Nancy Wilson… & More.

19.01.201909.12.2024 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

Wilson, Nancy 20/2/1937<O>13/12/2018

Michael: This fragment was a third-level mature artisan – second life thereat. Nancy was in the passion mode with a goal of growth. An idealist, she was in the emotional part of intellectual centre.

Body type was Solar/Saturn.

Nancy’s primary chief feature was self-deprecation and the secondary stubbornness.

The fragment Nancy is fifth-cast in sixth cadence; he is a member of greater cadence five. Nancy’s entity is seven, cadre four, greater cadre 1, pod 129.

Nancy’s essence twin is an artisan and the task companion a warrior.

Nancy’s primary needs were: expression, expansion and power.

There are 10 past-life associations with Arvin and 6 with Merlin.

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What a truly great voice. Though over the years, I had attended many Nancy Wilson concerts, one in particular remains the most memorable. It was the late set at the Blue Note Jazz Club in New York City’s West Village. A Saturday night performance, it was at the end of the run and Ms. Wilson was in fine form. With me that evening was Milan Newcombe, the rather eccentric lover of mine who had the most magical residence in Toronto’s Kensington Market.

Milan and I met about a month before the 350th anniversary celebrations of Montréal in May 1992. The day of the anniversary, there was a parade through the city’s main artery at night time; quite a unique and spectacular sight. We stayed that weekend in a loft at the corner of Ontario and St. Laurent Streets and that night, I wore a pair of six-inch, black patent leather Bally talons hauts, a pair of extra short blue jeans that nicely sported the goods, a large, white pirate’s shirt, a confident smile whilst holding hands with the coolest motherfucker I had met since having met Merlin – Milan made a most pleasurable adventure of living.

Having just returned from a weekend in New York City with Manhattan cabaret singer, Frans Bloem, I was crawling the halls of the St. Mark’s bathhouse at Wellesley on Yonge, in a bid to get over decidedly banal sexual relations with Frans. A great human being to be sure but sex should not be as ennuiyant and tedious as needlepoint. Well into the late hours, after a few hookups, a long lean body caught my eye as it lay there, waiting to either prey or be preyed on.

An hour later we emerged into the gritty, callously unforgiving light of daybreak and hopped on our bikes. Together we rode west along Wellesley, cut through University of Toronto campus and onto Spadina, rode south on said avenue to the most magical lair imaginable. There above a series of Chinese shops, Milan owned the two storey apartment that was filled with an assortment of Bohemians – or at least trust fund types, bored out of their skulls whilst waiting to collect their inheritance.

Milan possessed the largest music library, I had yet or since seen. Moreover, within that library were the most extensive recordings of harpsichord music. If that were not specialised enough, Milan owned a harpsichord which, after we had riotously slapped, nipple-bitten, punched and me gourmandise his pygmy fin whale schlong: girth and length that makes your upper lip sweat and eyes roll back like Whitney Houston in full song, he would spend the next hour playing what proved the most captivating instrument. Always at such times, I would become sponge-like and expansive, feeling as though in between wakefulness and sleep with a plethora of the most lucid past-life dreams flooding and surfacing my conscious mind. Not surprisingly, that harpsichord proved a touchstone to our past-life connections and specifically to the life as court musicians in London, England during the reign of King George III and the Regency when Milan, Merlin and I plus a whole host of others whom I have known in this lifetime were greatly, creatively fulfilled.

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Newcombe, Milan 08/02/56 Toronto <O> Toronto

This fragment was a third level mature sage – first incarnation at this level, likely to repeat the level – in the passion mode with a goal of acceptance. An idealist, he was in the intellectual centre, emotional part.

Milan’s body type was Saturn/Venus.

Milan’s primary chief feature was impatience and the secondary arrogance.

The essence twin is a sage, also discarnate. An artisan task companion he’s got, who is incarnate.

This fragment is second-cast, cadence sixth in the greater cadence, entity six, cadre one, greater cadre 7, node 414. Milan is in the same entity as Arvin and Merlin, sharing a strong connection through the arts.

The three primary needs for Milan were: freedom, power and communion.

Q: Past lives of note for Milan:

Michael: This fragment has had many lives in the theatre and in performing, as would be expected, due to his soul age, mature and role, sage.

