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Useless Logic
In a world where we are responsible for, yet not accountable for, where we are causing, yet not producing, where we are connected, yet not linked, where we are the instigators, yet not the antagonists, we are let down by our greatest gifts. Reason, self-awareness and logic are snakes that will eat themselves whole, leaving the Sunday best roast to rot. This is not a logical world in which we live, wake up and smell the F-sharp major. Why use useless logic, it is past its sell-by, it is time to use our broken, irrational little hearts. Height 30cm Base 52 x27cm |
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Padding
An Ode to madness. My madness and the madness of it all. Heavy laden with imagery of asylums: peep-holes, padded cells, the flaky run down institutional green of hospital walls. This is my ode to other realities, other ways to see and to be seen. This is an ode to people who have stepped beyond, who crossed over and who have touched the face of God and who have winked slyly at the Devil, now finding it hard to find the road back home. It's good to remember. If only to know which roads not to walk down again. Sapele Carving and Mixed Media 36x19cm 
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House on the Hill
This is but a place I run to. A place of candy-flossed, kitten-clad calm. This is an island, a childish, playful place where the spark of innocence (still within me) pokes his new brow to the sun and bathes, lazy, in what really matters… silliness and divine childlike nakedness. Height 40cm Base 17 x24cm |
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It’s only a metaphor
This is a self-portrait. But don’t worry, ‘It’s only a metaphor'. I have a better tan. |
Chess is as ripe and as sweet and as ready to pluck for a metaphor as any good-god-damn-thing could ever be.
It is the story of humanity (at least up until this point) in a nutshell. It is about dualism, and difference, it's about hierarchy and progression, it is about movement, fighting, tactics, defeat, success, belief, deceit and death... and everything in between.
So I ran with it. Let them speak for themselves.
It is the story of humanity (at least up until this point) in a nutshell. It is about dualism, and difference, it's about hierarchy and progression, it is about movement, fighting, tactics, defeat, success, belief, deceit and death... and everything in between.
So I ran with it. Let them speak for themselves.
Two Sides of the Same Coin
Pawn Height 6cm Board 11 x 11cm |
Really, Whats the point?
Rook Heights 6.5cm Board 48 x 7.5cm 
High Hopes
Pawnking Height 5cm Board 48 x 7.5cm |
War Games
Castle Height 7cm Board 24 x 7cm |
Mother and Child
Queen Height 9.5cm Board 13 x 7cm |
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White Chess Bishop exploded with Black Heart Beech, Sapele, and Oak. Height 13cm |
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I remember
I woke up once and I had become other. I remember I had wings then. I still feel them, underneath. On my better days. 19 x 35.5cm Ode 5
One of an ongoing series of ‘Odes’ to Art and Artists that have shaped me. From specific artists that have inspired me, motivated me or galvanized my will toward my own path, to genres and time periods that are constant and enduring in their beauty. These are poems and conversations to but a few of my influences. 100 x 30cm |
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Beehive
This is but one in a series of places I run to. A place of candy-flossed, kitten-clad calm, a hideout and a fort made from blankets lit by the wonder of the new-ness of everything. A dream-palace where patterned skylines draw down and scoop what is real from me to become a part of ‘more real realms’ beyond… what we think we see. This is an island of calm, a childish, playful place where the spark of innocence (still within me) pokes his new brow to the sun and bathes, lazy, in what really matters… silliness and divine childlike nakedness. Height 39cm Base 28 x20cm |
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When we are quiet and surrender to what voids we find in this world we are able, for the briefest of moments, (perhaps) to feel the weight of our corpreal existance disipate....... and allow what lies beneath to blaze and sputter (again). If only for a short time
- PERHAPS WE CAN FLOAT, WEIGHTLESS AGAIN... LIKE BEFORE.
- LONG PRIOR TO OUR REMEMBERED TIMES.
Gwynfe, Llangadog, Usk resevoir.
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It Calls Me.
The moon draws like piped old men, suckling on moisture within, calling me to patterned pastures, away from myself. The hairs are standing now upon my body, my dimensions have grown, I am a child of the animal night. Searching with dim blue moonlit light, for a place and a body I have seen before. Once. And it calls me. And I have no choice. 26 x 52cm |
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Please Do Not Be Cross
A police line for us all. We the lost, fragile, innocent, foolish, naughty, motherless children whose mistakes have always been born from love.
We are all but children feeling our way through lessons toward other lessons, so please do not be cross, as I, we, you make just another mistake… forwardly.
Let the lines be drawn with flowers and let us be beaten and admonished with candy canes, because forgive us. We know not what we do.
59 x 18cm
A police line for us all. We the lost, fragile, innocent, foolish, naughty, motherless children whose mistakes have always been born from love.
We are all but children feeling our way through lessons toward other lessons, so please do not be cross, as I, we, you make just another mistake… forwardly.
Let the lines be drawn with flowers and let us be beaten and admonished with candy canes, because forgive us. We know not what we do.
59 x 18cm
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Lighthouse
Height 18cm Base 37 x 29cm |
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I'm building a home in my head (and I'm starting with the wallpaper.)
Height 29cm |
These are but places I run to.
A place of candy-flossed, kitten-clad calm. This is an island, a childish, playful place where the spark of innocence (still within me) pokes his new brow to the sun and bathes, lazy, in what really matters… silliness and divine childlike nakedness. |
Upstream
We fight against the stream, longing for home, powered by body held muscle memories toward our true source, our pre-birth place, in search of this home (not a place),
but a memory from before we can remember. It's simple though, we shall all make it back, all we have to do is wait, she finds us all in the end.
179 x 59cm
We fight against the stream, longing for home, powered by body held muscle memories toward our true source, our pre-birth place, in search of this home (not a place),
but a memory from before we can remember. It's simple though, we shall all make it back, all we have to do is wait, she finds us all in the end.
