Posts Tagged ‘art’

First part of the novel submitted to novel writing course / workshop.

February 27, 2018

more over on

You, you, you

Art, Life & Death in Contemporary London

by Gar O’Dwyer


+ transit +

There were five of them in the car; Xavier driving, Theo beside him, Margo, Longblonde and Carsten in the back. The roads were busy with traffic and people. It was nice weather though, t-shirt weather.

‘Blah, blah, blah,’ said Longblonde.

‘You know it’s true,’ said Carsten. Theo turned his head around to look at Longblonde:       ‘Is it true?’

Margo looked up from her phone, ‘Is what true?’

Longblonde shrugged his shoulders, ‘It’s not true!’

Xavier started laughing, ‘He’s lying, I can always tell when he’s lying.’

‘Oh my god…’

Theo reached over to the dashboard and changed the music, as the car crawled to a halt for the traffic lights.

‘No! No more show-fucking-tunes,’ pleaded Carsten.

A guy on a bike pulled up alongside them. He wore red shorts and a T-shirt pulled up at the front and over his head, exposing his upper body. Even though he hunched over the handlebars of his racer, he had no gut. He could have been a model.

     Cute. Hot, in fact, thought Theo. The cyclist looked at him and smiled. Theo flashed a smile back. The cyclist returned his attention to the road ahead. Theo continued to appraise him. He had something of the pop-teen-dream about him. Great legs, waist, arms, chest skin, teeth. And happy. He is actually really beautiful.

The cyclist with the sun in his eyes shot Theo another glance and to Theo it appeared as if he was winking. A flawless pagan god, astride his chariot… needs work.

The cyclist rode off and accelerated away while the car remained stuck in traffic.

     What a butt! Gods on chariots, bikes, no horses, gods and goddesses on horses…

His train of thought was interrupted by Carsten: ‘I know him.’

‘Do you now?’

‘Total slut,’

Margot looked up from her phone again: ‘Who?’ she pushed her hair from her face to look around.

Carsten: ‘Too late. You missed him. Hot bb. Theo couldn’t take his eyes off him.

‘Shall I follow him?’ suggested Xavier, as the car began to move off slowly.

‘Creepy!’ sang Margo.

‘Anyways… I came back into the room,’ Carsten continued, ‘He was all over him…’

‘Really?’ said Longblonde. ‘That’s terrible,’

‘Who?’ asked Xavier.

‘Matteo,’ said Carsten, ‘I know, right?’

‘What’s the guy on the bikes name?’ asked Theo.

‘Ah… can’t remember. I see him around… places… on his bike… big dick.’

They continued slowly along the road, Old Street roundabout, then along dodo road.

‘That reminds me. Did you hear about… what’s his name?’ asked Margo.

Xavier had to turn left instead of continuing along the main road.

‘Margot’s got a big dick story,’ said Carsten.

As the car turned the cause of the diversion was revealed.

‘Was it as big as the Longblonde’s?’

In the middle of the road lay a beaten up bike frame and a few feet from that the body of the cyclist in the red shorts, lifeless on the dark tarmac.

‘Jesus Christ!’ shrieked Theo.


‘Fuck!’ cried Xavier.

The body appeared unmarked from the distance of the car but the positioning of the limbs wasn’t right, all mangled, disturbing looking.

‘O.M.G! No!’ gasped Carsten, putting his hands to his mouth.

A figure was kneeling down beside the body, checking for signs of life.

‘Oh my god! Oh my god!’ Longblonde repeated anxiously.

‘Poor fucker,’ said Carsten.

The woman kneeling over the cyclist worked at resuscitating the guy.

‘Bring him back to life,’ said Theo.

’It’s terrible,’ said Xavier.

Longblonde tried to speak but instead burst into tears.

The traffic continued. People had destinations to get to still, things to do, accident or no accident. Life goes on. Death or no death.

‘We need to stop,’ demanded Theo.

‘No. We can’t. There’s no where to stop that wont be in the way,’ said Xavier.

‘We didn’t see anything,’ added Carsten.

‘I want to stop. We have to stop. I need to get out,’ said Theo.

‘Why do you need to get out?’ asked Xavier.

‘We have to stop. A sign of respect. Or something! We can’t just carry on as if nothing has happened.’

‘People die all the time,’ said Carsten.

‘Xavier,’ Theo shouted, ‘Can you stop the fucking car, now!’

‘God, okay, as soon as I can, je’es. Not here. Just let me pull up, a bit further on.’

‘Just let me out here and park where you want,’

Xavier stopped the car abruptly, and they were all thrown forward.

‘Hey! Jesus! Drive much!’ the cry went up.

Theo jumped out of the car and headed back along the street to the site of the accident. Longblonde jumped out, wiping his eyes and followed. Xavier drove off, looking for somewhere to park.