He has been a well-known courtesan in nineteenth century France, to a second-in-command lieutenant to Napoleon Bonaparte and was involved in many secretive meetings to which she was privy, due to her ability to keep silent.

She, however, was found guilty of espionage, at a later date, and hanged, at the age of 24.

This sage has also performed with students of Hippocrates in the fifth century Common Era in Crete and also became interested in herbal medicine at that time.

Lives in the performing arts total 24 altogether and have been both notable, such as in China in the eighth century as a puppeteer or in the caves of Borneo when he was a painter of walls with what would be called ancient hieroglyphs.

This fragment was also present in the sixteenth century in Venice and was a student of a lesser artist, not sure about the name.

Q: Past lives with Arvin:

Michael: First of all, let us comment that these two fragments did have an agreement which had to do with the validation of personal expression.

Number of past incarnations total twenty and include:

These two fragments were present in the “George” life; King George III of England, when the sage was a fellow musician and trumpeter. The sage was competitive with the artisan and envious of the artisan’s natural talents.
They have been married once before officially in an area of the Middle East, eleventh century BCE, when they were in an arranged marriage having to do with land and money exchange. They did get along reasonably well due to the entity connection but did argue.
Makers of small ornamental objects in the first century Common Era, Crete. Both were female and cousins.
These two fragments completed a sequence having to do with abandonment/abandoner in the São Paulo incarnation. The female artisan seduced the sage and then subsequently refused to continue in the relationship which led to emotional turmoil for the sage.

This first part of this sequence took place in the 1300’s in Spain when the reverse occurred but the sexes were the same, artisan still female, seduced by the sage then abandoned.

Had this not been an agreement, there would have been mindfuck karma incurred.

(KB: this was an important set of incarnations)

Q: Past lives with Merlin and the ET:

This fragment was present in the life aforementioned in the fourth century in an area of Tibet and was the mother of the task companion, former-Merlin but separated when the scholar, former-Merlin, was quite young due to religious training.

There have been an additional four of note including one in the ninth century in China when these two fragments were enemies and came quite close to incurring karma; through combat, not agreed upon in advance, as well as one in the first century Common Era when they were married to the same male fragment; Common Law, Palestine area.

This sage has also shared three past associations with Arvin’s essence twin which have included living in a small village in western Canada in the 1400’s both male. They were childhood friends.

Additionally they have fought side-by-side “on stage” when members of a travelling theatrical group in northern Italy in the sixteenth century. The essence twin died of a fall which the sage tried to prevent but was unable to, happened when both were teens.

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Milan was magical; his home lit throughout by candelabras and the salon an exacting reproduction of an 18th century English salon. One of the most beautiful things about sleeping over with Milan at his magical lair, was that many were the nights when I would – whilst lying next to him in bed, pleasured and satiated – spontaneously astral project. During these marvellous OBEs (out-of-body experiences), I would get up out of my body, turn around to look at our smiling pleasured faces harmoniously lying in bed fast asleep, see the cord of silvery white light that attached my astral body to my physical body. This cord more so resembles a caravan of tiny balls of light that are unbreakable and which attach at the solar plexus of both bodies – astral and physical. Milan was the most sensual lover and the greatest kisser.

This song was Milan’s favourite tune and Nancy Wilson his favourite Jazz singer – just as Natalie Cole and Betty Carter mine and John Hirsch was Ella Fitzgerald’s undisputed biggest enthusiast. Until having met me, Milan had never listened to Jazz or explored the genre. However, like all persons in the positive pole of their goal of acceptance, he embraced, appreciated and explored the newfound treasure that for him Jazz would prove. With an intensity never before experienced, Milan insisted on venturing to every Jazz concert imaginable. To that end, we took several trips to Chicago, New Orleans and, of course, New York City to nurture our souls and forge to greater depths the bond we shared. Whenever the loving was good and god do I love a cock… especially his – hey, three billion women can’t be wrong, Milan would then play some Nancy Wilson. Our love faded on my relocation to Vancouver – he hated grey, dreary and rainy weather, I was come undone one early morning whilst meditating in the pyramid in Vancouver, Milan appeared to me and said so long. I knew that he had died that day – another lover passed of AIDS. I will ever experience the sweetest memories when listening to Nancy Wilson.

Sweet and very blissful dreams indeed be yours Nancy: griot, linguist, shaman and truly great performer.

