Ice soil – an unexpected Gyre

Alexis Rockman rocks. My dad would have treasured his round painting. Mark Dion, how you would like his curiosities, Would your mum have? Your cabinet spoke. Pam Longobardi, swimmer of caves, he would have thought you exotic, You are an archaeological goddess. Andy Hughes, you presented his room. You read her favourite, Robert Frost. The room was silent. I think? Do you now Martin Parr? is chimed, The Snow Queen glides past. Knowingly a dog stares us out, It isRead more

White, Goose, Storm (observing)

Pete Postlethwaite is sending an arrow through my heart. Romeo and Juliet, The Age of Stupid and Brassed off, in that order, keep running round my head. Not the New Year I had expected. To me it feels a slow year to get started. It’s been a cold white winter with some snow and an ever present frost that’s been drilling down to my herbs. My New Year plan was to set in some kind of ‘freeze’, my own personalRead more

Yellow, Sun, Winter (painting)

It’s winter. I am currently painting in a land that is winter yellow; Cornwall. It is surrounded by harsh explosive yellow gorse, then shades of yellow daffodils, prissy pale primroses, followed by powdery yellow willow. I’m finishing a willow dissection, which harbours a gorgeous squat yellowy glistening nectary. But first showing here is European Gorse dissected. The Gorse gave me beautiful objects to paint. I know Derek Jarman would appreciate them, especially the above detail. The mechanical hinge of theRead more