179 x 59cm
i-Test
Every piece of Art is a Rorschach test of one sort or another.
We look through our own eyes, clouded by our own thoughts, misted with our own memories and fogged by our own prejudices.
You do not see what I see, nor I you… nor should we.
This is what makes art special, this is not maths, there are no incorrect answers here sir/madam.
110 x 29.1cm
Every piece of Art is a Rorschach test of one sort or another.
We look through our own eyes, clouded by our own thoughts, misted with our own memories and fogged by our own prejudices.
You do not see what I see, nor I you… nor should we.
This is what makes art special, this is not maths, there are no incorrect answers here sir/madam.
110 x 29.1cm
Zen Diagram
One Hand Clapping. Height 17cm Base 48 x 32cm |
I No Longer Remember Where You Start and I Finish
Height 20cm Board 29 x 20cm |
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High Tea
Here lies the dread of the pointlessness of consumption as a means to exist in a cycle where nothing is gained and nothing is lost. We eat and we are eaten… when our time comes. And forever on, we are torn apart and scattered to the wind, to fly with it, till we become a part of it…again. To be breathed and subsumed and made flesh again. This system is closed dear. There aint no getting off this train. For creatures such as ourselves that are heavy built on vanity and self-preservation the knowledge of our own cyclic futility can be as destructive as it could be constructive. It can cast us down to darkened depths where light is only glimpsed pinpoint-like through shattered thoughts and half browned leaves of autumn, much as we are all half browned too and ready to drop too. Base 30 x 21cm Height 53cm |
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The Body Is The Spirit Is
A commissioned piece telling a more positive story of the cyclic nature of nature, this is another tale of reincarnation and rebirth, an ode to Everythingness and cycles. A chiseled, odd, Yin Yang, where the golden sap runs through the crisp bark shell and where the brittle bark skin runs through the syrupy resin and where the dry covering runs through the slick inner fluid and where the…ad infinitum. This is, I am, We are, forever connected and cyclical. There is no duality here, there just is…is. Diameter 26cm Height 19cm |
Looks Like Rain Again
19.7 x 25.6cm |
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Tongue Tip Tickle
19 x 35.5cm |
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Ode 6
One of an ongoing series of ‘Odes’ to Art and Artists that have shaped me. From specific artists that have inspired me, motivated me or galvanized my will toward my own path, to genres and time periods that are constant and enduring in their beauty. These are poems and conversations to but a few of my influences. 60 x 26cm |
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Memento Mori
Remember Death. Once I remembered that I should remember to remember her. ‘She is the only real truth worth dwelling on’, tocked the tick. 24.5 x 18 cm |
Double Take
An ode to sensuality, a hallucination that draws the eye to return, furtively, boyishly back toward the parts that interest us. There is nothing to shy away from here, we are all but bees fore written to hunt for flowers, we are all but April rabbits quick to dive coupled to warm covered burrows and we are all but zephyrs waiting to wrap around our well-chosen mountain tops. 47.3 x 45cm |
Ode 2
One of an ongoing series of ‘Odes’ to Art and Artists that have shaped me. From specific artists that have inspired me, motivated me or galvanized my will toward my own path, to genres and time periods that are constant and enduring in their beauty. These are poems and conversations to but a few of my influences. 29.5 x 37cm |
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Change? Oak Carving 29x 14cm |
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Home Wet Home
Concrete & Cross-stitch 37 x 60cm |
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Change Pools like Butterfly Tears
As though moths to the sun. A song to change, to rebirth and progression, ever forward, toward we know not where, a different variant of us and ours, awaits our soft cat prowl just round that next…next alleyway as we lope and sly toward everchange. 59 x 33cm |
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Rorschach & Prozac
We look through our own eyes, clouded by our own thoughts, fogged by our own memories at what is plated to us. Each piece of Art is a Rorschach test of one sort or another. And as I look through Prozac tinted spectacles and fractured half thoughts I see my schizophrenic doodles with warm cold eyes and touch them with merry doleful fingers and I lay them down, to be hung or is it hanged for you the viewer. You do not see what I see, nor I you… nor should we. 65 x 42cm |
Incubator
We build things for ourselves. We build cages, towers, castles, homes and prisons. We build them with our minds. We are constructs that construct. In an ivory tower of morals, ethics and learnt behaviours we build walls around ourselves where we pupate and become other. We are held aloft in self-made chrysalises to change from blackened barbed and brutal beings to another different, perhaps, better self. If you are lucky. Incubate yourself; in what you think is right. Maple and sapele wood with clay, material, acrylic, diamante and thorns. 37cm Height 12 x 12cm Base |
Be careful about answer finding…
we were not born to be whole and unquestioned. We were not built to be complete nor found nor right nor perfect.
This is a continuum, where lessons follow lessons. So careful of that top step of that ladder, it is very easy to step off, only to begin again, and again. And the steps down there aint so easy to climb.
we were not born to be whole and unquestioned. We were not built to be complete nor found nor right nor perfect.
This is a continuum, where lessons follow lessons. So careful of that top step of that ladder, it is very easy to step off, only to begin again, and again. And the steps down there aint so easy to climb.
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Jacob's Ladder
Base 32 x 17cm |
Jacob's Ladder 2
Height 40cm |
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Seaview
This is a mood, a strange, warm, ennui that breaks into a heart-smile. It’s the discovery of a wind tattered paint peeled Swiss-cheesed hull of a broken beached bijou boat, found on secret loved ones walks. This is not melancholy; this is Lemoncholy, one of but many of our beautiful, strange, indecisive, complex emotions that leave us befuddled with the intricacies of this life. 60 x 84cm |
A Very odd place indeed
30.5 x 20.75cm |