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As ever, thanks for your ongoing support, dream without giving a damn… cause you can and all the more reason to push off and start flying.

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The Day After the Night that Was.

16.12.201809.12.2024 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

By now the effects of the stewed fruit at breakfast has seen my waist shrink; I am grateful. The morning after the night that was, I am still elated and humming away that catchy melody from Ludwig Minkus’ greatly composed ballet.

After breakfast I decamped at Leicester Square where it was time to enjoy the bright, cool sunlight and catch a movie. The Vue cinemas are rather interesting; I was keen to know if I would have a repeat of what had transpired last winter.

Back then, I was upstairs at the same cinemas watching, Darkest Hour, which proved a real tour de force performance from Gary Oldman. Sat in the back row, soon I became bloated and expansive. Though not the least bit drowsy, I felt wide-open and lucidly self-aware. Next, as the film progressed, I watched as several pure white humanoid forms simply stood up and walked to the sides and quite seamlessly walked through the very real walls of the cinema.

One of the things that Merlin and I always loved doing, was seeing a film during its opening weekend. Naturally, so close to the anniversary of his passing, I was keen on seeing a film. J. K. Rowling is among my favourite contemporary writers and having seen the first film in this series, it only made sense to go.

Whilst waiting for the cinema to open, I caught a series of items; all are favourite actors of mine, especially Sir Kenneth Branagh.

The first screening of the day was a special affair with about one third of the theatre occupied. A lovely Chinese couple sat to my right with their precocious son of about ten years stuck between them. We chatted briefly and I thought it so strange that conversation with strangers is almost unheard of when attending a Canadian movie.

I emerged into the crisp Saturday morning in Leicester Square a bit teary eyed as thoughts of Merlin at one point during the film overwhelmed me. It was after all the eve of his passing some 29 years earlier.

Slipping inside this tiny joint – I always favour hole-in-the-world, ma-n-pa joints, I got a couple of really good slices of pizza whilst pouring through the Times of London. There was conversation close by, which struck me as interesting; it went from Theresa May and Brexit to Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex. I soon realised that both persons were openly criticised chiefly for being women; in the case of the Ms. May, she is dismissed and not taken seriously chiefly for being female. As for Meghan, like every woman who marries into the BRF, she is readily reviled, though, some of this has bordered on racial hysteria and seriously threatening.

In a bid to cleanse my very soul, after all that, I slipped from Leicester Square for the uplifting sophistication of the National Gallery where I deftly moved through my favourite salons with usual mercurial speed, taking the time to pause and admire the key works of art that bring me the greatest pleasure.

Well, after all that art, it was time for more prowling the decidedly unCanadian wintry streets of London. Along Shaftesbury, I strode my Crockett & Jones booted and blistered feet into Neal Street where my favourite hippy-dippy (as Merlin would remark) New Age store, The Astrology Shop in Covent Garden. Though, it most definitely does not have the best choices, I still love the feel of the place and their sagebrush collection is second to none.

Along with marvellous pieces of crystals and a wonderful Citrine, I really connected with this gorgeous agate ring. The moment that I saw it, I really resonated with me and it felt so right.

After a rather warm conversation with a green-eyed, redhead, she was fascinated by my custom Reuben Mack messenger bag.

I then headed back to The British Museum for more shopping. As it was the weekend, there was now a sizeable lineup to gain entry. As though my impatience with crowds were not enough but soon, I had two Torontonian women doing what Canadians do best; they spent much of their time gawking at me, talking about me and cultural appropriation for wearing the custom Reuben Mack messenger. Standing there in line, I was reminded of what petty, small-minded bigoted jackasses the average Canadian can be and god do they love being openly racially predatory towards blacks.

Never once had I experienced a scintilla of racial animus from a Briton or for being in London to that point; there you have it, the land where racism is enshrined in law: employment equity law of Canada: All employers must employ, Caucasians, First Nations persons, Disabled persons and visible minorities and therein is the framework of Canada’s own form of Apartheid – state sanctioned racism. All employers, in particular crown corporations (government agencies – federal and provincial) employ visible minorities to the exclusion of blacks and if and when they do employ blacks, they then hire blacks only as casual workers which means they are not entitled to benefits, pension and guaranteed hours.