They joined the growing crowd around the body, standing looking on helplessly.

‘He’s beautiful,’ said Theo.

As they tried to get closer to the cyclist, a man asked them: ‘Did you see what happened?’

‘No,’ said Longblonde, ‘a couple of minutes ago he was….’ Theo turned to Longblonde, pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and whispered,

‘I’m gonna take some pictures.’

Longblonde squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and shook his head as Theo got closer with his device.

‘Sure. Right. Great. Pay your respects by taking a selfie!’ Longblonde said to himself as he followed, looking furtively about as they got closer and closer to the body, Theo pausing every few seconds to take a photo, discreetly, making sure not to hold the camera up to his eye and draw attention.

A Para-medic in her tabard pushed her way through the crowd.

‘Come on, shall we go?’ suggested Longblonde, wiping tears from his eyes.

‘Are you taking pictures?’ a woman asked, her voice full of contempt and disgust. Theo ignored her and moved away. It wasn’t long before the paramedics pulled a red blanket up over the body, all the way up and then over the head.

‘No!’ gasped Theo.

‘We should go. Come on.’

Theo took one final photo of the shrouded body, then followed Longblonde away from the crowd, back to the car.


When they got back to Theo’s house they had all gathered in the kitchen.

‘Who wants a drink?’ asked Theo.

‘That would be nice,’ said Margo.

‘Vodka, ginger ale, for everyone, Longblonde,’ said Xavier.


‘How did you know him?’ Theo asked Carsten.

‘Who? Roadkill guy?’

‘That’s not funny,’ Longblonde said.

‘I don’t know him per se…’

‘I want to find out about him?’

‘I can’t remember who said he was a whore.’

‘Do u think it was gods punishment? For being a whore?’ asked Zavier.

Theo started sobbing.

‘Come hear! said Xavier, arms outstretched as he moved over to cradle Theo.


+ smash +


The two of them were on the bed. Longblonde on all fours, Theo behind him, his hands holding the pale, slender waist, as he pounded methodically at his butt. They grunted and groaned and grimaced as they fucked, bodies sticky and glistening with sweat. He put his hand in Sven’s dirty blonde hair as he pumped away, burying his cock in his peachy ass, to the root. He needed as much depth as possible. He pulled on Longblonde’s hair causing him to raise his head, lifting his chin and arching his back, further raising his arse up in the air. He wanted to be as deep inside, deep as could be. He wanted him to know he could hurt him. He wanted to hurt him. He wanted him to remember what they did, and how deep inside him he had been.

‘Gonna come!’

Longblonde responded in his native Swedish. Theo didn’t understand, but readily translated it as: ‘Oh yeah, fuck me, fuck me hard!’

They lay together on the bed breathing heavily.

‘That was something. Wow!’ said Longblonde.

‘I thought my cock was gonna come off,’ he turned and kissed him, ‘you know, when I came.’

‘You tried to hurt me.’


‘Are you sure?’

‘No. I just wanted to be… inside you.’

‘Right!’ said Longblonde. He knew Theo had a sadistic streak.

‘Anyway. You love a good anal pounding.’ Theo laughed at the coarseness of his language.

‘I’d rather you didn’t speak like that. I hate it. Why do you do that?’ asked Longblonde, serious and hurt.

Theo moved round and rested on one elbow so he could look at his lover beside him beneath the sheet. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I’m joking. You so sensitive.’

‘Yes. Sorry for being a sensitive human being.’

‘I love you on all fours; you’re so sexy from that angle. I love your back, your waist, and your arse. I could drink cum from your arse!’

‘Help yourself!’ said Longblonde, with a grin. Theo kissed him. ‘It felt like you was punishing me, you know?’

‘Have you been bad?’ Theo watched him for a moment in silence as he lay there with his eyes closed. ‘Feeling guilty,’ Theo continued.

‘Am I ever bad?’

They kissed and stroked one another with a genuine tenderness.

‘You are a perfect angel,’ said Theo, getting up form the bed. ‘Tea?’

‘Yes please.’

‘Would you?’ said Theo, wrapped himself up in the bed sheet.

‘I guess,’ said Longblonde, reluctantly, ‘Back to work.’

‘Back to work,’ repeated Theo.

Longblonde pulled on his t-shirt and jeans while Theo looked at his phone.


+ show-buisness +


Without apparent aim, Theo shuffled about the room slowly before disappearing through a doorway into the adjoining room, a room much the same as the first, large, high ceilings, white walls adorned with photographs, drawings, paintings, objects. Furniture seemed almost strewn about and drapes hung from ceiling to floor hiding tall elegant Georgian windows. A television, volume turned down, provided the main source of light in the room.

