At the Fair.

Woah - a trip back in time the other day as I stumbled across one of my first artworks.

I did this when I was about (I think) seven years old, on one of those spinning thingies at the fun fair.  I was totally blown away at how easy it was to create a wondrous piece of art.  Of course, it was never that easy again, mostly because my definition of art has changed to require a decent period of time in the making.  But before I get caught up in referencing Dick Frizzell, Denis Dutton or Damiein Hirst, or the fascinating but fraught area of 'what is art?', let's head back to the fun fair.

Pee-making excitement.  Candy floss.  Wooden ducks being shot, toffee apples, clowns,  horses on roundabouts, and, the most scary of all (except the ferris wheel and rollercoaster, which I will never ever go on), the GHOST TRAIN!  Brrr.  I was so scared but not quite enough to not want to go on it -  ie, good scared.

The Ghost train at the Hawkes Bay A and P Show fun fair looked something like this.

But to me, even in daytime, it looked like this:

Absolutely wonderful!  Of course once you get on the little trains and go inside, it's a bit of a let-down, but never mind.  Anticipation is everything, especially if parents prolong it by making you wait four years before you're allowed a go.

Candy floss was the other thing:  When you first get it it's interesting in an academic sort of visual soft-focus way:

But once you've eaten half the wad and have a cerise tongue and a sugar hit as high as the Hawkes Bay sun, you feel more like this:

The other thing indelibly etched on my memory from the fun fair was the Negative Clowns.  There was a row of them, mouths open, slowly shaking their heads from side to side.

This isn't me.  I was in black and white when I was young.

If your three ping-pong balls slid into slots that totaled a high enough amount, you got a Prize. I think I must have been three.  And I still have the prize I won.  Dad held me up and I randomly popped the balls in one after the other, quite quickly.  Suddenly the man said I'd won! and could choose anything from the shelf he was pointing to.  What a thrill!  I chose a dog, because I adored dogs.
It wasn't until some years afterwards that I realised that it held a limp pheasant in its mouth.
It sat on my shelf, diligently dusted every Saturday morning until I left home.  I have it packed away, but it looks like this, only taller.