m sitting in this room instead of in a taxi on my way home.

DB: Your apartment has been searched.

IG: What? DB: Detective Daniels?

DD: A search warrant was issued as part of our investigation.

IG: What investigation?

DD: A woman’s body has been found. She was last seen getting into a taxi with your boyfriend. Items of interest were collected from your apartment.

IG: Wha.. who is she?

DD: We’re not at liberty to divulge that information.

DB: Do you know how to contact Rowan Bark?

IG: No! He’s not answering his mobile.. if he’s not in the apartment I don’t…

DB: Are you aware of your boyfriend’s fetish for spiking and sucking blood from his sexual partners?

IG: I want a lawyer.

DB: We simply want you to co-operate in our investigation.

IG: Rowan is into a lot of things Detective but he wouldn’t kill anybody!

DD: What about you? Are you into the same things?

IG: F&%^ this, I want a lawyer!

DB: Can you give us any information pertaining to the whereabouts of Rowan Bark?

IG: I haven’t spoken to him for a week! God what if something has happened to him?

DB: We’re as keen to locate him as you are. When exactly did you last speak to him?

IG: It… it was late, after my show opened on the 6th.

DD: He called to congratulate you? IG: Not exactly… kind of.

DD: Which was it?

IG: We had a fight ok.

DB: Was he very angry?

IG: I’m not saying any more until I get a lawyer.

DB: No need. You can go. IG: What about my apartment?

DB: It’s been secured. We don’t consider it a crime scene at this time. If you have any concerns you can contact my office.

IG: So that’s it?

DB: For the moment. If you hear from Rowan notify us immediately. Likewise if you plan on leaving the city for any length of time. Here’s my card.

DD: One more thing. We’ll be making a statement to the media later in the day. Rowan’s name will be released as a person wanted for questioning pertaining to the case.
-

Studio IMP 17

2011-03-29T02:28:00.000-07:00

Supanova Brisbane - 1st to 3rd of April and Melbourne - 8th - 10th of April. I'll be hand painting these for the fans.

Studio IMP 16 - Supanova

2011-03-06T21:16:00.000-08:00

-
We've been a bit slacko on the posts lately... super busy... but that brings me to point of this post - Supanova.

Chris and I have an artist table at Supanova Brisbane - 1st to 3rd of April and Melbourne - 8th - 10th of April. We will have books available for sale, each book will come with an IGirl art print (if you've bought a book already, bring your book and come see us, we'll give you a print - promise!). Plus each sale will receive an entry into our competition to win an original artwork. There will be some artwork on display and for sale plus Chris will have some portfolio drawings, not for sale but for a squiz if you're interested! We'd love to see you there! Tickets for both events are on sale now... of course it's not just us you're coming to see;) Check out the Supanova website!
-

-

Brooklyn Half - 6

2011-02-12T21:12:00.001-08:00

-

-
Brook crawled out her window and onto the fire escape. A cold breeze and a wailing siren drifted towards her. Anger had replaced her fear and now exhaustion replaced her anger. She looked out over the lower east side street and hoped the cold would clear her mind. Still, she felt haunted and watched. She couldn’t avoid the feeling that there was something out there... something that was looking and waiting for her. She pulled up the bandage over her ears and felt the ugly stiches. More tears fell and dried on her face and an image of her mother flicked into her head. She thought about what Shaun had said. Could it really be her?

‘It’s not your mother,’ sounded in her mind.

The fire escape began to reverberate. She turned around to see who was coming down.

‘Woouff, woouff’

‘Get that thing Toro’

‘Reeeowwwwwn…..Hissssss’

Mrs Simpkins hairless cat landed on her leg, clawed up her shirt and clung to her chest and shoulder.

Ahhh, F!@#!

Benji from number four and his Great Dane thundered down next, taking the stairs two at a time. Fluffy sheltered against her, tensely clawing her skin as they stormed past.

‘Hey kid’ he said.

‘Jeez Benji,’ she muttered.

‘That cat is one ugly little critter isn’t it?’

He didn’t wait for her response and Brook was left trying to prise the cat off her shoulder.

‘Reee hisss’ the cat spat after them

‘Ahhh, Fluffy you bitch get off.’

She sat back down unplucking its claws and placing it on the stair beside her.

It sat quite still and calm now

She put her hand under her shirt feeling the welts.

‘Ignorance is the greatest ugliness’

She sat quietly stunned. It was as if she had thought the words rather than heard them. They were in her head, but the words were not her own. She looked about frantically.

‘IGNORANCE’ the word resonated in her head like a gong.

She looked down at the cat now and it fixed her with a steady gaze, as if it was reading her reaction. She’d flipped. Without a doubt. Brook shut her eyes as tightly as she could and counted to twenty in a panic. When she opened them again the cat was still sitting beside her, looking patiently up at her.

“He is ignorant. You are ignorant.”

Sane people probably ignored it when a cat spoke to them. Brook thought this was the best approach.

‘And it’s not your mother.’

It was looking right at her. Skinny and bald with absurdly large ears and it was reading her mind and communicating with her.

‘What you see is a cat. To believe only what you see is ignorant.’

‘This isn’t happening, I’m not listening’ It was all Brook could think of to say, she was losing her mind. It was being taken away from her.

‘What is mind? Where can it go? Is it a possession? How can it be lost? How can it be taken?’

‘You’re Mrs Simpkins cat Fluffy; you’ve lived across the hall for as many years as I can remember.’ And now she was arguing with it. Jesus.

‘So certain of that which you are uncertain.’

‘Cats can’t talk.’

‘Exactly, and since we are communicating now your own rational deduction would suggest the truth, that I’m not a cat.’

Brook looked down at the cat and realized, however f*#ked up, the little critter had a point.

‘Rational deduction would suggest I’m a fruitloop.’

‘Human deduction would suggest that. And you are only half, Brooklyn. It will take a while to explain and it is now necessary that I do.’
-

-

Deather's Eight Reprise

2011-01-14T22:47:00.000-08:00

-
-

I don't feel comfortable talking to you

Unless you got the zipper fixed on my shoe
-

Impossible Girl - 39

2011-01-14T02:08:00.000-08:00

‘Good afternoon Ma’am, I’m Detective Beekhuyzen and this is Detective Daniels of the New South Wales Crime Squad. We need to ask you a few questions. If you would just follow us please.’

The Impossible Girl hadn’t expected a reception at the customs exit. She’d deliberately avoided telling anyone her change of flight details, especially Roly - brand manager, leak pimp & PR genius extraordinaire. Privacy and the space to think, outside of the craziness and pressures of work, was what she desperately wanted.

And she definitely hadn’t expected a reception like the one she was getting. Two plain clothes detectives, badges hanging in the pockets of bad suits, addressing her by her legal name.

‘What? I don’t have anything to declare.’

This isn’t a customs issue Ma’am. If you’d just like to come with us.’

‘I don’t understand. Is something wrong, is someone hurt?’ The Impossible Girl was shaking.

‘We just need to ask you a few questions, probably best if we do that in private hey?’

She followed the detective’s gaze to a girl standing with her back to the carousel, holding her iPhone up to them. Shit.

‘What about my luggage? I can’t understand why I wasn’t phoned.’ She checked her messages as she said it, just a text from Roly, nothing about the police.

‘Someone will collect your luggage.’ It was the first time the female detective had spoken, she had her eyes on IGirl’s mobile, looking like a cat ready to pounce.

‘Is Rowan alright?’ It didn’t add up, if Rowan had been hurt someone would have called her, but, Oh God, maybe they knew about… maybe someone had…

‘As far as we know yes, but we should discuss this in the station. Shall we?’

The Impossible Girl allowed herself to be led away. She kept her head low and her hand up as the girl who had obviously recognized her continued to video.

-

-

Brooklyn Half - 5

2011-01-10T00:32:00.001-08:00

Even on the crowded street Brook was afraid. Her shadow took on elongated shapes, like a monster poised to attack but when she turned to look there was nothing. Nothing but lower east side New Yorkers going about their business. If there was something after her it was biding it’s time, awaiting its opportunity.

She was two hundred metres from the apartment block when her nerves cracked and she burst into a sprint, pounding the pavement until she reached her front door. As she pushed her way through the buildings entrance she felt a chill, like the touch of an ice cold hand across her back. But the door closed firmly behind her and remained shut.

Still, as she stared at the brass deadlock she could have sworn there was someone or something on the other side staring just as intently.

Adrenaline launched her up the stairs and into the apartment in record time. Back to the door, her heart pounded for the waiting minutes until the fear subsided, until she was sure no one had followed.

Judd wasn’t in the lounge or kitchen. On the carpet beside the couch was an open bottle of whiskey, three quarters gone. It hadn’t been part of the décor when she left.

Great, she thought, her fear boiling into raw anger, if Hollow legs the social worker decides to drop in now I’ll be in a foster home quicker than Judd could down the rest of the bottle.

She found him in his studio, mixing paint on a new canvas. He was in his old painting shorts and flip flops. His face slack from the alcohol but his eyes burning with that obsessive fever he always got.

‘Hey babycakes,’ he said when he saw her standing there. ‘How was your afternoon?’

Brook wanted to scream at him that she was losing her mind, being chased around Manhattan by monsters and that she needed him to be sober, to be anything but what he was. She was never very good at saying how she felt though.

‘Apparently not as fun as your's,’ Brook said, holding up the bottle she had carried into the studio with her.

‘I’m working honey, I’m just having a couple of looseners.’ He was drunk enough to be defensive, not drunk enough to be contrite.

‘Well I doubt Mrs Holloway would see it like that if she was here.’ Brook struggled to hold back the tears for the second time that day.

‘You don’t understand. This…’ he pointed to his painting then, ‘this is for you, I need to do this…. to protect you.’

To protect her? He has no idea, she thought.

‘And how do you expect to protect me when I’m in a foster home!’

The bottle dropped out of her hand and rolled across the floor. Judd followed it with his eyes as if willing it not to break. He cared more about the stupid whiskey than he did about her. She stormed out of the studio, slamming the door behind her.
-

Deather's Eight

2011-01-09T22:58:00.000-08:00

So Ted Nugent you’re the hottest offworld sportstar playing the hippest, deadliest game on Mars. The women of all three worlds want you. You’ve got teenage girls panting and screaming for you and young boys and men idolizing you. What do you say to your fans?

Uh… Hi, I guess

You had a lucrative career as a federation pro-ball player back on Earth, the Lunar colony allegedly put six figures on the table for you to play golf with them but instead you chose to abandon it all and go play Deather's Eight on Mars. Why?

Uh… Sam, you know I don’t really think about things that way

Well Ted most people would say that walking out on the death fields of Mars with an eight ball is madness. Especially if you have options, I mean most Deathers players are generations in debt and just trying to win their lives back, but you..?

Well I got nothing but respect for those folk who walk out on the fields with me whatever their reasons. But I don’t know… I guess it’s about freedom.

Yeah yadda, yadda, yadda. Tell us about those shoes?
-

Title 18

2011-01-09T22:53:00.000-08:00

Sketchbook - 23

2010-12-30T16:09:00.000-08:00

-
-

Michael Moorcock's Corum
-

Impossible Girl - 38

2010-12-23T22:10:00.001-08:00

-
You have to talk to me eventually
Conversation #IG (IGirl) #RBVM (Rowan Bark Voice Mail)

RBVM: It’s Rowan. Leave a message and maybe I’ll get back to you.
IG: It’s me again… I guess you’re not getting back to me…
IG: I know you’re angry but we need to talk…
IG: I’m ringing back… Please pick up…
BEEP
RBVM: It’s Rowan. Leave a message and maybe I’ll get back to you.
IG: F*&k Rowan… don’t do this to me…
IG: You have to believe I didn’t know… I still don’t… but I want to… I want to know what’s going on. Don’t you?
IG: You have to talk to me eventually…
IG: My flight gets in Monday morning, please be home.
BEEP
-

-
For the Impossible Girl label Tokyo Fashion Week 2010 was a phenomenal success. Big time pay dirt according to Roly. Orders and opportunities were flocking in from all over the globe. Another year of this and they could start shopping for real estate in the Seychelles… hardly but still it was good, very good.