So smugly established is this state of affairs that the current prime minister refused to attend the 50th anniversary of Caribana – the nations West Indian community’s gift to Canada on its 100th birthday in 1967; however, he attends ever Gay pride parade in the same city as Caribana, Toronto, and has repeatedly been to India, to dress up and act a right clown because who gives a damn about blacks in Canada. As one friend said, blacks over the past three decades have become as marginalised as First Nations persons. But enough about aggressive young souls and their racialised worldview. Meanwhile, as they were openly rude towards me whilst queueing to enter the British Museum, I grabbed my phone and pretended to film them to which one of them suddenly became enraged, demanding that I not film her… You have to laugh or truly you would go mad. In any event, I got the feisty Buster a nice but scary Egyptian stuffed cat – he is actually afraid of it.

On my return to the hotel, a couple of blocks from The British Museum, I slumped into bed and decided that my aching feet needed a break from the rest of the day’s planned events. To that end, I stayed in that night rather than return to Barbican Hall to catch a celebration of the Windrush Migration. At that concert were to have been Calypso Rose and The Mighty Sparrow; though it had been years since last seeing either performer, I just was not into it. Moreover, I wanted to take the time to be with myself and reflect on the eve of Merlin’s passing some 29 years earlier.

As ever, thanks for your ongoing support and ever remember to push off and start flying.

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Two Albrechts But What A Giselle!

10.03.201807.12.2024 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

Second night in London and there was still lots of snow — at least, by London standards; after Montréal where three feet of snow is no horror, 1.5 inches seemed to have arrested London in its tracks — I was all excited to see David Hallberg whose recent memoir I read on the flight over and carried in my custom Ruben Mack messenger bag, to have it signed after the performance. Enjoyed my glass of champagne and being in the balcony at Royal Opera house was magical. My seat was smack in the middle of three Japanese young ladies who were being chaperoned by their lovely teacher. I negotiated and they excitedly expressed their appreciation at being able to switch with me being on the end so that that they could all sit together. The closest two sat on their coats and I even offered the tinier future Giselle my coat to sit on.

Naturally, I was returned to London as last June, I had pleasantly discovered Natalia Osipova dancing in Marguerite and Armand and was instantly a fan. There was no way that I was going to miss her Giselle. Midway through Act I of Giselle, David whom I had never previously seen perform, failed to have impressed. He seemed not to be dancing full out and the partnership seemed strained; it was as though they had not had enough rehearsals. Then after intermission and really good champagne, the company’s artistic director came to the stage to announce that Mr. Hallberg had been injured during Act I and would not be proceeding; he then announced that the youngster, Matthew Ball would dance the role of Prince Albrecht in Act II — the house went wild as he had days earlier made his debut in the ballet.

What then unfolded was the most glorious of evenings in the theatre. Ms. Osipova, who has the most phenomenal ballon ever witnessed on any ballerina — to say nothing of her turns — danced as if truly overjoyed. Mr. Ball was also fantastic and I howled for joy at their curtain calls. Heck, I, who never go backstage, went in hopes of having Mr. Hallberg sign my copy of his book; however, he was a no-show. Ms. Osipova, inordinately gracious and an ecstatic Mr. Ball, who had had to dash back to the theatre that evening, was only too happy to sign my copy of the program as a steady drizzle fell beyond the double, glass stage doors.

Of course, the night prior, I had trekked in even more snow out to Barbican Centre to catch yet another performance of the Jazz at Lincoln Centre Orchestra led by the unparallelled genius, Wynton Marsalis. The programme was exclusively Leonard Bernstein in a celebration of his centenary… and what a phenomenal show it was. London’s Jews were out in force to be sure. I sat next to a princely 93-year-old Jew whose energies were rather like those of Yehudi Menuhin and boy was this man gracious of spirit. To say the least, I had a ball.

Naturally, one goes to a Wynton Marsalis performance for the encores! And boy, he did not disappoint. As always, I unashamedly howled like mad at the end of all that. This musical genius’s fabulousness is out of this world. This truly was a marvellous way to celebrate a homecoming of sorts; London truly does feel like another West Indian isle. As Merlin and I shared a rather accomplished life as court musicians in late 18th century London, it is always great to be in London.