In front of a desk, with a computer on it, Theo came to a halt. He looked intently at a series of images and texts on the screen until he was distracted by a noise. An odd noise. He went to the window and pulled back the curtain. It was still daylight. He took in the view; the flowering plants in the window box; the high wall at the end of the small garden; and beyond that, the overgrown graveyard of Abney Park Cemetery. He stood, distracted thoughts racing, until…

What was he meant to be doing? Oh yes that was it…

There it was again. What the hell was it? Then he realised. It was the palm tree fronds scratching at the wall. He let the curtain fall shut and returned to the desk. He pulled a chair over and sat down and started reading. Theo worked at the keyboard with little enthusiasm. Until suddenly music filled the room and a women’s voice sang out.

He pushed his chair back and embarked on a chaotic dance; spinning, waving, kicking, leaping around the room and all the while singing:

     ‘There’s no business, like show business, there’s no business I know… So let’s go on with the show…’

Theo’s chaotic routine stopped as the music ended. Laughing, he readjusted the white sheet he wore like a robe and returned to the other room at the front of the house. He threw himself on the sofa, grabbed the remote and switched off the TV mute.

He sighed periodically as he lay there watching anything and everything for the rest of the day. The cuckoo clock ticked, as the hours passed, tick tock, tick tock, tick tock…

Midnight, Theo strayed down to the kitchen. It occupied a large room on the ground floor. He prepared something to eat, nothing that involved cooking, just something to stop the hunger. Roasted vegetable humus on rice crackers. As he munched away he poured boiled water from the kettle over a teabag in a bowl. It was a new discovery this tea: Rose, Violet and Jasmine.

He sat at the table in the middle of the kitchen to finish his meal. The phone rang breaking the silence. He didn’t answer it. When it had stopped, a black cat appeared and padded across the kitchen floor, and under the table toward him. Theo called out to it playfully:

‘Hello baby! How is my Catula this evening?’

The cat meowed back and weaved between his legs.


+ alone +


The ringing of the front door bell woke him and he lifted his head up from the pillow. He had no intention of answering it. Catula joined him on the bed. The doorbell rang again. And again. Theo slowly got up from the bed and walked over to the window. Catula remained on the bed watching him as he pushed the curtain to one side. God, it was bright.

He peered down into the street below, being careful to make sure he was not seen.

‘Don’t know him, Catula.’

He watched the guy step back away from the door and look up at the house. Theo stepped back from the window.

Go away?’ he said.

A door in some other part of the house slammed shut.

‘Wonder who that could be?’ Theo decided to investigate. Out on to the staircase he looked down and listened but could hear nothing except the cuckoo clock ticking. He headed along the hall to the bathroom.

The bathroom was large enough to have chairs and other bits of furniture and objects in it. He brushed his teeth over the sink. A phone rang somewhere in the house. Theo sat down on a bench until the ringing stopped. A moment later another phone rang. He didn’t want to talk, not to anyone. It stopped. He was not in the mood. It would just be boring and distract him from the important things that he needed to think about.

He climbed into the shower. What did he need to think about? Another phone rang, much closer.

Outside the young guy had given up and walked away.

When he finished showering he returned to his room. As he passed the cuckoo clock, high on the hall wall he noticed it had stopped. Two chains with fur cones in metal, hung from the clock and by pulling the chain to raise the heavy weight, it was re-charged. One fur cone and chain represented the hands of the clock face, the other the cuckoo’s ability to sing out.

He worked at his computer until it was dark. He lit a candle in a silver candleholder. With the candle casting a radiant, illuminating halo over a whole wide variety of things that could be hung from a nail on a wall. Paintings, photographs, tapestries, antique weapons, and plastic objects of unknown provenance. Some objects looked as if they belonged to a baronial hall; others to the window of a charity shop; and others still maybe the walls of a contemporary art gallery.

When he had reached the kitchen, he placed his candlestick on the worktop near the sink and filled an antique china teapot with water from the tap.

‘Hello baby,’ Catula had joined him. The two of them set about watering the plants in the kitchen. The basil, parsley, thyme. He pushed the window open, and deluged the plants in the window box; the ivy, the sweet pea, the jasmine and the honeysuckle.

Coming from the end of the garden he could hear the noises in the bushes. Because of the cemetery beyond the wall at the back of the garden, there were no streetlights, so it was always a dense sort of black at night.

Movement and rustling in the undergrowth. Then the small blonde-red fox appeared lit by the light from the kitchen window.

‘Hello Ginger!’

The fox gave Theo a quick study before disappearing back into the undergrowth.

Theo closed and locked the window. It wasn’t safe to leave them unlocked. Not on the lower floors. He returned to the sink and, refilled the teapot.

‘Guess who I just saw?’

     ‘Who?’ Catula did not ask.


Catula meowed and danced a figure of eight, very precise and with a discernable pattern as if performing some form of cat quadrille.

‘Who puts the cat in intri-cat-e? Who? You. Catula!