People were finally taking her seriously. She wasn’t just an eccentric ex-model pimping for the limelight with her exhibitionist behaviour, her collection spoke for itself. She should be ecstatic, sharing her success with Roly and the girls, not trudging along alone in her gutters of self doubt and misery.

The streets of Tokyo, normally so vibrant and alive, felt stale and dead to her now. Her retail therapy had achieved nothing, glossy bags of vintage Jun Takahashi hung from her fingers and, nothing. Even the people were cold. It was as if they could see through to the core of her shame and they wore their disgust like a shroud. A young Harajuku couple broke off their kissing and returned her stare. Everything she looked at was an ominous reminder of the night with Mark and Belle. Their blood...

With eyes down the Impossible Girl didn’t see the boy until she had ploughed right into him on the busy Shibuya street. She mumbled ‘Gomennasai’ and was on the move again when his words struck her from behind like a stake.

‘Nukekubi, Nukekubi Kono Ama!’

Where had she heard those words before? It came to her with a chill, Belle crouched above her, blood dripping from her chin as she grinned and uttered that exact phrase.

Vampire, You Vampire Bitch.

When she turned around the boy was just a head in a sea of pedestrians. His insult apparently nothing more than the outburst of an angry teen.

But by the time she closed her hotel room door she was in tears. Every molecule in her body screamed at her to get out. She needed to get back home… would it still be there for her?
-

Brooklyn Half - 4

2010-12-17T22:26:00.000-08:00

-
‘Is this like in Grade 4 when you wanted revenge on Hammy the Hamster for pissing on your bag?’

‘No! It’s not like that. Can you to listen to me?’

‘Alrigh, alrigh, I’m listening.’

Brook felt like she was losing it. Her heart was thumping and she couldn’t keep her feet still.

‘I cut the tops of my ears off and I don’t regret it. These bandages are coming off and I’m going to be normal.’

‘I hate to be the one to tell you this sister but you aint acting very normal.’

‘It’s not my ears, there’s someone after me,’ she blurted out.

‘Those bitches in your class again? Coz you know…’

‘No, not them,’ Brook cut him off. ‘It’s something different. I was attacked in the hospital.’

Shaun was looking at her weirdly. She knew what she was saying sounded crazy but couldn’t stop it.

‘It was a boy, he jumped me. It’s hard to explain. He disappeared right after.’

‘Where were the nurses? Wasn’t anyone around?’

Shaun had dropped his try hard South Bronx slang and was speaking like the son of the mid Manhattan African American judge that he was.

‘No. And they don’t believe it happened. The doctors say I dreamt the whole thing.’

‘But you don’t think you dreamt it?”

‘It was real. I swear it Shaun. And look at this.’ Brook pulled open her jacket and sweater to reveal red welts across her right shoulder. ‘They didn’t come up straight away. Not until I got home.’

Shaun was looking at her shoulder with concern but didn’t say anything.

‘And now there’s someone stalking me. Every time I leave the building I feel like I’m being watched. And followed.’
-

-
He didn’t speak straight away. Had that serious look on his face, the look he got when he had something on his mind but didn’t know how to say it.

‘Look, I don’t know what happened in the hospital. But this stuff about you being watched, have you thought maybe it’s your Mum,’ he said eventually.

‘My Mum?’ Brook was lost for words. She couldn’t believe he’d said it. That topic had always been taboo. Shaun knew that and up until this moment he had always respected it.

‘Maybe she heard about your ears and was worried and doesn’t…’

‘My mother walked out on me thirteen years ago. She couldn’t give a stuff about my ears,’ Brook cut him off. She was fighting to keep the tears back.

‘Don’t hate me for this but I need to tell you something.’

‘Tell then,’ Brook said, focusing her gaze on her shoe.

‘There was this time years ago when we were playing in the Wild West. I saw this lady watching us. She had ears just like yours.’

‘And?’ the tears had swollen up in her eyes and were spilling down her cheeks.

‘And I never mentioned it because I knew you would go all mental but it was weird. What if it was her? Maybe she’s been keeping tabs on you all along but is afraid to contact you. Maybe it’s her following you now.’

The floodgates were open. This conversation had taken a turn she hadn’t expected and definitely wasn’t ready for. And it was all her fault. She started it. It was her fault that she was probably losing her best friend. Maybe it was her fault that her mother left and her father was a crazy drunk.

She was going back to the dark place. The alone place where the only relief from the pain came from physical hurt. Physical hurt from self inflicted cuts.
They would say she caused the cuts to her shoulder. It was probably what Shaun thought already.

‘I’ve gotta go,’ she said getting up.

She used every inch of her self control to stop herself from running. When she got to the gate Shaun was still sitting on the bench, staring miserably at the dogs going berserk in their run.

Neither of them noticed the shadow that crept from behind a huge Elm and followed her out of the park.

Sketchbook - 22

2010-12-17T22:21:00.000-08:00

Black Heaven 6

2010-12-15T17:19:00.000-08:00

-
I'm casting for the lead role in my imagination
TOURK BLAKE
He's me
Like my avatar on another plane of existence
V Cool
-
-
So this first guy comes along and he's like whatever
He's all shakespearean and s%#$
He keeps wanting to know what his motivation is
I shout at him from my directors chair
"You're in the desert, your hair's all Leif Garrett, your leg is your sword and you're wearing a cool ass black tracky. That's your effing motivate dude."
And he still all pale hook nose skywalker ranch whatever
"CUT"
-
-
This next guy comes along and is all handsome and stuff
He seems comfortable in the tracky
He doesn't ask me anything
He just kind of acts all sucky at being hero or something
And then he's kind of forgetable in a Steven Dorff kind of way
So I forget him
-

Then there's this crazy f#$%ing Estonian guy
He just runs on set grabs the sword which is his leg and shouts
"My Fatherland, My Happiness and Joy"
And starts stabbing s#$%
And I'm all like woah dude
And he's like stabbing at the sand and the props and he's really into it
And I kind of like him
And he's wearing these cool shoes with the tracky that didn't come from wardobe
But then I think of the accent and all the over dubbing we'd have to do
And I'm less keen
I guess I'll have to keep on looking
-
I wonder if we can actually get someone with a real third demon arm?
That would be way cool
-

Brooklyn Half - 3

2010-12-10T21:49:00.000-08:00

-
Tompkins Square Park is full of conscientious dog walkers, hipster students and pram pushing parents. At 3.28pm on a Thursday afternoon there is absolutely nothing to fear from this gentrified plot of recreational land. So why couldn’t Brook shake the sensation that she was being watched? The Elm trees that had soothed her in her childhood suddenly felt sinister.

She sat on a bench seat next to the dog run waiting for her friend Shaun who was running late. Nothing unusual there, he was always late and Brook usually compensated by turning up fifteen minutes late herself. But today she couldn’t stand to be at home, with her Dad brooding and angsty and trying to remain sober, trying to be strong for her, his wayward and possibly deranged daughter.

They had sedated her and when she came to, told her that there was never anyone sharing her hospital room. That she had dreamed the conversation with the boy and then woken up afraid and confused. A not unusual side effect of the pain killers and all of the emotional pressure.

Brook could tell that behind the rationalization and concern they thought she was mad. ‘Kookie’ as her friend Shaun would say. She couldn’t really blame them. First the ears and then the attack. And what she hadn’t told them was even weirder. Even in her terrified state she had known enough to hold that back.

When the pain had dulled enough they put her through the psych ringer. She lied her way through three separate evaluations before they let her go home with Judd. And even then she had a newly assigned social worker to keep tabs on them and an appointment with the psychologist every other week. She could tell Judd was pissed about this but he was doing his best to handle it and didn’t seem to blame her. Judd said he blamed himself. Brook thought the only thing he was to blame for was not letting her have that stupid operation years ago.

Once she was home the whole thing seemed less real. Maybe she had dreamed it. Or maybe she was as crazy as they all thought. She was Judd’s daughter after all, it was probably genetic. About time she started seeing demon boy apparitions.

And now the squirrels were making her nervous. A particularly beady eyed black one was making its way toward her bench. She reached into her bag and found her can of mace and then Shaun finally turned up.

‘Wassup earless,’ he said as he sat down next to her. “Go on show me. That’s some f#$%ed up s!@# right there. What’d you use to get’em off?

She slapped his hand away. In a normal situation she would have jibed straight back at the unfunny prat but things definitely weren’t normal right now.

“Oh, oh, oh. You know I love you, I always got your back, but damn girl, you really walkin on the wild side with this s!@#.”

‘Knock it off. Do you see that squirrel?’ she hissed.

‘I can see a fricken hundred squirrels, the damn rodents are everywhere… c’mon wassup with you?’

It had disappeared, Blackie was gone and the squirrels rummaging around the trees were once again just innocent vermin making their way in the city.

She looked at Shaun and wondered if her best friend, her only friend really, would understand what she was trying to contend with…

“Shaun before you turned up I was just about to mace a squirrel and I think I’m going insane.”

Black Heaven 5

2010-12-05T22:15:00.000-08:00

-

-
Its no use...
One eyed witches are hard to kill at the best of times
Black Heaven refuses to take them while I'm in treatment
And besides the ghosts keep waking me up to check my pulse
I drift in and out...
Those witches are only vanity and glamour anyway
There's nothing really to them
Not like Bret Michaels
Bret Michaels rocks
So does Axl Rose and Elric
Anyone who has long hair, and looks like a girl but isn't rocks
-

Black Heaven 4

2010-12-04T20:41:00.000-08:00

-

-
Hell is an oncology ward at 3 in the morning
Full of the moaning damned
Then pervaded by awful silence
Broken again by the shuffling and mumuring of ghosts

No-one wants to be here
Isn't that hell?
A place where no-one wants to be

If I could just get to sleep
If I could just reach my Black Heaven...
-

Black Heaven 3

2010-12-03T22:27:00.000-08:00

-

-

My mind is Tiffany-twisted
Pink champagne on ice
And she said 'We are all just prisoners here, of our own device'
-

Black Heaven 2

2010-12-02T20:45:00.000-08:00

-

-
But I dream of a Black Heaven
I may be going to lose my leg in hell

But in Heaven it's already gone...
-

-
and I'm packing a twin set
-

Black Heaven 1

2010-11-27T20:01:00.001-08:00

Some say that I'm a dreamer...

-

-

Impossible Girl - 37

2010-11-24T18:17:00.000-08:00

-

-

The Impossible Girl woke up sprawled on the sheet less king-size bed in an open bathrobe. The combined smell of blood, sex and vomit made her gag and cough. A spear of light shone through the thin space between the curtains and hit her in the face. She felt groggy, her throat was clogged and her lips were crusted. She got up and pulled the shades.

The unfriendly light revealed a pool of burgundy puke that had soaked into the bare mattress. In the mirror she could see where it had dried on her chin and congealed in patches on her robe. Around the room she counted six empty champagne bottles and two ice buckets. One of the buckets was on its side next to a patch of wet carpet.