Though I had downloaded the app and had planned on biking whilst in London, the snow everywhere precluded any such adventure. So there was I next morning — the night of which I attended Giselle, leaving my hotel in Bloomsbury and making it from Russell Square to Piccadilly Circus to, of course, look at art.

Naturally, I had arrived at the Royal Academy at Burlington House to see what for me was the most eagerly anticipated art exhibition in years: Charles I, King and Collector. I was the first to have arrived for the show, slipped inside from the snow before being asked to wait outside by security. Whilst waiting at the head of the queue, there were three gentlemen who arrived, all on the other side of 70 years of age and they were the most urbane aristocrats whom I had ever encountered. The way they spoke; there was no denying that they were posh. Moreover, it was more than their accents; their use of language made it sound as though they were speaking a form of English which was mannered, musical and as though another language entirely.

Finally, once inside the exhibition, I was truly enthralled, moving from salon to salon as though in the most lucidly captivating dream. Here were all my favourite Sir Anthony van Dyck paintings in one place — plus, there were some which previously I had not seen… at least, in this lifetime. Naturally, there were also some rather intimate Sir Peter Paul Rubens in the exhibition, which featured the art from the impressive collection of HM King Charles I… that ode to swaggerliciousness and a young sage to boot.

I had managed to snap four paintings whilst moving through the first of ten salons when a kindly security agent asked that I obey the rules and refrain from taking photographs. This truly was as though caught in a flying dream as I moved intoxicated of spirit from salon to salon, I managed whilst looking at murals in one of the larger salons, to make my way to the inner sanctum where the most glorious Sir Anthony van Dycks were hung — the two equestrian portraits one from the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square the other, which previously was hung at Buckingham Palace; there was also that most striking portrait Charles at the hunt which normally is hung at Musée du Louvre. A lovely henna-braided African security agent informed me that I had progressed improperly and ought to retrace my steps and view the art in the salons on the periphery of the three large internal salons where murals, tapestries and the prized, aforementioned van Dycks of the Royal Collection collected by HM King Charles I were hung.

At the point at which I was about to leave one salon for the next, I suddenly and distinctly thought of Kritika Bhatt the Michael channeller who had been trained by Sarah J. Chambers one of the original channellers in the Michael group. I thought it odd at the time as I only ever would think of her when a request for overleaves are outstanding and my impatience is having her surface to mind as I wonder if I would be receiving the requested overleaves that day. Since this was not the case, I thought per chance, that I was thinking of her as she is known to have King Charles spaniels. Yes, that must be the out-of-nowhere association, I concluded.

On entering the next salon, I immediately moved towards the largest masterpiece and was struck by its depth and impressive use of strong bold colours. What’s more, I had never seen the painting before. Fascinating, I whispered before heading to the title to see the title and artist. I was struck dead in my tracks when reading, Esther before Ahaseuras by Jacopo Tintoretto. Wow! I exclaimed. Years earlier, in an email regarding the overleaves for other artists, Kritika had made mention that her current son had previously been the 16th century Italian artist, Jacopo Tintoretto! I was floored and for me that out-of-nowhere associative thought of Kritika was validation of the overleaves and information shared years earlier.

Earlier, whilst moving through the first salon, I had never come so close to Sir Anthony van Dyck’s Self-Portrait with Sunflower before. Taking the time to really study the painting, I was struck by my response; suddenly, at my solar plexus, I began experiencing a — not though rare — thumping which was independent of my cardio rhythm. Never before had I been able to so closely inspect the eyes in the self-portrait. What was really interesting was the look of the artist’s left eye in the painting; it really was a darker version of my Dutch born and oldest friend, Joop who previously had been Sir Anthony van Dyck. Though Joop’s eyes are a strong, soulful blue in this lifetime, they truly are the same eyes as Sir Anthony van Dyck’s in the self portrait. Different colour, same vibration… same intensity. I had not been expecting that and just as later whilst moving from one salon to the next, I was not expecting to have the Michael Teachings and overleaves validated. Nonetheless, there is was, two instances of overleaves validated and that was the kind of bonus that one could not have anticipated whilst planning this trip.

