Hi all, hope all is well in your worlds. A bunch of oldish deviations thrown up today; looking through my sketchbooks has reminded me of a number of half finished pieces which really need some attention, so who knows; maybe I'll get all creative soon?

In other news, I'm moving house, which is nice.

Basically, we currently live in a 1 bedroom flat, and have to move my son's cot around (travel cot) depending on the time of day- in the new place he will have his own permanent room! This also means that we will be able to reclaim some of our freedom in the evenings. Lots of shit to figure out/buy right now; it's a little bit scary, but quite exciting at the same time. Without being too optimistic, I really think that this move could throw a whole new light on our lives.
We'll see.



Sleep tight.

Cows punctuate the field;
random
to the untrained eye, like

sheet music in the hands
of a child, but someone
is playing a tune

& I'm lost in reverie.

Just posted a whole bunch of photo's / variations thereof. I know that I've previously linked my flickr account and claimed that I would keep them seperate, but I've very quickly come to the conclusion that I have neither the time nor inclination to maintain two seperate online accounts, and (for the time being at least) will compile everything here.

To those of you who still comment, not just on my stuff, but on anyone's- thank you.

When I first arrived here, comments would far outweigh any +favs, and it was nice that people made the effort to articulate a response. Don't get me wrong +favs are fine, but adding something as a favourite when you can't even be bothered to comment on that persons gallery is a bit....distant. The 'community' aspect started fizzling out a long time ago.

Sleep tight

So, I've managed to post a few deviations, leave a few comments, and discover some new people well worth watching; but I've still not managed to do anything new.

In some ways I love this place, and in others I hate it.

Love it because of the inspiration, those lightbulbs moments where the vague thoughts you've harboured in the back of your mind are violently brought to life in ways you would never have managed. Hate it because I have no time to act on it, no forum to experiment.

My life goes thus: Wake, baby, work, baby, brief interlude, sleep. And that brief interlude is not really expansive enough for me to indulge in new things, so I retreat to the safety of the familiar and mundane.

Just recently, I have left myself so many notes, sent myself so many emails of ideas and things I want to try. I want to attempt collage, I want to try paint, I want to mix media, learn about print-making, buy paper, inks, everything ad fucking nauseum.

I just don't have the time, and when I do I'm inevitably tired and lazy. I get myself so hyped up with all these ideas, yet routinely fail to act on them.

I plan on keeping these ideas somewhere, in the hope that one day I'll be able to come back to them- and the ones which don't turn out to be frightfully ridiculous might be tricked into life.

Not that it matters and not that I expect you to care...No-one really comments anymore anyway, this place is so much bigger than when I first signed up it's almost unrecognisable. Still love it though.

Still hate it.

Sleep tight.

So, it's been a long time...and then here I am popping my head through the door as if I've only been gone for five minutes.

Much has changed, and much hasn't, and life inevitably speeds past just too quick for me to grab it and ask it to slow down a bit. My son is now nearly a year old, and I still have almost no time to myself, I haven't drawn or written anything for almost his entire life, and I'm starting to believe that maybe this could well be the end, no great loss to the world at large, but a significant one to me.

So here I am anyway, with a bunch of submissions of quite old material. I've decided to repost some of my writing in an attempt to rekindle some kind of creative life. I hesitate to call it poetry, because I know it's not that good, and this place (as I remember) is full of self-appointed poetry police who mistakenly think that their own work is of significant merit, and their critique is somehow relevant.

Make of them what you will, I'm not desperate for advice or critical analysis; that would imply that I believe there is some kind of hope for them, and I'm not that deluded. They're simply snapshots in time; when the words made themselves known to me. All I'm ever really aiming for when I write is decent imagery, an inclusive feel and a simplicity which does the moment justice.

I'll try and make my way around a few of the many deviations I've missed in my long absence.

For those interested, I have a flickr site:
[link] which is now the repository of purely photographic meandering, as opposed to the more general meandering I store here.

Sleep tight.