A simple note sat on the bedside table. ‘Don’t be angry, our time will come. Yours M.’
The previous evening came flooding back to her. She held out her hand and shut her eyes as if to stop it.

What she really wanted was an exit out of all of this mess. She pictured herself sitting on the grass beside Rowan at the Blues Festival in Byron Bay, enjoying the music and the flow of the crowd. Anonymous, young, in love and everything simple and beautiful.

But that was fantasy, her reality was this room. Its stony silence made a nightmare of her hollow wishes. She opened her eyes and found her shadow falling across the ice bucket. This was probably what a mental breakdown felt like.

Her bag and clothes were in a pile on the bathroom floor. When she picked up her phone she felt a pain in the tendons of her wist. Rolling her forearm she found a black and blue weeping bite mark.

There were five messages from Roly. He’d lined up half a dozen interviews and an invitation for some bash tonight that according to his message ‘could not be missed’. As she sat on the toilet listening she felt another puncture bruise on her ass, and spotted yet another on her right breast. Ugh… She threw up blood onto the white tiles in front of her.

Mark and Belinda had disappeared and so had his luggage. The Impossible Girl doubted she would see them again this week. Mark was a pro at the quick exit, she thought bitterly.

She stood under the shower thinking how naïve she and Rowan had been. They had denied their condition for as long as they could, and when they couldn’t ignore its urges they had merely placated them. Why hadn’t they pushed for answers?

As she turned off the faucet it occurred to the Impossible Girl that there were no messages from Rowan. It felt ominous. Mark was connected to Belinda and Rowan thought she knew that… that she had known it all along. Could she blame him? How would she feel if the tables were turned?

Whatever the implications of last night she had to put it behind her and get on with the job, at least for the moment, at least for this week. The Impossible girl owed it to herself and she owed it to Roly. She would finish what she came to Tokyo to do.
-

- -
-

Title -18

2010-11-24T18:14:00.000-08:00

-

-

Sketchbook - 21

2010-10-27T17:58:00.000-07:00

Brooklyn Halves

Random Bytes - 6

2010-09-02T13:52:00.000-07:00

-

-

Brooklyn Half - 2

2010-08-31T18:43:00.000-07:00

-

-
At one point they were going to take Brook away. Two cardigan and slacks wearing social workers had come over with clipboards and concerned looks on their faces. They seemed to take particular interest in the pantry, stocked with whiskey and cheese puffs and soda and Budweiser. It wasn’t looking good but then Grant, her Dad’s fairy art dealer had turned up and fixed things. It wasn’t the first time.

Hopefully this situation wasn’t going to bring them back. Living with Judd was no tea party but she didn’t fancy being sent to a foster home in Queens. She was old enough to take care of herself and it’d be much better now… Now that her freak pointers were gone…

‘Hey!’

It was coming from the other bed, teenage male voice.

‘What,’ she said, not wanting to sound too friendly. F*%k making friends in a hospital.

‘I heard you cut off your ears, like that painter?’

Little punk. She felt like going over and boxing him. She clenched her fist but felt her restraints.

‘Maybe I’ll cut yours off if you don’t shut your face.’

That got him. It occurred to her then that she was going to go from being called Spock to Van Gogh… Tears welled up in her eyes even as she tried valiantly to fight them back. Wouldn’t do to weaken now. Couldn’t survive.

And just then, as if her vulnerability had left a gaping hole for the boogie monster to crawl thru, something changed. It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room and been replaced by a thick fog of malice. Brook felt a stab of fear so intense it made her shake.

Her neighbour was rising from his bed and crossing the room toward her. But he was no teenage boy. She let out a scream so loud it could have raised Jesus.
-

Impossible Girl 1 - online book sales

2010-08-23T17:00:00.000-07:00

-

-
It's finally happened, we ceased our New York decadence long enough to co-ordinate an online sales site. The IMP Product store is on a site called Store Envy... lots of indie sellers, more creative than ebay, not quite handmade like etsy. You can view the product (book) details online http://nvy.gd/a1BbJn but you will need to register/login to purchase/check out. It's not a big deal, an email address and password and you're right. Paypal is the purchase vehicle.
-
Since we are here (NYC) we are providing free shipping in the USA and Canada. We can ship elsewhere, just allowing Store Envy to determine standard shipping rates. We have a small stock of the 250 books published (First Edition, as printed on inside cover) stored in Brisbane and will sell them online with free shipping within Australia when we get back in November.
-
Brisbanites can of course purchase a copy of the book from either VeinWear Shoe store.
-
In other news, New Yorkers can also purchase the book (The Impossible Girl 1: When you woke was there someone in your bed?) From Forbidden Planet NYC 840 Broadway, New York, NY 10003.
-
On a personal note... we're having a great time in NYC! Thanks for all of the support. Hope you like the new story Brooklyn Half. N&C
-

Brooklyn Half - 1

2010-08-21T08:16:00.001-07:00

-

-
The room was pale green and white with a mild undercurrent of antiseptic. Two beds sat either side of a central window. The hump in the other bed indicated it was occupied but Brook was too groggy to be bothered paying much attention to it.

She wished she could be comforted by all the light and cleanliness, so different from the dust loft she lived in with Judd. But she wasn’t, mostly it just made her feel out of place.

The pain killers were starting to wear off and her ears throbbed like a razor with her pulse. She instinctively went to touch them but remembered she was restrained. Instead she rolled her head on the pillow. The scratchy white gauze which circled her head was tight as a drum.

Brook had been awake for an hour or more. She’d kept quiet and still to avoid speaking to her Dad. Eventually he’d left. It was amazing he stayed as long as he did. Had to be way past whiskey o’clock on Judd’s timepiece.

It hit her again like a wave. They were gone. There was going to be a lot of shit to deal with over this but they were gone. What she had wanted desperately for the last three years had finally happened. No more Brook the freak. No more stupid Spock jokes or sneering ‘elf kid’ taunts.

Funny, instead of feeling elation there was something like loss nagging at her. It had to be the pain, the drugs, the loss of blood, she rationalized. But severing the stupid abnormalities that connected her to Judd’s madness was the only way. She should know, she’d thought about it enough.

Her father was convinced his ex-wife - wife really, they had never technically divorced - was a magical being who was awaiting the appropriate moment to return to them. Apparently on reuniting all would be perfectly forgiven and forgotten and they could play happy families again. F*#k that, Brook thought.

The longer Judd waited the drunker he got. The longer Brook waited the angrier she got. It had been 13 years…
-

-

Brooklyn Half - 0

2010-08-19T05:57:00.001-07:00

-
-
Coming soon live from Brooklyn...
-

Evinrud - 19

2010-08-19T05:29:00.001-07:00

Where's my ride at?

Studio IMP - 15

2010-07-08T19:12:00.000-07:00

-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
IMPOSSIBLE GIRL #1
32 pages of melodramatic goodness
$25 for sale to Brisbanites via

Vein Brisbane CBD
Shop 25, Brisbane Arcade 117 Adelaide Street Front

Vein Fortitude Valley

Shop 25b TCB Centre

20 - 28 Duncan Street

We will set up online sales soon-ish

For those of you unaware we're in USA at the moment

We will ship (free) North America after we hit New York

& settle in - check about 5 August...

We will ship (free) Australia when we get back (Nov 2010)...

xx & thanks for your support

Studio IMP - 14

2010-06-30T18:47:00.001-07:00

-

-
As afore mentioned we've been very busy
But the good news is all the hard work is paying off
-
Our first edition I Girl book has gone to print
With final edit text and heaps of new images like the one above
-
Impossible Girl is being serialised in the Westender
http://www.westender.com.au/
-
And team IMP is soon to be heading off to New York
Go the bones...
-

Title -16 / 17

2010-06-04T03:34:00.000-07:00

Studio IMP - 13

2010-05-26T19:12:00.000-07:00

We're snowed under at the moment

But there are lots of exciting things happening

Publishing and products and all things nice

You'll see it all soon

Promise.

Sketchbook - 20

2010-05-10T04:05:00.000-07:00

-

-

-

Studio IMP - 12

2010-04-27T02:56:00.000-07:00

Interview with writer Nikki Curtis of IMP Girl Graphic Novel

http://overburyink.com/?p=611

Sketchbook - 19

2010-03-27T21:13:00.001-07:00

- -

Studio IMP - 11

2010-03-24T04:34:00.000-07:00

-
The deal is we're working on some serious business. Soooooo.... rough drafts of stories you are used to seeing on a weekly, perhaps fortnight basis are drying up.... just for a bit.... we'll be back soon.. and hopefully we'll use our time off constructively and you'll see some cool stuff on our IMP Product site...

Nikki and Chris xx

Title -15

2010-03-06T19:59:00.000-08:00

-

-

Impossible Girl - 36

2010-03-05T18:05:00.000-08:00

-
- -
-
He was as charming as a snake. Possibly more lethal. She sat through it all though, half smile pasted on her face. It wasn’t enough to produce a knock out collection, IGirl had to learn to play their game. Ironic that in a pool of sharks she was the one depicted as the bad sport.

Maurizio was the fashion editor you wanted on your side and right now he was sitting on IGirls left. After hours of preparation she had let the stylist take over and taken her place at the front. Hiding out the back wouldn’t do her any favours at this event.

There had been a stream of copycats on the catwalk this week but IGirl knew she was a step ahead. And Belle was sensational. She rocked the dresses. She injected the jackets. She was Medusa in a mini and a cut away top.

When IGirl took the stage she knew they had nailed it. The sharks had taken the bait. Champagne flowed and cameras snapped and Belle leaned in to whisper in her ear. If IGirl had enough blood in her system to blush she would have. Wine wasn’t the only thing that would intoxicate.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Five hours later IGirl knew she was very drunk. They were the dolls of the fashion press, Maurizio’s exact words. They were world news in the space of an evening. Mark had stopped reading the reviews about an hour ago. He continued to bring her drinks.

She lay in the oversized spa bath in his suite. Wet Japanese silk clining to her body. Shoulders loosened by the stroke of Belle’s fingers. Belle had disappeared back into the room with Mark. IGirl wondered if they were f*#%ing. She doubted it was the first time.

Should she be here? IGirl was far from a prude. If she had ever been prey to Christian guilt it wasn’t the thing that nagged her now. It was her relationship with Rowan.

Falling in love with him had altered her perspective. Made her life liquid joy. It had given her happiness and clarity she could not have imagined.

Even with things as they were…. their relationship in tatters…. that clarity haunted her. IGirl knew it wasn’t the person that you betrayed it was the purity of love itself. And that love was always with you, even if the person was a thousand miles away.

Bacchian indulgence could pretend Dionysian ecstasy but there was only one true nectar. IGirl and Rowan had sipped it. They’d understood intrinsically that it was a prize to nurture and hold and then he’d lost his grip. Everything had changed with the blood…..There was a fine line between celebrating a gift and betraying it.

To hell with it, IGirl thought. It was gone. What drove her now was not so much a desire for orgasm but a lust for blood. She stood up and looked for a towel. Her head spinning from the wine.

As if on cue her phone buzzed. It was on the basin beside her. She reached over and registered Rowan’s name on the screen. Impeccable timing.

‘Hellllooo,’ IGirl didn’t care that she sounded wasted. She hadn’t expected to hear from him on this trip.

‘What the f*#% are you doing with Belinda?’

‘What’re you…. tlking bout?’

‘Belinda, in the photos. Your f*#%ing star model. What is this? Have you been f*#%ing with me all along? Did you ever f*#%ing care about me?’

