Tag Archives: Scotland

TIDE – my week on the Isle of Lewis

9 May

Another belated update for ye.  College is busy at the moment; ugh.  It’s really cutting into my free time.  I actually dusted one of my David Bowie books the other day, which tells you a lot about the state I’m in; not only is my obsession with the great man being starved out of me by other demands on my time, but I was CLEANING.  Which means one thing and one thing only, if you are Imogen Maxwell.  PROCRASTINATION.

And I’m nothing if not a productive procrastinator.  As each deadline stalks me mercilessly, swooping out of the shadows when I quite literally least expect it, I pinball about the house, panic-napping, organising, dusting.

You’d think – once the Bowie library is gleaming and catalogued – I’d be flogging prolifically, whacking up product reviews, creating madcap transformations, inscribing the magna carta on my nails in fancy rainbow colours.  Let’s just say my laptop hasn’t been cooperating …

damn you

damn you

… but I’m here now so let me tell you a beautiful story in pictures.

I was up on the Isle of Lewis at the end of April, ostensibly to do the makeup for a short film being made by Edinburgh College of Art student director Gordon Napier.  Makeup was a minor feature of my week, I must admit, but I did my best to get involved with all there was to do.

I stayed with the lovely lovely cast and crew of 18ish, in a blackhouse village near Carloway.  Blackhouses are for people 3’8″ or under.

where I spent all day bent double, wincing as other people brained themselves on 4-foot thick concrete beams

where I spent all day bent double, wincing as other people brained themselves on 4-foot thick concrete beams

They had been converted into hostel-type accommodation; our lil house had 2 x 6-bed dorms and one (or two?) 2-bed room.  There was a big kitchen and room enough for everyone to have meals together sat at a long table.  There was a living room too with a fire place and couches.

Kitchen wizards Elspeth and Pola, without whom we would have turned cannibal

Kitchen wizards Elspeth and Pola, without whom we would have turned cannibal

Being the backpacker queen that I am, I’m a pretty swift and harsh judge of this type of accommodation, and I was well impressed.

our neighbours

our neighbours

Each day of filming was long, but that ain’t no thang when you’re surrounded by good-natured professionals.

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There were indoor scenes…

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… and hero production designers Lottie and Lola had gone all out in decking that place out, let me tell you.

where did they find this wall art?  Shhh.  Just enjoy.

where did they find this wall art? Shhh. Just enjoy.

baked trout dinner, for throwing to the floor in a rage.

baked trout dinner, for throwing to the floor in a rage.

There were outdoor scenes …

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… but there was no internet.

one itty bitty scrap of 3G in one corner of the set

only one itty bitty scrap of 3G in one corner of the set

Apart from movie-making japery, I was kept entertained by practicing some special effects …

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… and whooping it up at the Callanish standing stones.

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We met the locals…

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… we ate the locals….

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… and we waited around a lot, cos that’s what you do.

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With good company…

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… and perfect weather and scenery….

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… it was a pleasure to be involved 🙂

nothing to see here

nothing to see here

I’m very much looking forward to seeing the finished product, and feel free to head on over to T I D E’s Facebook page to keep on top of updates!

Here’s some unrelated Motley Crue to sing you out.  Don’t forget you can stalk me over on Facebook and Instagram, both of which get a hell of a lot more action than this flog.  Gi’us a wee ‘like’, go on.

Happy Friday, flogstars! xX

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my first ever makeup-for-TV …

1 May

… was for a comedy show about the upcoming referendum on Scottish independence, to be held in September this year.  Exciting times – the referendum AND my makeup work being on telly.  Yippee!

The show’s called Blethering Referendum and will be broadcast on Monday nights on BBC2 at 10:30pm, starting this Monday coming.  Tune in!  My hands are also in it, not sure if that scene will be in this first episode but look out for me pretending to shampoo someone’s hair.

what my paws looked like at the time

what my paws looked like at the time

Speaking of filming, I’ve been away for a week up on the Isle of Lewis, helping make a short movie called TIDE for Edinburgh College of Art film directing student Gordon Napier.  I also hit the Insane Championship Wrestling again this weekend just gone, so stay tuned, absolute BEASTS of flog posts coming up shortly!

Now sing yourselves to sleep with some Aussie rock.

Stay beautiful
x Imo

river deep, mountain high

8 Feb

Me last night: “Well… I’d better hit the hay.  I have to climb a mountain tomorrow.  And apply makeup when I get to the top.”

Chloe: “Uh.  Is that a euphemism for something?”

No, flogstars, it isn’t.  Just another mad-cap day in the life of us here at Imogen Maxwell Dot Com.

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I went cantering up The Cobbler in Arrochar today with photographers Bryce Powrie and Cameron Henderson, for Feral Threads.

