JOVIAN “SPOOK” HELM please do not: touch | antagonise | heat the exhibits Imagine new sketchbooks. Picture unshorn pencils. While we wait for brunch, M fills in some blank space. We… Continue reading
“Of all the absent Lines, Leprechaun are one of the few to have flaunted The Summons on practical (baggage restrictions) rather than ideological grounds“
Faces of cousins C and K from one of our early skype conversations; faces, aeroplane arm rests, and a worker glimpsed patrolling the borders of wakefulness. I may have imagined them, but perhaps… Continue reading
DR3421: Duc a la Chateau – a history, with Mdme. le Tapir. IO101110: Overcoming Cybernihilism FT2083: Feminism and Firepower AC0024: Orrery-maintenance for Beginners LS2001: Your Inner Picasso: Intermediate Plagiarism
cuisneoir colossus, candlehat and some forgotten suggestion, abstracted digression. Reference material might be one of the most important consumables one goes through when making things / doing the stuffe. Say what you will… Continue reading
As of an instant, colour and content. I won’t lie: Sometimes I space out the content in posts. You may play cards and understand when one holds back one’s hand. Mr Hoyle has… Continue reading
M and I went to body and soul: M dressed as a glitter vector, I as a cardboard bear. Observe concept. How flattering to one’s ego. Bunch of stuff: R Kiely, M FitzG,… Continue reading
remind me to pick up burger buns and booze.
Spiders. Top left a relic snuck out of hallucinatory sleep, now totally forgotten. RHA trip, just about. We’re on the wrong side of the tracks.
He knew it dwelt in the tunnels still, but could not bring himself to see it. Only an unfurling outline, against the wrecked station. Quick trip with M to the Crawford Art Gallery.… Continue reading
While I was doing the top doodle at right (a tree), some wretched person was breaking into my mother’s car and stealing our possessions. Thus although it’s a rather poor sketch, it was… Continue reading
In an appeal to Success’ dour shrine, small offerings to the wardens of Familiar Ground. The sensation of feeling lost suggests you’ve set off in the right direction. Flame cyclist; traweller’s mighty control.
Did you see that last post, where the words “it’s a drawing, a day, of anything. Draw-count increments upways in a biweekly manner” somehow allowed themselves to be written? Cue diatribe, prime vasodilators left… Continue reading
In a move that is nothing at all to do with NY’16, it’s a drawing, a day, of anything. Draw-count increments upways in a biweekly manner. Tonight catches up the last three days.
Imagine spending your life in a factory that makes shitty €5 batteries for phones. That one, I cannot. Meanwhile, C is for coral.
I forget how I used to do this. Some sort of grim broth of concepts. An older couple, asleep on one another, aboard the train. And those martello towers – what are they… Continue reading
“Do you keep [this blog] up to date?” Do I what.
Skritches from trip to Sweden with the good XX. One exhibit centred on a brilliant young Swedish painter [who’s name I cannot remember] – she painted her own aging decay as increasingly abstract,… Continue reading
– of course, sometimes, you realise that you’ve your headphones in, but are not actually listening to anything. Less frequently, the sad black chord is not even connected and just dangles erratically between… Continue reading