IGirl was trying to register what he was saying.

‘What? No.. I mean….’

Click. Mark had taken the phone and was stepping her out of the tub, dripping wet into the bedroom. Belle was naked. There was a growing drop of blood just below her collar bone and everything Rowan had said was starting to make sense. Bitch.

Belle let out a scream as IGirl lunged at the bed and bit into her open thigh.
-

Impossible Girl - 35

2010-02-21T00:17:00.000-08:00

-
IGirl felt it when she walked through the door. A thickening of the air. A presence with more gravity than it’s mass.

She wasn’t exactly beautiful. Cheekbones not quite full enough, lips on the thin side, plus she had the gap. Yesterday’s bad teeth were today’s most prized possession in the industry. Belle had the gap and something else. An attitude that dared you to look behind the mask.

It wasn't comfortable but something definitely got under your skin. Mark was right. She was perfect for the IGirl range.

‘I’ll leave you girls to it.’ The tone of voice was all Mark but walking out on a business introduction wasn’t. Especially when the introduction involved two attractive women and a bar. It had to be a very important meeting for him to leave this.

Belle must have been close to IGirl’s age. A latecomer to modelling. Too old for pubescent sensitivity to the trade. She looked tough enough to fend off a dozen bitchy models, a sleazebag agent and a handful of old pervert photographers without breaking a sweat.

‘What do you think?’

She was direct too.

‘Can you do my look?’

‘Like this?’ Belle’s face was a death mask, so absolutely soulless it made IGirl flinch.

‘Can you walk in a 4 inch heel?’ She recovered herself quickly though there was something about that look that scraped IGirl to the bone.

‘Like a sex on a stick.’ And just like that Belle’s face went from soulless to the fullness of lust.

There wasn’t much left to discuss. Belle was the gift you would choose for yourself. The thing you would max out your credit card for without blinking. She was going to own the catwalk. Together they would blow the stage out from under Japanese Fashion Week. IGirl was already dressing and styling her in her mind.

‘Do you have anything in your room I could try on?’

It was as if Belle had read her mind. Her eyes and a brush of her hand suggested another motive for visiting IGirl’s hotel suite.

It was a tempting offer. IGirl couldn’t help herself. She thought about biting in to Belle’s thigh and her mouth watered and she had to swallow. Visibly.

Belle didn’t miss a trick and the display flushed her lust with confidence.

‘We should try things on each other,’ she said before IGirl had the chance to speak.

Mark must have known the models ‘preference’. Perhaps she was bi and he was planning a party with both of them after the show. It would be just like him. Always trying to find a way back in.

‘I think tomorrow will be soon enough,’ IGirl forced herself to say. It was the sort of weakness that if surrendered to could really f*#$ with your business plan.
-

Title -14

2010-02-21T00:10:00.000-08:00

Impossible Girl - 34

2010-02-04T20:05:00.000-08:00

The bath was deep and spacious and filled with suds. She sat submersed, sipping a glass of rich, chocolately red and listening to the soft music filtering from the speakers. Japanese Fleetwood-Mac covers. Tell me Lies. How lush. Her only regret - he wasn’t here.

The decision was made though. Rowan needed his space and so did she. Romantic holidays together might ease their problems but they didn’t make them go away.

It would work itself out… or it wouldn’t. No choice really. They were tied. This ‘thing’ had bound them more tightly than marriage. Perhaps that was the problem.

For now she would work. And working meant meeting Mark and the new model downstairs in an hour. IGirl sighed and reached for her towel.

-

Mark was alone when she arrived. Chewing a toothpick, glass empty in front of him. Asshole probably planned it that way. She looked around for a photographer.

‘What, no Papps to photograph our romantic date?’ she said as she sat down.

‘I’d rather have a date with a proctologist. This is a business meeting and you’re late.’

He was peeved. Edgy about something. IGirl doubted it was over the incident in the Hummer. Something else?

‘By nine minutes and it looks like our third party isn’t here yet.’

‘She’ll be here.’

She could keep fighting him but what was the point. Someone had to break the ice.

‘Is something wrong?’

He looked like sh#$. It was seven hours since she had left him in the back of the Limo but from the look of him it could have been seven years. His face was dry and lined, even the skin on his hands was flaky. Mark looked haggard.

‘My afternoon appointment didn’t turn up that’s all. Minor issue I should have resolved in an hour or so.’

‘You look like you need a good sleep.’

‘Am I sensing some concern? The ice maiden cares?’ Even tired Mark was a flirt.

‘It’s listed on my resume under weaknesses.’

‘See, we do have fun together.’

‘Sometimes,’ IGirl conceded.

‘I’m sorry I snapped. Belle will be here soon, then I’ll leave.’

‘Really, you’re not going to stay and have one drink?’

‘There’s something I really need to do.’

Impossible Girl - 33

2010-01-25T18:08:00.001-08:00

IGirl scanned the line of vehicles outside the airport. Nothing resembling her ride. Just the stretch Hummer with Mark the prat opening the passenger door for her.

She got in and he followed. Taking the seat opposite.

‘What, you’re not my driver?’ IGirl spat between clenched teeth.

‘I could take you for a drive baby.’

He leaned toward her just as the automatic window slid down. Lenses poked their way into the car. The bastard was puckering up to kiss her so she slapped him. The light from the camera flashes intensified.

‘Drive, drive now,’ she yelled at the driver.

This was proving difficult with two cameramen clinging to the door frame. She flicked the button to raise the window and the driver pulled away from the curb.

‘You f#$%ing bastard.’ She wanted to bite him. Rip the conceited grin off his face with her teeth.

He was sitting back. One arm across the back of the seat, his legs stretched and casually open.

‘I was doing you a favour, the publicity will be amazing.’

She lifted her foot and shoved her heel into his groin. The look of pain that shot across his face WAS amazing.

‘What exactly do you want Mark?’ It had been such a promising start to Tokyo. However brief.

‘Unh, I came to offer you something. Something you WILL want. Don’t know if I’m feeling so generous now.’

His phone buzzed and he pulled himself together and answered it. Russian? She didn't know he spoke Russian. IGirl stared out the window as he talked to whoever and central Tokyo emerged before her.

'... Spasiba.'

‘Are you going to tell me what it is that I'll want so much,’ she asked as he hung up. Despite herself she wanted to know what was on offer.

‘Are you going to kiss my cock better?’ His smile still looked a little hurt.

‘Let’s skip the foreplay and get to the point Mark.’

‘An apology at least?’

‘I’m still waiting on a queue of apologies from you.’ She wished it back the minute it was out of her mouth. It made her sound vulnerable, like those memories still mattered.

Mark sucked it up. Better than an apology.

‘There’s a new filly in my stable. You’re going to want to take a look at her.’

He was using this language to goad her. Remind her of the flesh she had been to him. IGirl wished she could push him out of the car.

‘I can choose from the models tomorrow.’

‘I came to offer you an exclusive.’

Mark was an asshole but on the subject of women and image he was a maestro. If this model was as good as he claimed an exclusive was valuable.

‘Is the offer still open?’ IGirl hated negotiating with him. Especially now. But this week was important.

‘Of course. It’s in lieu of my absent apologies.’

‘When can I meet her?’ IGirl chose to ignore his bait.

‘Join us for a drink tonight.’

Impossible Girl - 32

2010-01-09T18:38:00.001-08:00

Why the hell would you want to join the mile high club? She bashed her elbow against the lock on the door for the third time. Be like f#$%ing in a sardine tin. A final dab of black under her eye. Under these circumstances it would do. She was ready.

An amused business man hits the wall of paparazzi ahead of her. He keeps glancing back at her, obviously wondering what the fuss is about. IGirl follows the path he has carved through the lenses. Camera’s flash. Someone from the Airline is saying that they need to move aside, they still have three hundred people to get off the plane.

Questions fire along with the flashes.
‘You’re back’.
‘What is it with you and Japanese Fashion Week?’
‘Will you see Mark Snashell while you’re here?’

‘Yes, I’m back’, IGirl forces her lips into a half smile. She would answer their questions on her way to the exit where a car is apparently waiting. The airline would deliver her luggage to the hotel.

She kept her gait slow enough to signal encouragement. This was a business trip after all.

‘I love this event. It’s never afraid to take risks and it does it so courteously.’

‘And Mark? Will you see Mark Snashell while you’re here?’

That question again. It wasn’t so much difficult as it was dull. To IGirl anyway, obviously to other people it was fascinating.

She reinstates her smile. A photo of her irritated frown would probably be twisted into a moment of emotional turmoil at the mention of Mark’s name.

‘If Mark’s here, I’m sure I will see him.’

‘Is it true you’ve broken up with Rowan Bark?’ Another question she expected but still hurts. And it’s served up within the auspice of truth.

‘I don’t know what the truth is but I don’t think it’s that.’

Not a single question or comment about the collection. She had to use every ounce of mental energy she had left to swallow her contempt. It wasn’t their job after all. And Roly was right, this hype sold more frocks than a dozen good reviews.

She would be interviewed by ‘real’ fashion journalists later in the week. A prospect which always terrified her. If the paparazzi were vultures the fashion media were tigers, flashing you their beautiful coat one minute, tearing you apart the next.

The dozen or so photographers and ‘reporters’ that had met her at her gate were still tailing her but the camera’s had eased off and no one was bothering to question her anymore.

She was envisioning that long hot bath and congratulating herself on the way she had handled the paparazzi when she saw him. Through the exit doors, casually leaning against the waiting SUV. He smiled and raised his hand in a wave.

The clicks and flashes whirred into a new found frenzy. She was almost knocked off her platform heels by a photographer eager to get a close up of the moment.

F#$%ing Mark. It was just like him to pull a stunt like this.

Studio IMP - 10

2010-01-03T16:56:00.000-08:00

-
IMP Studio visit Part 3 Photos by Arthorse Jo - Jo Chang- creative documenter extraodinaire -http://www.chasearthorse.blogspot.com/

Impossible Girl - 31

2009-12-20T00:59:00.000-08:00

-

-

-
IGirl woke with a crick in her neck, even business class recliners were crap to sleep in. She couldn’t wait to get to her hotel room and soak in a long hot bath. The stewardess brought her a bloody mary and the colour of it reminded her of how deeply she’d drunk from Rowan the night before. She pushed it from her mind, she might have to go weeks now.

She fired up her laptop, there was paparazzi at Tokyo airport. Roly would be pleased. To Roly paparazzi equalled photos, equalled magazine exposure, equalled sales. IGirl knew he was right but after a twelve hour flight she couldn’t find the mind set. She was too tired to put on a show.

IGirl had worn her hair in the bones onto the plane in Sydney and all she got was snide comments and amateurs with I-phones. She felt embarrassed, a ‘poser’ as a passing someone had put it. As soon as she got on board she’d pull them out. Her hair was a mess. Later on, when she’d had time to clean up, she would secure the IGirl illusion back in place and go court them. If they would have her back.

She'd burned bridges when the interest in the IGirl phenomena had stalked beyond the fashion shows and the Rowan Bark gigs and zoomed into their apartment with a telephoto lens. She couldn’t handle the microscope then. She didn’t know what it would see.

IGirl had needed time off, to lie low and learn to live again… with Rowan and … it. IGirl had avoided most of the winter fashion season, letting Roly take responsibility for launching the last collection. It wasn’t as successful and of course Roly blamed her absence for this.

Now Tokyo city and Japanese Fashion Week loomed large again in front of her. Tokyo had been so good to her. IGirl hoped her re-entry would be as welcome as the plane’s landing.