I'm so outdoorsy.  I could probably survive for about six hours out here.  Oh yeah.  Come at me Bear Grylls

I’m so outdoorsy. I could probably survive for about six hours out here. Oh yeah. Come at me Bear Grylls

"You're a dick."

“You’re a dick.  I know for a fact you have makeup and only makeup in that backpack.”

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mega-babe model Filippa Bahrke gets papped by Bart in Feral Threads

 

taking shelter under a giant rock

taking shelter under a giant rock during one of several snow storms we endured

view from under the rock.  Foolhardy codger hikes past sun shrouded in yet more snow.

view from under the rock. Foolhardy codger hikes past sun shrouded in yet more snow.

mega-babe model Patricia Taylor modelling Feral Threads.  Photo credit - Cameron Henderson www.cameronhenderson.co.uk

mega-babe model Patricia Taylor modelling Feral Threads. Photo credit – Cameron Henderson http://www.cameronhenderson.co.uk

So there you have it, boys and girls.  Tomorrow, another photoshoot with Bryce.  Snap!

Here’s Airbourne.  Thank you and good night.

a journey through space and time

9 Jan

It was weird being back.  People who have lived away from home for more than a year or two will know what that’s like.  But while a lot of people have travelled, not many have stayed away.

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I didn’t mean to stay away, it just kind of happened.

Leaving, and then being away, were really hard at first, then ‘travelling’ turned somehow into ‘working’ and ‘routine normal life’, and I made real friends, and put down tentative roots, and being here was easier than going back.

On my first visit back to Adelaide, after a year away, I brought my makeup kit back to Scotland, so you might say things got kind of serious at that stage.  However, now at the 6-years-away mark, I’m still on PAYG mobile.

It’s a surprisingly complicated thing to talk about; every time in the last six years, when I’ve been asked by an Adelaide friend or relative when I’m coming home, I have to pick my words so carefully.  I like it here, in Scotland.  Which is not to say that I don’t like Adelaide, and that I don’t want to be there, or even that I like Scotland more than Adelaide.  Shock!

What it feels like I am being asked, really, is why we – Adelaide, your friends, your family – aren’t enough to keep you here?  What’s so good about Scotland, with its shitty weather and tiny wages and the fact that it’s not Australia?  It feels like people take it personally, and are offended, that I choose to live in a damp, malnourished bog instead of in their golden land of milk and honey.

As you can see, I also find it impossible to talk about this without slagging both Scotland and Australia off.

It’s not that Scotland is better than Australia or Australia is better than Scotland… it’s all about me, flogstars.  I’m better in Scotland.  I love it here, and I love it in Australia as well, in fact I am very jealous of everyone who lives in Australia, casually BBQing on the beach without a care in the world apart from the poisonous wildlife winding around their ankles.

Here in Scotland I am regarded as a brave but foolhardy soul, choosing to live thousands of miles away from all that is familiar, braced against year-round 90mph winds and driving rain.  The Scots think that if I can put up with all of that, then I must really love them and their country, and right there’s an easy brownie point.  People like to be liked.

There’s something about living somewhere you’re not from.  That concept is plenty of people’s idea of hell, from what I understand.  But it’s great.  As I’m not from here, I can excuse myself from all that is wrong with the place (wasn’t me!), and equally enjoy all that is right with it.  That line of argument weakens with every election that comes and goes, and I think will be completely void after September’s independence referendum.  But anyway, because I have (for now) passed up my right to live and work in Australia, land of sunshine and reliable yearly dominance of World’s Most Liveable Cities lists, my decision to live in Scotland is conscious, deliberate, and dedicated.

So in that way, when a Scottish person asks me, goggle-eyed with disbelief, why I choose to live in Glasgow instead of Adelaide, it’s easier to answer than when I’m asked the same question by an Adelaide friend or relative.  I’m complimenting them and their country, and covertly insulting my own, aren’t I?

Visits back are like re-entering a house that was abandonned mid-morning, years ago.  Evidence of who I was and what I was doing are everywhere, cluttered in boxes at my parents’ house, spoken in questions from loosely-in-touch friends.

While my Australian life has laid dormant for six years now, life in Australia has obviously not.  People have children, different jobs, different relationships with me and each other, different priorities.  When I am plopped right into the middle of it, it is a perhaps eerie reminder for all of us, what it was like – what we were like, what life was like – six years ago when I was still there.  Evidence of the passage of time is often unsettling and seldom welcome, I find.  Maybe I am imagining it, but I can’t be the only one who is terrified at how fast six years can just … go.

It is easy enough, in essence, to pick up where you leave off with most people.  Some (MUM) might say that I am rubbish at keeping in touch.  Most of you reading this are probably real life friends/relatives/acquaintances, and got here through a link on my Facebook.  If we do know each other, maybe we chat online from time to time, maybe you’re one of the tiny handful that I email or post things to or text when I’m pissed.

