• Penwith Moor

    Lovely tramp, necessarily all wellied-up, across our own tiny moor in a serene, dazzlingly bright respite from the rain and fog on the Spring Equilux. From tomorrow daylight hours outnumber the dark.

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  • Baby Steps

    So … I’ve been posting these for two months now … and I’m still not sure how to explain why.Because I want to and because they feel right apparently isn’t enough. What are they?– abstract drawings– asemic calligrams– esoteric amulets– surrealist automatism– a journal And what are they for?– icons of contemplation – like taking…

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  • Roseland

    One of the joys of N’s new full-time, permanent job is the renewed sanctity of our weekends. No more flexible, we can go anytime … and then not going. Making the most of the day, from dawn to dusk. Stretching the petrol and my creaky joints. Just being together. Not really doing … being. Remembering…

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  • No words

    “When you hear Mahler, there is no text. When you fall in love, you don’t have any explanation. Beauty, or otherwise – that is all that matters.” – Bijoy Jain (architect) – This is the bit I hate.

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  • Good Luck

    I was brought up to believe that there’s no point making something unless it’s a masterpiece, no point showing something off or labelling yourself unless you’re a genius. And yet much later in life, my father rebuilt a conservatory and taught himself dry stone walling, even to cook. Sort of. They were workmanlike, good but…

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  • Mementos vivere

    When I was a kid we used a camera to take snapshots, mementos. Then I learned about Cameras and Photography. And I was fucked … basically. I’ve never internalised the idea of using my phone like a box brownie and I was stuck. Today I escaped … tunnelling under the wire. Weird that I might…

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  • Back in the Saddle

    One of the good things about getting back in the saddle is remembering that I was a contender – scrolling back through my Instagram posts I’m looking at angry, committed, righteous images that are actually pretty good sometimes. But what was it I was good at? I’m not sure it was Art. Surely Art doesn’t…

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  • Thinking again

    … at last. It’s easy to forget that artists make things, art things, constructed from materials of their choosing, using craft skills they have learned and honed, according to rules they choose, assessed and judged by wise and stupid, cruel and thoughtful critics in their heads – they perform rituals to transubstantiate base stuff into…

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  • Fuck the Coronation

    I know this is primarily for subjects of the British crown but I’m sick to death of the reporting of the anointing and coronation of god’s regent here on earth. Apart from his obscene wealth, incoherent & ignorant interventions in government, his arrogance, his ignorance & greed, his entitlement & greed, his victim mentality &…

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  • Dreaming in colour

    Immediately after waking, in a weird hypnopompic haze, I still had a clear image in my mind – I’d been flying through a glittering forest of lights above a city at night – it felt like an organic, pulsating version of William Gibson’s cyberspace – I translated as much as I could into words just…

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