The early release pieces were getting good press. But according to Roly it was way too early to rest on her laurels. She needed to get out and work the scene again. It wasn’t enough to design the frocks, she had to wear the skull and bones, she had to be the brand, be the bad girl.

‘Celebrity designer’, she resented the label. When she was working every line, every cut, every seam obsessed her. None of the money or the acclaim mattered, she just wanted to make something beautiful. But now that the season’s designs were complete IGirl new she did want it. She always had.

Sketchbook - 18

2009-12-14T02:36:00.000-08:00

-
- -
-
- -
-

More sketchbook because we haven't had time to do anything else but scribble in biro...

Sketchbook - 17

2009-11-30T02:44:00.000-08:00

-

-
- - -

Sketchbook - 16

2009-11-19T16:39:00.000-08:00

- - -
-
- -
-
- - -
-

- -

- - -

Impossible Girl - 30

2009-11-07T22:19:00.000-08:00

-

-
I can’t be responsible for your guilt
Conversation #IG (IGirl) RB (Rowan Bark)

RB: I can’t be responsible for your guilt..
IG: You can’t be responsible for anything but your own comfort..
RB: Is my love not good enough for you?
IG: F*#$ Rowan I just drugged and bled a kid…
RB: You did what you had to do.
IG: Why can’t you be here for me?
RB: Do you want me to go and check the kid’s still breathing?
IG: NO. God why don’t you get it.
RB: I do get it. There’s just nothing I can do about it.
IG: Mr cool calm and f*cking conscience free…
RB: Don’t take this out on me.
IG: I just want you to share it.
RB: I’m not going to crucify myself every time I need to feed.
IG: What are you going to do?
RB: I’m not a bad person.
IG: We don’t know what the f*#$ we are.
RB: We know as much as anyone..

It’s business time
Conversation #IG (IGirl) Roly

IG: It’s not what I want.
Roly: What you want is unaffordable
IG: What’s the point then? I may as well do a range for Target.
Roly: I thought I was the princess in this partnership.
IG: You are.. I’m the Queen.
Roly: Ha ha.. your royal highness needs to keep it real.
IG: The reality of that dress is the flow of the fabric.
Roly: You can’t run a business without a profit margin.
IG: Well charge more. Treat it as a signature piece rather than a rack piece.
Roly: Someone will just rip it off.. we may as well give it away..
IG: I want to create beauty…
Roly: Oh get off the stool..
IG: It’s my vision that makes this business Roly..
Roly: Alright, maybe we can do signature piece and a rack version, make you happy?
IG: Yes
-

Evinrud - 18

2009-10-31T00:30:00.000-07:00

-

-

The Difference Between a Secret and a Lie

Part 5 of 5

They come at me together. I catch a glint of the metal in Duey’s hand before my kick lands him flat on his face. Huey gets a punch to the throat and backs away in a choke.

‘You shouldn’t play with knives’ I say to Duey, who has nicked himself on the cheek with his own blade. ‘But I won’t hold my breath waiting,’ I say to Huey as he begins turning blue

Gabriel is always criticizing my smart mouth in these situations but I can’t seem to help myself. Call it adrenalin wit, but it’s about the only time I’m capable of joking.

Now the old lady has magiced up a broomstick and is swatting me with it. I try to think of what to say to her, instead I find myself grabbing the broom off her and breaking it over my knee. I give her a stare and she retreats to her doorway. What is the old bird’s problem.

The Triad suits are up now and come at me together again, knives out. Their signature move, didn’t work the first time.

‘Guess it’s time to clean up’ I say discarding the brush end of the broom.

Huey gets the broom handle to the face and Duey gets a reverse sweep taking out his legs. They are both down, but it’s got to be finished, so I take Duey out with the handle to the side of the head. He’s stone cold out of it. He’s the smaller one so I figure Huey can drag him out of here if need be.

The latter is trying to pull himself up holding his face still mute from the throat punch. I pick up his discarded blade and place my boot down on his chest with some force.

The old lady is complicating things again, she’s screaming something at me and this time she’s waving an umbrella.

I ignore her and hold the knife up to Huey’s throat. Leaning in with my most sinister expression I whisper, ‘There needn’t have been any trouble. You’ve got a half a minute to pick up your friend and get the hell out of here.’ Heuy’s lips are moving like he’s praying.

I’ve barely finishing speaking when the building’s front door swings open and the most beautiful creature I have ever seen steps through. She’s fiddling around in her purse but when she looks down and stares at me it feels like eternity. Eventually she breaks eye contact and I hear Huey gasping for air under me.

She looks at Huey and Duey, recognition and confusion crossing her face and then at the old woman.

The old woman is frantic now, screaming at the girl to go inside but she is frozen in place.

I snap out it and focus my attention on Huey again ‘Do you understand?’ He nods so I loosen the pressure on his chest slightly. I pat him down for weapons. Nothing, obviously didn’t think they would need much against one old lady.

‘That was foreplay, one more wrong move and you’re f*#$ed, okay,’

Huey nods again so I release him and step away, standing close to the girl.

It takes Huey a while to get Duey to his feet. He keeps losing his grip on him, bringing them both down. It’s like watching one of those olden day comedy sketches, the three stooges reduced to two.

The girl is standing still beside me, the old lady sobbing at her front door.
Eventually they reach the buildings front door, it’s shutting behind them when Huey finally gets his breath and balls back calling out ‘You’re f*#$ed motherf*#$er, f*#$ed, you hear me’.
-

Studio IMP - 9

2009-10-22T21:27:00.000-07:00

-
-
-
My contribution to Reece's shoe fetish
http://veinstore.blogspot.com/2009/10/first-entrant-in-vein-wear-design.html

Follow the links and create and enter your own...

Chris.W

The Un-named

2009-10-15T23:19:00.001-07:00

-

-

-

In her future she would become even more powerful than her mother

What she would will and imagine would become reality

Ancient trees buried deep within the ground bursting forth from the sand

Trees so old they burn up upon breathing the air

Black legacies destroying the beach barracks

Their wood become fire

Evinrud - 17

2009-10-07T19:09:00.000-07:00

-

-
The Difference Between a Secret and a Lie
Part 4 of 5

This alley is so narrow I can touch the sides. Fire escape landings and street signs bunt overhead so I can barely see the night’s sky. I’m out of the crowd, but now the buildings are making me claustrophobic.

And... I’m being followed.

Two men trailed me into the alley, less than a minute behind. Their voices are low but there’s an echo, every now and then I pick up on a bit of their conversation. What I’m hearing isn’t good. They sound like they’re Triad on the job. They’re discussing ammunition. But why me? Maybe the sauce man was connected, someone who didn’t like to be f&*%ed with. It’s not as if I knocked him over intentionally!

I guess I’m not all that concerned. I can take care of myself. It’s just the complication I don’t need. I’ll play it cool for a while, pick up the pace for a bit and duck into a foyer the first chance I get.

These must be Beijing’s poorest residential buildings. They’re not slums but they’re a world apart from the uber skyscrapers that house the cities new rich.

All of the doors I pass are dead-locked and some are even chained. I’m not ready to stop for a locked door and let Huey and Duey catch up with me yet . A middle-aged couple appears out of nowhere and I step aside and bow politely. Behind them an entrance door is swinging shut. I grab it before the lock clicks. Bingo.

Inside there’s a single elevator, a stair well and three apartment doors. They must be absolute shoeboxes if they’ve fit three of them into the ground floor of this building.

The door locks behind me and I duck into the stair well to wait it out. It’s definitely not going to be my night though. It can’t have been two minutes when I hear the door buzz and click open. I take a peak, it’s Huey and Duey, somebody has bloody let them in!

I breathe in and breathe out but neither of them looks my way. Instead they approach one of the ground floor apartment doors. It’s opened by a scared old lady.

They’re not after me. They’re asking her about someone, but she keeps shaking her head. She is offering them cash. Whatever it is, its not enough. One of them knocks it out of her hand, the other pulls a knife.

F*#%, I can’t just stand here and watch a couple of thugs cut up an old lady.

‘Leave the lady, no trouble.’ I say, stepping out of the shadow of the stairwell.

The one with the knife is so surprised he drops it on the ground. The other one yells at him to pick it up. Then they all start screaming indiscriminately at me, Huey, Duey and the old lady.
My Mandarin is too basic to have any real idea what they are all saying now, but when Duey’s right hand slips under his left lapel I know exactly what’s going to happen next.
-

Studio IMP - 8

2009-10-02T19:04:00.000-07:00

-
So after a year in the wilderness I've finally settled on a style and a format for my Impossible Place illlustrations. It has been quite difficult for me to adjust to illustrating after having maintained an exclusively fine arts practice for so long. I've had trouble with speed, size and supports all along. But here we are. I've decided all the work from now on will be done on 2 joined MDF boards (each 60 x 90cm) and drawn/painted in acrylic, ink, graphite, conte and charcoal.

Here is the first of many...

Chris.W

Title - 13

2009-10-02T19:00:00.001-07:00

Evinrud - 16

2009-09-22T01:32:00.000-07:00

-
-
-

The Difference Between a Secret and a Lie

Part 3 of 5

Making my way to a club in the San Li Tun. Four MRT stops south and two blocks on foot. It’s called Bada Hutong, after Beijing’s 18th century red light district. Last year one of the owners wanted to rebrand it The Silicon Suite. Something to do with the electronics industry and money and all that fake tit, but Bada Hutong is an institution , the name stuck.

‘The funny thing is neither name is meant to be ironic,’ Gabriel had laughed when he told me the story.

It’s a pretty exclusive men’s club, probably the most exclusive open smorgasbord of pussy in Beijing, but I’m not really experienced enough to know for sure.

I’ve been there twice with G and once on my own. Hopefully they recognize me. I doubt they get many patrons rocking up to the front door on foot but there’s a company ID and plenty of money in my pocket.

It’s probably not what G meant when he said ‘find a girl’ but what am I supposed to do?

I’ve always been a loner…. never had much to say. In bootcamp I was everyone’s favourite s%&t taker, for a while at least.

‘Your looks are wasted on you man, do you even like skirt?’
‘Reece is too busy making love to the mirror to make love to a girl.’
‘What do you really like doing with that boot polish pretty boy.’

They called me ‘Priss’… and that was to my face. Eventually I cracked it and beat the cr*p out of one of them in the mess hall. They left me alone after that. And it was that incident that drew Gabriel’s attention.

Right now I can see my face reflected in the window of the MRT. Two seats back there’s a hot girl with red lips and pale skin and one of those new-age blunt hair cuts. Our eyes meet in the glass for a second before I turn away.

I suppose I could smile. Wring my lips into an encouraging upturned curve…but what good would that do? The minute she started talking to me I would freeze… fall on my face like a got shot bunny.

At least when you pay for it you don’t need to make conversation.

It’s my stop. The girl with the hair cut watches me as I step out onto the platform and into the crowd. Another date I’ll never have.

Street level is a swarming mass of bodies. The night markets are packed and my supposed fifteen minute walk is becoming more of a thirty minute shove. Crowd maneuvering is clearly another skill in which I’m lacking. On an air motor, the only thing you need to dodge is the architecture.

I’m pushed onto a side street and into a man carrying a box of sauce bottles. The sound of breaking glass and high pitched Mandarin follows. And there’s a friggen dark glob of wet stinking sauce soaking into my left book.

‘F*#k,’ I scream, which puts an end to the high pitched Mandarin. The man I knocked in to is now picking up the handful of bottles that survived the accident. He is avoiding looking at me.