Maybe you just watch me and we don’t really talk.  The Imogen Maxwell Experience has become quite the multi-media spectacular.  If Facebook, Instagram or this flog are the main picture you have of me, the jetlagged, disorientated, short-tempered, teary and easily startled version before you during my visit to Adelaide must have been somewhat of a letdown.

So how was my Christmas, did I have a good time back home?  What are visits to Adelaide like for me, after 6 years away?  At risk of sounding even more defensive and self-pitying than I already do, they’re bloody hard going.  I’m too jetlagged to try and think of another way to say ’emotional rollercoaster’.

Seeing my friends and family, the perfect weather, the foooooood… it was all wonderful.  Overwhelmingly so.  Yet I felt under a huge amount of pressure.  I felt guilty, and resentful of that guilt.  I had nowhere near as much time or energy as I would have liked.  Feeling these simultaneous extreme highs and lows is exhausting, travelling to the other side of the world to jump straight into almost constant socialising is exhausting, especially after months without a day off.  Being plucked from the comfort of routine and dropped blinking into an opposite climate and schedule, waking up starving hungry at 4am unable to get back to sleep, ready to lie down on the ground and die from fatigue by 3pm, trying hard to slap on your game face while your nearest and dearest just don’t understand why you can’t just smile and enjoy yourself and be grateful.  Feeling misunderstood.  All the tiny details of your former daily life that are familiar and unrecogniseable at the same time.

I started this post to try and articulate what it’s like, these visits home.  I thought writing this post would sort out in my own mind, and help me to explain better to people who don’t know what jetlag feels like, who can’t understand why – when they ask me if I enjoyed my 2 weeks back home – my answer is “…yes?…”  The same people who don’t understand how it is I can be away from my friends and family for so long.

Although I now think it’s really me who needs those answers.

what a week

22 Jul

I’m lying in bed with my laptop on my chest, full of cake and hangover, but smiling through the pain.  Thanks to my family and friends for indulging me, spoiling me, celebrating with me this weekend – feeling very loved and overwhelmed by everyone’s generosity.

So how does one turn 30, Imo-style?  Well.

I went down to Glasgow to scope out my new local area…

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… continued filming How I Killed Your Father with the delightful David Fernandez…

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… got the surprise of my life when Irene came over from Denmark to surprise me for my birthday…

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… celebrated the shit out of said birthday, by having a Tarantino co-party with other July baby Agapantha…

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can I just point out, the reason I look knackered is too-clever shading and contouring I did so I would look like I had been up all night taking cocaine with Vincent Vega. Not actually so hag-faced in real life, I swear.
Many thanks to resident pastry chef (and fellow Adelaide girl) Keva for the raspberry and white chocolate cheesecake – yummm.  Check out her blog here and I challenge you to NOT lick your computer screen.

 

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Colin as Stuntman Mike. Scar by me.

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Ian getting tatted up a la George Clooney in Dusk Til Dawn

… and ripped all my clothes off and jumped into Loch Lomond with Faye, because why not.

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This coming week I’m ordering all the kit to start my course next month, but even more exciting than bruise wheels and liquid latex is this – my adventure down to London with Chloe for the David Bowie Is exhibition at the V&A.  Giddy up!

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ain’t she just the best

So just this once I’ll deviate from the usual hair metal that only I give a shit about, and leave you with the great man himself.  A new version of this song is being used to advertise a mobile phone at the moment so here you go, get educated.

You can substitute the lyrics to be “blue, blue, electric blue, is the colour of my poo” if you like.

Until next time, be good.  Xx

one day, grasshopper

22 Jun
Image

pop art makeup by Karla Powell

Yep, that’s a photo.  Of a person.  Not a photo of a drawing.  Isn’t that just MADNESS?  

Now that I have a not-that-smartphone, and Instagram (@imogenmaxwell of course), I can follow all the big kid makeup artists like the incredible Karla Powell who created the photo above, and feel sick with jealousy wherever there’s WiFi.  I can’t wait ’til I’m that good.

Why don’t you go have a look at the progress shots of Karla recreating this look at this weekend’s IMATS – http://www.instagram.com/karlapowellmua –  friggin’ mindblowing.

Anyway.  Next agenda item.  Today’s cowboy-metal gold is brought to you by Company of Wolves.  If you can ignore the horrendous opening, about a minute in comes the good stuff.  

80s dudes lost in Scotland, rocking out.  Kind of like me, but I’m a girl and my mullet’s not that long (yet).  Enjoy.

The pub in Doune is actually called the Hog & Heifer now, or something like that anyway.  Monty Python fans will recognise the castle.

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