After purchasing my lovely catalogue of the exhibition, I moved across the street and did some shopping at the grand old dame, Fortnum & Mason. Let’s face it, I was there to slip into the eatery and score myself the best free lunch in London… and as ever, the bites on offer did not disappoint. I bought marvellous teas as only can be found at Fortnum & Mason then hopped onto a double decker, driving westerly along Piccadilly. Making my way up the stairs, I soon had to double back on myself when realising that the upper deck was packed with a sprinkling of London’s homeless, who obviously had been afforded refuge out of the cold and what for London was unheard of snows. God it smelt atrocious. As the bus made a right onto Buckingham Palace Road, I hopped off and made my way past the Royal Mews which were closed owing to snow and made it for the Queen’s Gallery at Buckingham Palace.

I was there to be wowed, though, sadly was not by the Restoration exhibition. Naturally, how could it have been a show to rival that at the Royal Academy when most of that art had been sold off by the time of HM King Charles II’s coronation. I would have been rather underwhelmed, had I gone to London just to take in this show. As it was, it served as ample reason to have appreciated the Royal Academy show even more.

Really got off on the vibration exuded by HM King James II as he held court in all his glory in the portrait in the same show at the Queen’s Gallery Buckingham Palace (following painting).

Well having had my fill of the Restoration art or the paucity thereof, I enjoyed trekking in the snows along Buckingham Palace Road to Victoria Station and descended into the depths of London’s Underground for yet another adventure.

Emerging from the bowels of London, I made it to the soul of the nation to pay homage, yet again, at St. Paul’s Cathedral.

I wanted to go and light a candle, I lit two actually, in homage to the ennobled lives that both Merlin and I enjoyed in this glorious city three centuries earlier — the memories of which readily surface in the dreamtime.

Before one gets too old to be able to make the trek, I managed my way to the whispering gallery, sat down and caught my wind back whilst reflecting on my life.

This place so rich in history, is also the sacred shrine where entity mates have left their mark. Henry Moore is an old artisan in my entity.

Of course, no visit to St. Paul’s Cathedral would be complete without paying a visit to the soul of the nation at its crypt and paying homage to ennobled souls who’ve made an indelible mark on London… on history. There is great and fittingly so, grandeur in the tomb of Arthur, Duke of Wellington’s resting place.

Of course, the other tomb which dominates the crypt at St. Paul’s Cathedral is that of Admiral Nelson, whom both Merlin and I knew during that incarnation. Doubtless, it was his passion and tales for and about Nevis, which planted that seed that sparked three lifetimes later with my soul’s choice to reincarnate into Nevis; indeed, it has proven an isle no less magical than his captivating anecdotes then must have been. Days later, of course, I would see the bullet which felled this great man whilst visiting Windsor Castle; that is for another post. For now, I rushed home, took a dream-filled nap before heading to Covent Garden and being wowed by two not one Albrechts and the most exciting prima ballerina on the planet… at least, as far as I am concerned.

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As ever, thanks for your ongoing support and look forward in coming months to book three of my dream-filled memoirs, mandated by Merlin and which prove human civilisation’s first dream memoirs.

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President & First Lady Obama.

13.02.201807.12.2024 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

Oil on Canvas

Provenance: National Portrait Gallery, Smithsonian Institution.

Oil on Linen

Provenance: National Portrait Gallery, Smithsonian Institution.

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Beautifully exquisite! Happy Black history month. Love the fact that Mr. Wiley captures the essential warmth of President Obama as reflected by the glowing light of the President’s left eye. Both artists, Amy Sherald and Kehinde Wiley masterfully used the medium in which they chose to work, linen and canvas respectively. First Lady Michelle Obama is wearing a design by fashion designer, Michelle Smith @MILLY on Instagram. I cannot wait to see both in person. Thanks again for your ongoing support and as ever, sweet dreams.

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Four Standing Figures.

09.10.201707.12.2024 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

Four Standing Figures

Lithograph

12.5 x 15 in

11/50

Provenance: Collection of Arvin da Brgha

Let there be art. Let there be love.

Back in 1982, Merlin and I were holding up at the Trockadero loft — home of Natch Taylor and his dancer lover, William Zammy Zamora. Theirs was a beautiful loft in New York City’s Chelsea where across the street presided the block-long, imposing green edifice of one of those grand buildings found only in America.