I don’t know where it comes from, this sudden anger that scares the hell out of it’s witnesses.
I pull a couple of large bank notes out of my pocket and place them in front of the surprised fellow. I can see a south facing alley a little further up the side street. It’s a far more appealing option than heading back to the main drag.
-
-
-

Sketchbook - 15

2009-09-12T23:29:00.001-07:00

-

-

-
-
-

-
-

Evinrud - 15

2009-09-04T18:33:00.000-07:00

-

-

-

-
The Difference Between a Secret and a Lie
Part 2 of 5

So I’m sans air-motor and stalking the streets. It’s been my home for the past three years but it’s a new city to me. A different Beijing from the one I knew riding the airmotor or gazing out the window of a stretch or company vehicle.

The intensity surprises me. The smells, the sounds, the people, there’s an energy you can’t ignore, it’s right in your face.

‘Pretty boy walking’ the sheboys on Eighty-Eighth Street have started to call out whenever I get too close. They’re less than a block from my building and I didn’t even know they existed before this week.

Tomorrow it will be six weeks exactly from the date of the crash. Forty-two days since we rained hell on the outskirts of town.

They tell me that physically I’m pretty much healed. I’m training three hours a day with the physio, two hours with the kendo master. There’s a couple of nasty looking scars on my torso, which the company doc says I can have cosmetically faded in time. I think I’ll keep them as a reminder.

This extended ‘holiday’ is a result of my weakened mental state. The Doc says my thought processes have become too reliant on the Cy and that I need my mind to heal from the trauma of the crash alone.

First time in four years they’ve worried about that. Something stinks.

Last week they gave me two days in the pulse with Evinrud. The Doc and a couple of scientists poked around the whole time, testing us. But it was so routine it was suspicious.

We were fine. If anything we were better than fine…..stronger. The air-motor was pretty messed up in the crash. They completely replaced the panel work and both auxiliary engines, of course. But something else had changed. The white coats had altered the Cy, upgraded more than just his body.

Bin the crafty bugger started sprouting about hybrid genetic tissue adaptation and improved bioengineering. He knows I’m a dumb cluck, he likes to put me in my place by confusing me. The white coats said nothing.

Evinrud is the only one who could express it to me and he was holding back aswell. He was definitely faster than pre-crash and the connection felt tight almost immediately. It used to take us days training in the pulse to reach that level of physical harmony.

Then they took him away.

Now instead of Evinrud I’ve got a bloody colostomy bag thing connected to my intravenous legrope. Thank f*$% I only need to wear it when I sleep.
-

Evinrud - 14

2009-08-17T00:23:00.000-07:00

-
The Difference Between a Secret and a Lie

Part1 of 5

Conversation # G (Gabriel) R (Reece)

G: That’s all I can tell you.

R: Can or will?

G: Makes no difference kid. That’s the way it’s going to be.

R: It makes a difference to me.

G: I can’t afford to be sentimental here Reece, neither can you.

R: Sentimental? What about f*9%ing honourable.

G: Honourable to what? To you? To me? What do you think it is we do here?
You’ve got eight, maybe twelve weeks leave full pay plus bonus. Quit your BS and enjoy it.

R: Don’t bonus me, I f*9%en earned that money, almost gave my life for it.

G: And don’t forget who saved it.

R: I suppose I should be eternally grateful.

G: Right now I’d be grateful if you would get out of my face. Have some time off, find a girl, do something normal.

R: While I watch my back for some old bastard I don’t know squat about to ride up on his black dual for a bit of pay back! What’ll l I do when I see him, get out my joggers and run for it?

G: Don't be paranoid. You’ve got nothing to worry about. We have your back.

R: I’m supposed to trust you on that.

G: Don’t trust me. Trust that you’re an investment. We protect our investments.

R: What about you Gabriel, are you an investment or some sort of f*9%ing mignon?

G: You’re too old for tantrums Reece. And you need to smarten the f*9% up. Know who your enemy is before you start the accusations. Don’t open doors you’re not ready to enter.

R: So that’s the way it is then.

G: Like I said before, that’s the way it’s going to be.
-

Studio IMP - 7

2009-08-12T15:46:00.001-07:00

We're proto-typing The 'Park' Chair

The 1st IMP product

Should be on the market late 09

Lou gives it his swirl of approval

The band reckons it rocks

Ella says its super comfy and cool as S#$%

Sketchbook - 14

2009-08-06T01:36:00.000-07:00

-

-
A new look for Reece... more E'rud coming soon
-

Studio IMP - 6

2009-08-03T03:17:00.000-07:00

Follow me on twitter

http://twitter.com/IMPGirl

IMPOSSIBLE GIRL - 29

2009-07-25T19:15:00.000-07:00

-
-

Thump Thump

Studio IMP - 5

2009-07-23T03:56:00.000-07:00

-
IMP Studio visit Part 2 Photos by Arthorse Jo - Jo Chang- creative documenter extraodinaire -http://www.chasearthorse.blogspot.com/
-
-
-

-

IMPOSSIBLE GIRL - 28

2009-07-19T00:42:00.000-07:00

-

-
-
-
‘You should have this,’ IGirl pushed the pill at him.

‘What about you?’ Ben asked.

‘One for me too,’ she said.

She dropped the panadeine and passed him the bottle of water, watching him swallow his own pill without hesitation.

It would be only be a few minutes before the fairy took effect. For IGirl that seemed like an eternity. She was completely consumed, she could feel his pulse inside her throat. But it would be dangerous to prick him too soon. He was easily twice as strong and she couldn’t afford to panic him.

She pulled his shirt off and ran her fingers across his chest, tracing his nipples and belly button, the fine line of hair disappearing beneath his belt.

‘God your skin is so beautiful,’ IGirl whispered.

‘And you’ve got a great ass,’ Ben’s teenage hands were eager.

It was a shame his touch couldn’t match his body in beauty, IGirl thought as she pulled herself away from him and stood to undress.

Taking off her dress didn’t qualify as much of striptease but if she timed it well Ben’s tentacles would cease being an issue.

‘Don’t touch now, Ben. Be patient, I want to really want you first’ she said as she slowly peeled her dress over her head.

His eyes were glassing.

‘Whhaatt do...’

‘Nearly there…..’

He was out. Throat exposed on the concrete floor. So sweet. She straddled him and used her thimble to create a flow from the top of his neck, closing her mouth over it and letting the blood trickle into her desperate mouth.

When she swallowed it was syrupy, warm and tasted of iron and salt. She jerked and leeched on his neck. She felt her teeth, his skin, her lips, his blood, her stomach. God it was good. IGirl felt she could have drunk of him indefinitely. But there were consequences to that sort of indulgence. Consequences she was not ready to deal with. Ben’s shallow breath in her ear was a pertinent reminder of that. After a minute she pulled away, using a tissue to stem and clot the flow of blood.

First the sated feeling and now waves of euphoria. She felt soooo good, invincible really, like having just snorted a couple of lines of great coke without any of the associated heebie jeebies.

IGirl allowed her mind and body to flow in appreciation for a moment or two before surveying the scene. It would be another half an hour or so before Ben came to. She felt a stab of conscience at the thought of him waking alone and confused. But there was no room for conscience in her life now so she pushed it aside.

What she really needed to do was cover her tracks and get out of this concrete bunker. IGirl pulled on her dress and crouched back down over Ben’s body, adding a couple of passionless hickies to his chest. The bruising wouldn’t be as severe as the mark on his neck but they would at least diffuse the focus.

This park would be a no go zone for her now but it had fulfilled its purpose. In the future she would need to remind herself not to wait so long. It was stupid to think she could rely on Rowan.
-
-

Studio IMP - 4

2009-07-10T01:12:00.000-07:00

-
IMP Studio visit Part 1
Photos by Arthorse Jo - Jo Chang
- creative documenter extraodinaire -http://www.chasearthorse.blogspot.com/
-

-

-

-

Sketchbook - 13

2009-07-08T18:44:00.001-07:00

-

-

Sketchbook - 12

2009-07-07T17:07:00.001-07:00

-
-
-

Sketchbook - 11

2009-07-06T17:06:00.001-07:00

IMPOSSIBLE GIRL - 27

2009-07-05T20:26:00.000-07:00

It was a hike back to the car. She had parked behind the netball clubhouse on the other side, away from the line of cars and suburban houses edging the skate park.

‘Why’d you park so far away?’

‘Do you smoke bongs openly on the street?’ IGirl's heart rate was going to explode. Her hunger had reached fever pitch. She was so close.

‘Oh.. yeah…’ Ben seemed to accept her rationale and fell into step beside her.

Hey I’ve broken into that clubhouse before.’

‘Really?’ Bless his boasting soul she thought.

IGirl had scoped the whole area and chosen that spot because it was deserted and the car was shielded from the street. As long as no-one else got the same idea it was completely private. But getting inside the clubhouse would be even better, she wouldn’t have to tarnish the car with this ugly memory.

‘There’s no burglar alarm?’ she asked.

‘Nah,’ he laughed ‘nothing worth stealing.’

‘You’re really cool Ben. Hey, do you reckon we can get in tonight? Be really private,’ IGirl moved closer and ran her arm around his back as she said it.

‘Too Easy… be f#&*ing dark in there though.’ Cocky little show off, was playing right into her hands.

‘I might have a torch or something in the car.. You’re really sexy you know?’

‘Mmmm you too..’ he grabbed her around the waist and leaned in to kiss her roughly. She could feel the blood pulsing through the arteries in his neck. It sent tingles up her spine and she shuddered. Ben mistook her reaction for rapture, he kissed her harder.

Sh*t, maybe she was coming on too strong. IGirl needed to slow things down until she could get the pill into him.

‘You’re going to love being what I’m on, Ben,’ she whispered, pulling her mouth away from his, ‘let’s keep going.’

They reached the clubhouse and Ben shoved an old bin against the back wall to get at an ajar window. He hauled himself up to the ledge.

‘I’m just going to get a torch out of the car,’ IGirl said.

She got the camping torch out of the back and checked the thimble was easily accessible in the front pocket of her bag. The Blue Fairy was in there as well. IGirl pulled it out and felt along the ridge at the centre of the pill, distinctly different to the panadeine she intended to take.

‘Where are you Bel?’ he was inside the clubhouse.

‘Coming,’ she replied, turning on the torch and shining it into the dark .

Sketchbook - 10

2009-07-01T21:36:00.000-07:00

-
-

-
-
-
-
-
-

-
-

IMPOSSIBLE GIRL - 26

2009-06-26T21:31:00.001-07:00

-
IGirl pulled the camera out of her bag and let her skirt ride a bit higher on her thigh as she stalked toward the half pipe.

They were physically interchangeable from a distance, four scruffy, lanky teenage boys. But she didn’t need to scope them for long before she identified her target. He was bolder and more reckless than the others. And pushy, taking the pipe out of turn. Enough ego to squash his better judgment.

‘Mind if I take a few shots?’

She directed the question specifically at him and started clicking random shots without waiting for a response.

He grunted, kicked off the edge, down the concrete up the other side and into the air.
He did it again this time rotating twice in the air. Satisfied, even smug, he pulled off and careened over to her.

‘You a photographer?’ He was taking the bait quickly.

‘Artist/photographer, I like movement.’

‘Right..yeah..cool.’ He gave her a quick smile before putting his board down and dropping in on one of his mates.

They were self conscious with her there. It was now more about showing off than about pleasure and they seemed very competitive. IGirl wondered whether they were actually friends.

All the pieces were in play but IGirl needed to make the next move.

