FEAR AND LOATHING IN AN ILLUSTRATION STUDIO This is a story about fear and loathing in a seedy Sydney suburb. Four freelances sharing space- and each other’s insanity-about two kilometres south of Kings Bloody Cross. We’ve got two art shops around the corner, urine on the footpaths, violence to go and two million cars per day.      The four? Mark Sofilas, Darren Pryce, Jim Tsinganos and myself. We are behind giant rusty doors, down clanging steel stairs and ensconced in a large concrete basement with one wall entirely glassed. It’s a brand new, award-winning triple-storey fashion statement, now soaked in artists’ paint splatter and piles of crap. A sub-tropical garden view, complete with palms, small lizards and gurgling drainpipes whenever Sydney storms.     There are no mobile phones or computers in the studio, but we are ‘live’. Rats chew our phone lines. Ants live at Darren’s desk. Tiny fruit flies maraud like piranha, and carry off anything mildly digestible or drinkable overnight.     It has been hard to preserve my sanity since shifting up from St kilda, for I work alongside the three stooges. FOOLS PARADISE Jim Tsinganos    Definitely the craziest. Greek. Invents dance steps en route to the photocopier; babbles like a man possessed in a myriad of dialects- Russian, Irish, his Greek mum’s or any cartoon soundtrack you like.    When Jim occasionally shuts up there is the constant spit-blow as he blends his dusty pastels. He ties his long black hair up like a ninja and smears his face with black chalk dust. At day’s end, it comes out his nose a blue color.     Jim is the boy-child of the group, naively dancing and singing his way through life.   Darren Pryce      Quietly the craziest man down here. Welsh. Prone to sitting for up to three hours, staring down a spot on the basement wall whilst fondling his goatee stubble. Can occasionally revert to a squawking, screeching madman’s babble. Walks like a gunslinger and dresses exclusively op-shop. (Cardigans are in.) Steeped in a myriad of philosophical viewpoints, which can take years to excavate from his often-silent corner.    His desk is surrounded by other people’s subsequently damaged property- unlidded paint, shagged out brushes and snitched stationary. Dazza’s stoic discipline includes a nap at three p.m every day, and getting stuck into work as early as sunset. Mark Sofilas     Absolutely the craziest. Greek/German. Sings, laughs maniacally and butcher’s the Queen’s English mercilessly. “What’s the date threemorrow”       Works like a man obsessed, then distresses by skipping for 27 timed minutes to the Neville Brothers.     Mark will make you handball the footy around the studio-wrecking furniture, model toys and anything else that’s not his. Any vandalistic prank( and there’s been many) will always eventually be traced back to the Sofilas space. ( But don’t use that word ‘trace’ in his presence.) Currently inventing a dry acrylic, in order to work faster. THE WORK SPACES Jim’s space     Although highly organised, Jim’s space looks like the exhaust vent for a coal pit. A wide wall-mounted exhaust fan, a hand –held vacuum cleaner and his ever spit-blowing mouth fail to turn the dusty tide. Jim keeps a complete change of clothes at work, to keep the mess from home. Archivists should bypass the layered dust and head for Jim’s top drawer, into which he hand-sharpens 423 chalk pencils per day. This drawer is now five inches deep in shavings and pastel shards. Firmed up with blow-spit. Darren’s space    Darren’s bench is in a dark corner. Three old lamps overhang it, and a tiny fan stands by for the stifling heat of summer. His drawing board is the steepest, and its trough is full of months-old ash and rollie butts.     The answering machine is years past its prime, and each latest message warbles up through a gluggy mire of older unscrubbable dialogue.    He sits amidst a pile of rubble, litter, roaming ants and junk he cannot identify. He once explained to me an artist needs a clear mind to be truly creative; a headspace unfettered by the hindrance of cleaning chores.    Dazza uses saved tinfoil from the sandwich shop to ‘capture’  his paint palette on the steep board. After each job, the tinfoil is rolled onto an ever-increasing (now bowling ball sized) boulder of aluminium. Archivists may one day unwind it, in search of Turin Shroud-Like revelations.    “There is an easy way and there’s a hard way,” says Darren, when studying incoming briefs. He quickly identifies the former, but can be found spending two or three days sat in the corner, inert and contemplating such revelations.   Every six months, Dazz rises up and cleans his corner out. This event throws EVERYONE out of kilter. Thankfully, anarchy is usually returned within a fortnight. Mark’s space  This is both the biggest and most orderly area. There is always a second job on the easel behind mark’s desk, in progress. These larger works can be re-painted up to eleven times, with the purchaser unwittingly walking away with the several completed Sofilas works under the final surface.    The Sofilas space is an incredible productive zone. The pencil sharpener and eraser are electric. He can execute brilliant work whilst keeping the phone hooked under chin, and engaging in hour long chats with mates, fellow footy fanatics or his mum “Boy Sofilas” in Bunbury. Meals are no hold up, as he never chews Eating out     We always go out for lunch. This involves side stepping excreta, syringes and a tonne of wind-blown litter. Or, occasionally, footpath sex or a dead body at the front door (Truly) We know every café, pub and student digs within a two kilometre radius. Our favourite after-work ritual is on-tap Guinness with a home-style meal upstairs at the Courthouse. It’s high window benches look down onto the thundering traffic and lost citizens festering below. After two schooners each, the studio lunacy trebles and (especially if it’s a tropical downpour) my own thoughts rise into mirth -filled heaven. The author Roger Harvey    It has been my duty to chronicle this studio of insanity, as it is about to finish. The lease is up, we are all going our separate ways.    I will miss them desperately. Visit the Illustration.Net.Au homepage...