He continued about the house with teapot, candle and cat, watering plants inside and outside in the window boxes.

Somewhere in the house a floorboard emitted a loud creak. He paused and listened intently for a few seconds, then carried on. Who was that? He approached the door to one of the rooms in his house that acted as a combination of guest room and storeroom. No room was ever a spare room.

Two figures lay asleep on the bed. Xavier, yes. And someone else. He didn’t know who. Some hook up, probably.

Theo entered the room with his teapot and watered the peace lily in the corner. He then watched them for a moment, until Xavier started moving about in the bed. He took it as his cue to exit, quickly, closing the door quietly.

‘Cuckoo, cuckoo…’ chimed the Cuckoo five times. They descended the stairs, Catula and his master, and back to the living room. He placed the candle on a table and sat down and pulled his computer back on to his lap.

Catula sat nearby, in her small cardboard box, a sentinel, listening to the sounds of the house, observing changes in light, understanding absolutely nothing. Oh to a moron. Feasting, fighting, fucking and forty winks. Theo read from the screen:

     ‘Of the arbitrary and the random, in time, location and severity, suffered in isolation, with no recourse to an appeal, accused, judged, found guilty, summarily punished, taunted, mocked, abused, slapped at, punched at, spat at, smashed at, kicked, stoned and stabbed at, thrown from a city bridge; or out of a window, off a balcony, shot at, disappeared… ‘

He sat back and took a drag on his e-cigarette.


+ lady +


‘Iggy come and get some bags,’ Xavier called out. Ignacio was bouncing a ball in the road. He didn’t respond. Xavier handed his mother another carrier bag full of groceries he lifted from the back of the car.

‘Come on Ignacio,’ Mertxe called over her shoulder, as she headed to the front door of Theo’s house. ‘In a minute.’

Xavier sang in Spanish as he waited to hand a bag or two to his younger brother.

‘Iggy!’ he called out in a faux menacing tone.

Once inside with all the bags, he closed the door and followed Ignacio through to the kitchen. They piled their loads onto the painted pine table in the centre. Xavier switched on the coffee machine and started singing again, as his mother emptied bags and squirreled away items behind a variety of doors.

Theo appeared in the doorway, ‘Morning, Mertxe.’

‘Evening! Oh,’ she cried, covering her eyes with one hand and waiving her other in the direction of his groin. ‘Put some clothes on, we don’t want to see, your… thing.’

‘What’s wrong with you? Of course you do,’ said Theo.

Xavier lent against the counter, pinching the handle of an espresso cup as he continued singing to his growing audience. Mertxe peaked through her fingers to see what she was missing.

Iggy sitting at the table watched Xavier as he sang, as if in a trance. Theo grabbed a tea towel from the back of a chair to cover himself.

‘Not my tea towel from Bilbao!’


to be continued…



#artforsale works on paper framed. To raise funds for @dalstonballet Check it over on ebay. #curatorial #collecting #commissions

February 1, 2018

Great books, fun bags (sounds rude!) and unique art for sale on ebay from the house of o’dwyer

See if there is something you’d like

to raise money for the Dalston Ballet Co.


Prize winning books for sale + Serious face + Missy the dancing dog!

January 11, 2018


The Loney, The Power, Wolf Hall, Blackwater as well as poetry, magic realism all from my Library… and more… check it, me, missy out!

Coming soon from Missy’s thrift shop: bags, paintings and who knows!




#metamorphosis #exile #anxiety #venus n #mars #slap #punch #fetish #hair, #muscle n #kimono

December 6, 2017

not even joking tho’

the misunderstood Dalston Ballet Co


Halloween Tarot part 3 (Artist’s Studio) by Dalston Ballet #messingwityourmangoes

November 28, 2017

Dalston Ballet



Thanks to all the musicians, performers, dancers and the behind the scenes folk.

Rckay Rax – Yumi Hara – Alvin Jedus

Linda Hogg – Qila Gill – Marianne Hyatt

Sadiq Ali – Tasmine Airey – Manon Aquilina

Liam Liam – Gar O’Dwyer

produced by:

& The Centre of Attention





Halloween Tarot 2017 by Dalston Ballet pt 2 making the disciplines cross

November 28, 2017

at Rosemary Branch Theatre, London




dalston ballet

November 28, 2017


if you’re not amazing please don’t view u not gonna get it. just saying #dalstonballet

November 26, 2017

October Tarot Overture




Dalston Ballet – vout-o-reenees london – Up Your Wiemar – Just relax

November 22, 2017





Dalston Ballet – Tarot – for – Up Yer Wiemar


with Visiting Associate Artists







live art producer –


Maybe yeah u wanna see TAROT nov 2017 dalston ballet?

November 16, 2017


Alvindel 2017


i no longer give a flying fu



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