‘Hey, what’s your name?’ she asked, moving closer to where he came off the pipe.

‘Ben. Get any good shots?’

F*#%, she could almost taste him, lush beating veins beneath sweaty skin.

‘Why don't I show you?’ she said, watching the grin on his face spread.

‘Is that all you want to show me?’ He was a cocky little b*st%rd.

IGirl could feel her teeth grind, the saliva in her throat and hives forming under her arms.

‘I like taking photos of you Ben, you look really hot on that board.’

‘You want a go on it?’ he asked, coming closer and offering her the board.

‘I’m not really dressed for it,’ she smiled and moved her hips.

‘Guess not,’ he replied, eyes lingering a bit longer on the package.

The three other boys were moving off. ‘Later’ he nodded as they walked away in a group, snide comments and leers at ‘Ben’s score’.

What sort of fantasy land did these boys live in, IGirl wondered? But everything was playing out.
‘To be honest, I’m a bit wasted,’ she said as he stood beside her.

‘Yeah.. me too.. had a chooff just before you rocked up.’

‘Pot? I’m a different kind of wasted,’ she said, offering up the final hook.

‘Really.. cool.’

‘I’ve got more if you’re keen,’ she said.

Christ, IGirl thought, I’m kitted out in an unfinished designer mini dress stalking and pushing drugs on teenagers in a park. But at this point her need far outweighed any conscience.

‘F#$% yeah.. hey, what’s your name?’

‘Belinda,’ she replied, ‘call me Bel.’
-
-
-

IMPOSSIBLE GIRL - 25

2009-06-18T21:17:00.000-07:00

-

-

-

-
TXT RB: Sorry batt low be a while yet still Port Macquarie

TXT IG: Port Macquarie? Shouldn’t you have been there hours ago? What the?

TXT RB: Sorry babe band needed a break lawn bowls. Be home to tuck you in miss u xx

‘F%@#, F$#@, F$#@, F*%&, F$@!.. C*&%.’

As much as she wanted to scream obscenities at him there was no point in phoning. He was drunk. Thats why he was texting and hiding behind the low battery excuse. She would probably get a message later saying they were staying. The band would have drawn out the local talent. He’d have a teenage hopeful in her favourite black skinny jeans and sportsgirl top hanging all over him… feeding his vanity.

‘His vanity,’ IGirl thought ‘is what got us into this mess in the first place.’

She couldn’t dwell on it though. Even if the band left straight away it would be hours before he got back. It was dark and she needed to feed…. Now.

She pulled the bone knots out of her hair. Without the bones the public face of IGirl was anonymous and anonymity was what she needed. The new peep dress was hanging over the couch so she threw it on. It was unfinished, rough, but it hugged in all of the right places. She put on one of Rowan's hats, placed her aviators on her face and managed to squeeze into her KittyC boots.

She ran her tongue over her teeth and spontaneously salivated.
‘F%$@, f$#!... Calm yourself...’

IGirl needed a plan. It wasn’t the first time she had been in this situation but it felt the most desperate. Why had she left it so long? Bar seduction was out, at this time of night people would be sticking to groups and not drunk enough to be lead astray.

'F*&%#!$$%##K.. why would I wait for him... stupid stupid stupid.’

She knew of a skate park fifteen minutes drive away. She had seen kids there before, it would just be the older ones now, the one’s who didn’t need to go home to Mummy for dinner.

‘Christ.. could she?’

At this point she couldn't see any options. She shoved what she needed into her calf skin bag and grabbed her camera.
-

-

-

-

Random Bytes - 5

2009-06-12T01:24:00.000-07:00

-
Wonderkind 3
-
-
-
Wonderkind 3 presents the angel’s final evolution. It turns to the right and appears ready to depart from its plinth. It seems to be breaking from the chrysalis of its own clothing and adornment. It forces off its shawl of fur and even its blonde bob appears to have been a wig. We see a fleshy back and bra emerge as a new truth. Its wings are in chaos, almost tearing away from the figure and combining with the black bars of the sky. This time the angel neither ignores nor presents to us but is seemingly becoming us. Its final gesture remains as ambiguous and ineffable as its first.
-

IMPOSSIBLE GIRL - 24

2009-06-07T04:24:00.001-07:00

-

-

-

-
-

It was both daunting and exciting starting a new collection. Pure expectation mingled with queasy gut fear. Anything could happen, a masterpiece or a complete fizzer. Fear and risk aside IGirl was in love with that moment, when the spark of an idea set off a fireworks of creativity in her brain. When nothing but ideas consumed her and there was no such thing as economic compromise or rationalisation.

She wanted skin. In patches, geometric shapes, peekaboo holes, a framed piece of silky sweetness beneath the ruffle of silk. Ideas had been flooding through all week. She had scribbled and coloured multiple pages and was in the process of cutting and testing sample fabrics. There was no fear now, this was her work at its best. It’s sexy fullest.

IGirl had to admit the band going on tour had its pros. She missed Rowan.. and worried about what he was doing.. but there was nothing like being alone to drive you creatively.

The problem now was her hunger. She had burned energy like an expensive sports car consumes fuel and it had been almost two weeks since she fed. She couldn’t ignore it now, her throat itched constantly. Worse, the dry spots that had started appearing on her skin a few days earlier were turning into hives. The longer she peered into the mirror the worse they seemed to get. It was time to feed. If she delayed much longer she’d be blistered and sore and unable to leave the house without a thick covering of make up.

Where was Rowan? He promised he’d be back today. There was still some light in the sky but it would be gone soon. Hard but not impossible to feed this early in the night. Once you’d given in to the hunger it was hard to wait, to try to resist it. It gnawed away at her, tested her nerves like a pack a day smoker desperately fighting the queue to get off an airplane.

She didn’t want to be a slave to it, there was simply no choice. Sometimes she wished it could be like fiction. That she was undead and following a standard set of rules repenned across the ages by a thousand different authors. No such luck. They were as alive as anyone else, what they had was more like a disease. A weirdly fucked up disease that came with some benefits but no cure.

If Rowan didn’t turn up soon she’d have to go out alone.

Sketchbook - 9

2009-05-31T23:07:00.000-07:00

EVINRUD - 13

2009-05-31T21:59:00.001-07:00

-
-
-
-
-

-

Feel pretty crap. Try not to show it. Still not fully conscious. Shitload of drugs pumping through my veins. According to the Monitor I’m supposed to be grateful I’m alive. Whatever. All I know is my ribs hurt like a bastard and my legs ache from all the strain.

I was brought out of coma yesterday into this white room. Out for over a month. Touch and go for the first two days but once I was out of danger my body apparently recovered quickly. The automated physio getting more intense as my broken bones healed. And now I’m in some kind of muscle suit that’s supposed to get me back in synch. This information is fed to me by a straight faced medico on the Monitor, he described himself as a trauma surgeon.

It was definitely traumatic. I can’t remember the crash…. just the missiles and him… the other Rider. But where the hell did He come from? Doc on the Monitor says not to force the memories, let everything come back in its own time. Fuck that. I need to know what happened, who he was…. who he is. I need Evinrud.

Gabriel came last night. He passed me the Katana and a new pair of black loafers via hermetic seal. Then he sat in the room outside and spoke to me through the door. Nice touch. Says they don’t want to risk infection, my lungs still weak. Same excuse for this unit strapped to my leg, feeding nanotechs into my blood like I’m still connected. They reckon I need it while I recover. I smell bullshit, they’re avoiding telling me something.

G didn’t say much, ‘too soon, you need to get well, not the right environment’. Half dead I could pick he was hedging. My mentor, my fucking friend. Apparently it was him that pulled us out of the wreckage. Can I trust him?

The Monitor says Evinrud is fully repaired. Good old Bin, crafty bugger but he knows what he’s doing with the cy-engine. Forty storey drop and our connection never severed. Probably all that saved me from dying of blood loss.

It says they’re reconnecting us tomorrow. Testing nerve conditions and sensitivity and if I get the green light I can ditch the bag on the leg and get the real thing. Evinrud. Two weeks in the pulse have gotta be better than the robotic limb pummeling I’m getting now.

I need to think, try to figure this shit out. Never been any good at it though, always better at running than cerebral processing. But something tells me that I can’t run from this. And who the fuck can I trust?

Maybe I just I need to let off some steam. G said they would offer me leave once I was well. This time around I’ll take it. Boot shopping and a few beers, back to life presents to myself.

-
-
-

Random Bytes - 4

2009-05-24T21:55:00.000-07:00

Wonderkind 2

-

-

In Wonderkind 2 the angel is facing us but it remains faceless. It’s blonde fringe covering its features protecting us from its gaze. It is listening; its head is attentive, its hair is raised over its ears. What are we asking? Would it or could it respond? Perhaps it is listening for the sound of its audience’s own awe. Black bars cross the sky. It presents itself as totemic and stylized, wrapped in curls, fur and crumpled fabric it is almost cocooned. It stands self contained, its wings fully stretched and fanned. Like a peacock It has become an emblem of display perched on its plinth.

Studio IMP - 3

2009-05-21T18:31:00.001-07:00

- -
-
"Hi, I'm Kitty.

Come check me out, and if you like, you can take me home. @ Vein Wear. "

-
-
-
-
-

IMPOSSIBLE GIRL - 23

2009-05-18T22:47:00.000-07:00

-
-

Virtual look-booking for the next season on the flight home:

White organza and cotton suicide cuffs (by me)

Black calf skin baddy doll dress with rubber mini (by BD&M, I love what they do)

Scarfed silk blouse with princess shoulders (by me)

and Bluenose heel (by Kitty Croquet)
-

Random Bytes - 3

2009-05-18T00:28:00.001-07:00

-
Wonderkind 1
-

Wonderkind 1 takes its cues from Hellenistic sculpture, contemporary fashion advertising and the chimeras and hybrids of world mythology. It’s an angel of course; an expression of the divine, but it is not necessarily benevolent. It is a harbinger of some undisclosed certainty, good or bad. Its back to us, and its face buried in dark curls, it is vastly indifferent to our presence, pre-occupied and self contained. It is both winged for flight and grounded in place on its marble plinth. Beyond it we see a fragment of a view, a vacant plain of indeterminate features, perhaps our world, perhaps another, or somewhere in-between.

-

-

EVINRUD - 12

2009-05-16T21:18:00.001-07:00

-
-
-

-
-
-

‘Gabriel, we have satellite confirmation, it was definitely the target.’

‘fine’

‘We expect full diagnostics and…’

I pull out the ear piece and flick off the DAT. ‘I know exactly what you expect.’

I can’t be more than a minute behind the crash. The Jag tears up the freeway shoulder. I’m doing 200 and not slowing for anyone.

‘Exit, 15 metres’. GPS states the obvious, hard to miss the explosion site. It’s diverting the attention off Reece for the moment, not every day a forty storey industrial furnace explodes.

He’s less than 900 metres from the explosion site. We’ve been tracing since the first missile lock on them. I pull the Jag away from the barrier, sling shot us down the industrial off ramp and we fish tail out onto the trucking service road still doing 150.

Sirens are wailing, there is a blazing industrial hell on my right and a cloud of black forming in the sky. Quick scan of the road, it’s almost deserted. GPS, 800m… 400m.

I see the impacted truck, rip past two light trucks stopped in the middle of the road, cover another 200m and brake. The Jag won’t cut it. The boy is not going to be walking out of that, even if the unit is operational. Reverse 200m, brake and leave the Jag where it stands, disposable. I’m not exactly traceable, even if they manage to find a stray hair.

