Stop. Feel your consciousness float in the room within or without you. Think of your place. The place. This place. A place you hold in your mind too often to be real as thought. Float. A dream of a dream, connected by invisible threads of knowledge to the collective hive mind that penetrates all … Continue reading Musings of a late walk
Light, space, Cold hands, cold face. Shadows moving, Constant and unnerving. By our hand, Built on salt, sea and land. Stop be still. Do they have the will. Another day. Can there be a way.
Canonisation is ingrained in society’s approach to organization and historical preservation. Without some form of canon to formulate the discussions and new ideas around, art would flounder. Our inherent “will-to-form” (Read, 1982, p.268) paired with“a quest to order the world, the desire to collect” (Meecham and Sheldon, 2005, p.206) and form an understanding of … Continue reading Conclusion on Cannonisation
Despite being dyslexic I do love to write, and often find myself jumbling together the odd idea into some sort of story. They may not be very good, or even make sense but they bloom, flower and change; a morphing presence of mind. So, here is one of these snippets from some strange corner … Continue reading Just a Brief Thought
A memory of the majesty, might and moors, The tumbled boulders, tipped and torn, Space in silence stands and soars, Across these peaks so withered and worn. I see, A sea that used to be, Cold water, ice and floating debris, Their mark laid bare, A difference in the air, From the canyons … Continue reading Inherent Memories
In out, in out. I can hear every motion of my body as I breathe. The creaking of muscles echoes through my head with a distant thump from far below. I gulp and the sound of liquid being squeezed down my throat reminds me of delicate waterfalls on highland plateaus; the crackle of my … Continue reading The Essay of an Artist
August, 2019 “I venture out on a beautiful golden evening with the full intention of drawing for the first time in years. Everything is perfect. Too perfect. I find I cannot even begin to deconstruct such beauty as I fear it would undermine the singular nature of the moment. Even writing cannot take you or … Continue reading An Impulse to Draw
Soft sultry pillows of life Sweep low and create across the heights Inhale, smell the decay turn to growth Another moment, the never ending oath Of time, the endless rhyme The pressures from below and high A sea of moments, movements, fast slow and sigh… The urge, where impulses surge Blood, life, energy … Continue reading Exterior/Interior