One evening after rehearsals for a dance concert, I hung out with dancers from the Nanette Bearden Dance company, then finally made my way home late at night. When I got in, Merlin was at the loft’s rustic kitchen/dining table with a large sketch pad with director, Jim Henson with whom he would be working in Toronto, filming the inaugural season of Fraggle Rock. Tall, slightly drooped and intense, Jim briefly chatted but remained focussed on the task in hand.

Presently, he and Merlin were going over sketches and design ideas on respective pads for the shows. At the time, whilst standing behind Merlin seated at the table, I remarked that the sketches were not unlike Henry Moore sculptures. Both men simultaneously responded, “Hmm” to which we all laughed as it was reminiscent of the creatures in Mr. Henson’s feature film, Dark Crystal which had weeks earlier opened wide in theatres. The film was a definite favourite of Merlin and mine.

Merlin remarked that the design were not dissimilar to Henry Moore’s sculptures whose massive curvaceousness, Merlin and I had agreed were feminine, .elegant and beautiful. This discussion about art was had late at night, after having fucked like rottweilers at the Hotel Chelsea where he held up one weekend when in town from Toronto to both network but mostly to secure a right, proper ploughing of which he could never get enough… we both could never get enough.

On the whole, both men agreed that there were unconscious Henry Moore influences to their design sketches. Those sketches would be further refined and were recently shared herein. What none of us at the time could have known, was how spot-on was my observation. As it would turn out, Henry Moore happens to be an old soul artisan who is an entity mate of both Merlin’s and mine. Furthermore, Jim Henson who is an early mature artisan, also happens to be strongly bonded to Henry Moore, Merlin and I as he is in entity one of cadre one, greater cadre 7, pod 414, to all three of us being in entity six, of cadre one, greater cadre 7, pod 414.

Always, it is nice to find the ties that bind and it was really good of me to have picked up on that cadre connection when looking at the sketches and throwing Henry Moore ‘out there’ as it were. The evening was lovely but I was in my restless youthfulness, dying to be alone yet again with Merlin and get on with the business of sinfully sweating whilst celebration life… love.

As ever, thank you for your ongoing support and do know that I shall shortly be starting a podcast, plus volume two of both my dream memoirs and the Michael Overleaves appendix will be launching soon, here at my art filled and recently redecorated home…

Sweet dreams as ever!

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Three Sketches of Fraggle Rock

09.09.201707.12.2024 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

Back in late 1982, a couple of evenings after rehearsals, I made it home to the Trockadero loft which Merlin had sublet in Chelsea — across the street was a massive green-painted block long edifice at 645 Sixth Avenue — there would be Merlin and Jim Henson at the rustic kitchen table, hammering out ideas for what would become Fraggle Rock.

Both artists would be feverishly sketching away at design ideas that they kicked around. Of course, after having briefly been an actor, Merlin did work as a set designer at one point whilst at Tarragon Theatre where many got their start in the theatre, including playwright David Tipe. David, of course, was instrumental in getting Merlin and I together.

These three sketches are details from the final sketches for Fraggle Rock which went into production back in Toronto at CBC studios. Whilst Merlin, Jim Henson and other directors worked on the inaugural season of that show, I remained in New York City working: classes, rehearsals — very rarely auditions — and working with choreographers who favoured my Vaganova-based technique.

Great it was to have recently come across these gems. They will feature heavily in my renovated home which is chaotically being whipped into shape. Later this fall, I will be hosting a book launch here and, of course, it will serve to feature some of my art collection. I will keep you posted as I begin work on starting a podcast to feature dreams, anecdotes, interviews and critiques of art exhibitions and musings on travels. I will then be launching volume two of what is human civilisation’s first dream memoirs.

If already you have not, I implore you to get your copy of book one which launched June 2017. Each memoir comes with an accompanying appendix of Michael overleaves which were channelled by an authentic Michael channel. Sadly, the Michael Teaching has become overrun, like a weed-infested abandoned garden, by charlatans aplenty claiming to be channelling Michael when indeed they are merely transparent third-tier failed actors/Madoffs preying on others.

I have every intention of scouring the internet and removing all signs of these frauds as they pass-on. This is the only sane thing to do, to rid the Michael Teachings of the current blight of hoodwinking charlatans that abound.

As ever, Sweet Dreams dreamers, I thank you for your ongoing support and more than ever, I appreciate the support you afford me by purchasing the published and upcoming books which are filled with dreams and Michael overleaves aplenty.

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