The two truck drivers are gawking at the pretty orange and black explosions. First truck nothing, second truck, Bingo…a hydraulic Pal Lifter and the motors running. I shoot the tyres out of the first truck and climb into the cab of the second one. The driver’s faces registering shock as I pull away.

We were so close… Mercury… my first scent of him in years. And their fears confirmed, he’s completed the bio-connection without them. He’s got new sponsors. He’s got twenty years of hate on us. And if the boy survives it will only have been by dumb luck. Was it worth it?

There’s another disbelieving truck driver standing beside the impacted Semi. This one’s angry.

‘Did you see it? Something fucking hit my truck. World War three or wha…. Who are you?’

‘I’m with the anti-terrorism department.’ I show him a badge and while he is trying to decide what to make of it, I get a syringe in his neck and he’s down.

Reece is unconscious and the unit is a dismembered mess.

It’s their fault, they made a deal with the devil and then they lost.

When you play with the devil you always get burned. Hah…. I suppose I should take a bit of my own advice. It’s too late for me though, probably too late for the boy as well...
-

Studio IMP - 2

2009-05-16T20:51:00.001-07:00

-
-
-
The Impossible Place goes retail at Vein

As of this Friday the 22th of May
Vein will be retailing original Impossible Place art by Chris Worfold
(previewed above)
The works will range from $200 to $400 (Aus)
Very affordable
So get in quick, check out Vein's new season range, and start collecting.

Vein Store
Shop 25b TCB Building
btw Brunswick St Mall & Chinatown Mall
Fortitude Valley, QLD 4006

0420 759 315
vein@veinwear.com
www.veinwear.com
-

Random Bytes - 2

2009-05-16T19:56:00.001-07:00

-
Cheshire Kitty
-
- -

- -
-

‘But I don’t want to go among mad people,’ Alice remarked.
‘Oh, you can’t help that,’ said the Cat: ‘we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.’

-
‘All right,’ said the Cat; and this time it vanished quite slowly, beginning with the end of the tail, and ending with the grin, which remained some time after the rest of it had gone.

excerpts from

http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/c/carroll/lewis/alice/chapter6.html

Random Bytes - 1

2009-05-11T21:11:00.000-07:00

Deer Hunter with Knitted Peep
-

-
-

Spectre with Band March Boot

Shoes by Kitty Croquet

http://www.kittycroquet.com/

Paintings by Chris Worfold

Acrylic on paper mounted on Skatedeck

$250 (AUS) each

chrisandnikki@worfold.com

Studio IMP - 1

2009-05-11T20:13:00.000-07:00

-
We've started a number of new initiatives here at IMP,
the first of which is a new label called Studio IMP.
It will be a place for a behind the scenes look at the studio, works in progress and discussion.

A number of people have asked us,
how did THE IMPOSSIBLE PLACE evolve?
So I've decided to post the inital ideas I wrote down in early 2007.

IMP THEORY

PART 1

After visiting Taiwan I was interested in how mythical stories and deities pervaded the culture whilst the approach to everyday life was very pragmatic and focused. I was interested in how history had quickly become mythologised and how rational and foreign modernity had been adopted to model a nation. What alienation had occurred or was occurring in the rift between the public face and the private world? How did an imaginative personal life co-habit?

My thoughts quickly expanded beyond the geography Taipei to of the extremes of Otuku and Harajuku cultures in near by Japan.

Quotes from - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Otaku - June 2007

Otaku is a Japanese term used derogatively to refer to people with obsessive hobbies, most commonly manga or anime.

In modern Japanese slang, the term otaku refers to an overtly obsessive fan of any one particular theme, topic, or hobby. Common uses are anime otaku (one who sometimes enjoys many days of excessive anime watching with no rest) and manga otaku (a fan of Japanese graphic novels), pasokon otaku (personal computer geeks), gēmu otaku (playing video games), and wota (before referred as "idol otaku") that are extreme fans of idols, heavily promoted singing girls. There are also tetsudō otaku or denshamania (metrophiles) or gunji otaku (military geeks).
Harajuku girl is a term for girls who gather in the Harajuku district of Tokyo in Japan. "Harajuku Girls" are fashion aficionados and/ or the home sewing hobbyists They are dressed in any of several distinct styles of clothing that originated in the culture of Japan's major cities. The "Harajuku style," named after Harajuku station, combines a wide range of diverse influences.

Many different fashion styles may be found among the girls who spend time in Harajuku, including Gothic Lolita, Gothic Maid, Wamono, Decora, Second-Hand Fashion, and cyber fashion. The Japanese street fashion magazine, FRUiTS, features many of the varied clothing styles that are popular in the Harajuku district.

These cultures of fantasy and display have become global trends and when combined with myriad forms of self publishing and exposure on the internet we see a new creative culture emerging. New myths and models are constantly being regenerated from fragments and remnants of previous cultural elements and merged with new technologies and new practices.

Elaborate fictions are created to function and serve as realities. Media displaces or becomes a reality in otaku culture. Screens, paper, plastic and synthetic materials serve as the commodities of consciousness. The physical and material world is avoided and replaced by obsessions with designs, images and words.

Media characters function as surrogates to house thoughts and imagined actions without social consequence. Natural flaws are eradicated and smoothed over, boredom is alleviated, time is compressed, and the drama is intensified. Play acting becomes a legitimate response and culture becomes a commodity.

All this is traditionally framed as a negative. But I came to realize that culture is the only real commodity. Everything else is driven by it, framed by it. Culture creates desire and now desire rather than necessity creates commodity.

PART 2

Whilst in Taipei I was fortunate to meet the Museum of Contemporary Art -Director Hsiang-Ling Lai and International Curator Sean Hu. Their ideas and discussion were also revealing…

Quotes from – http://www.mocataipei.org.tw/_english/1_about/0_overview_taipei.asp - June 2007

The Cross-fertilization of Contemporary Culture-Due to the ongoing tide of digitization and technological progression in our era, contemporary culture has entered a period of unprecedented international dialogue and integration.

The future of regional cultures will depend on how the “globalization” trend is converted into a stimulus for dialogue among those cultures and then used to deepen self-awareness of the original cultural matrices and to reposition them.

Art trends since the 1980s have opened the boundaries between high and low art, between art and other disciplines, and between art and social life. Art’s diverse media and the content of diverse cultures have mixed together disparate fields of inquiry such as art, science, philosophy, the aesthetics of living, and cultural study.

The globalization phenomenon has already manifested itself in economics, culture, technology, and communication. Elements from the foreign cultures of different regions are being exchanged with increasing frequency.

This rich intercultural dialogue and exchange will help to expand people’s horizons and stimulate new, progressive thinking on culture. Even more, it may become a never-ending source for the creative energy that drives contemporary cities.

I misread this as…Even more, it may become that a never-ending source of creative energy is what drives contemporary cities.

Interaction between boundary-transgressing contemporary art and different social groups in order to bring art outside of the museum and into the life of society, thereby changing the face of the city, has always been one of MOCA’s goals, so it has been gradually building on this foundation.In the future, MOCA will pursue a more multidirectional plan for development, under which art becomes an interface for remolding the urban landscape and experimenting with various novel realms in urban landscape, in order to achieve the forward-looking concept of making the city’s subjective,distinctive qualities a foundation for global dialogue.

At this point it crystallized in my mind; that it is creative energy driving us, it is open narratives in constant construction that guide us, make us and entertain us. Creativity is no longer contained or isolated in ‘Art’, and that it has already been dissolved and disseminated. In this state creativity is the culture and the currency of our world.

When I applied this thinking to my own ‘world’ I realized that the barriers and boundaries restraining creative behavior and practice exist only because they are nurtured by redundant myths and bureaucracies.

If they were to be done away with what would happen then? Well I would still make what I deem to be art but why isolate art with other art? Instead mix art with architecture, fashion, illustration, design, music, writing, etc. Stories and images and sounds which could extend far beyond the instance of their creation to be used relocated and transformed.

The product of such collaborations may be housed temporarily in the cleanness of art spaces or in the fluidity of an online environment yet there true place would be in the minds and the lives of others.

This new model for merging of art, culture, design, narrative and dialogue, questions existing modes of creativity coming from the private artist’s studio and being placed in the exclusive institution.

It allows audience access to other areas of creativity, commerce and community.

The singularity of the artist as a brand can be dissolved into collective participation and cross promotion from which individuals can then share and network into other communities.

It can be seen as the world as designed, created and crafted into new existences and behaviors and relationships.

Fashions, beliefs and desires are the primary drives our contemporary societies and they are constantly mutable, they affect our models of manufacture and behavior they are imposed on the natural world, reinvented in the technological world only to be consumed again in the world of our imagination.

PART 3

Finally my last and most basic revelation is that people are really and truly opening up to new media.

The devotion of enormous emotional energies to intimate relationships documented in diaries, letters, computers and video are now being posted and evolving publicly. The private intense areas of engagement in people’s lives are becoming disclosed in digital ‘fictions”.

In video logs, web sites, blogs and file shares - fears and joys and perversions once harbored in the floating worlds of the imagination are now finding virtual forms.

The ramifications of these public disclosures are extending into their audiences, their worlds and relationships. These online media presences don’t remain contained in digital space but they are replicated and extended into new dialogues and contexts.

These new media constructions are in themselves becoming multi faceted realities which are interfaced with and adopted or assimilated into what is known as life.
-

So they are the concepts that started IMP.
Lets see how far down the rabbit hole they will take us.
Chris.W.
-

IMPOSSIBLE GIRL - 22

2009-04-30T22:29:00.001-07:00

-

-

12 May…

The sun set is amazing. All gold and toffee flecked. Sweet and gooey just for me. Rowan is asleep in the cabin, he is fully sated. Me too, I haven’t felt this happy - this free I suppose - in a long time. I’m glad Rowan talked me into coming. We needed this and the sea. Like a dark purple blanket of silk before me, its a shot of inspiration.

I’ve been carrying around a weight ever since that first girl. I’m not deluding myself that it won’t come back but for now, here, it’s lifted.

Funny I used to struggle with vegetarianism, righteous one minute, drooling over a platter of chicken satay skewers the next. Rowan was a dedicated carnivore. If the dish didn’t contain meat he would send it back.

Neither of us can bear the smell of animal flesh now. We’re still doing dairy and to a lesser extent eggs but meat makes us balk. The band is pretty disgusted, they think its Rowan’s choice and my influence on him. I don’t care, it makes me feel better cosmically.

We need to feed to survive. I wonder how karma copes with that.

That first time I fed I thought I would choke. But weirdly the warmth of the blood sliding down my throat felt good. Rowan showed me how to make the wound, the sucking motion came naturally.

The girl was wasted when we found her, some dirtbag was trying to get her in a cab. We feigned friendship and Rowan chased off the sleaze. Then we took her home and violated her in a different way.

Afterward we drove her to the address on her license. Rowan used her own key to get into her house and put on the couch. He was in and out quickly and apparently no one else woke up or saw him.

I obsessed over it for weeks after. Wondering how she had felt when she woke up on the couch. All hazy and hung over and weak from blood loss, a bruise and puncture marks on her inner thigh.

Rowan told me not to think about. He battered me with justifications, ‘we took less blood than the Red Cross’, ‘it’s not like we actually harmed her, she’ll be fine’, and ‘maybe we saved her from something worse’.

Maybe… God I don’t want to think about it now, just focus on the sweet sand beneath my toes and the clear beautiful skin of my lover, waiting for me no more than 10 feet away
-

-

-

Title - 12

2009-04-30T22:05:00.000-07:00