Journal

I have had pictures in two shows recently, a solo exhibition at the Asylum Gallery in Wolverhampton, and also as part of a group show at the Dudley Canal Trust.

It is hard work preparing for an exhibition. Selecting, printing and framing pictures, and everything else that goes with an exhibition can be time consuming. Doing it on your own for a solo exhibition can be particularly nerve wracking. I worry about whether I will be able to get everything together in time, and then whether people will come, and when they do, how they will react.


Putting the pictures up for my Asylum exhibition was a long evening’s work on one of the hottest days of the year, but once they were up I started to see them in a new light. Seeing them as a series of prints in frames, together on a wall, is a very different experience to looking at them on a computer screen.

The thing that means the most is talking to people looking at the pictures. On one level you take pictures to please yourself, but the work isn’t really complete until it is seen by an audience. It is the telling of a story, or the communication of a vision, that is what art is really about.


It is wonderful when people enjoy the work, get what you are saying, and respond positively. However what I find most fascinating is when someone sees something in your work that you never saw yourself. The comment that took me most by surprise was when someone said that a distorted image of one of my one of my “Flight of the Gods” pictures looked like an ultrasound scan of a baby. That was something I would never have thought of in a million years.


That’s why I love exhibiting my work.




Just love this song so much




When every god has been declared dead, and the goddesses are laid out under their shrouds, billowing gracefully in the passing breeze, when the post mortems have all been completed, and the causes of death established, then their immortal spirits will finally take to the wing, and head out beyond the skies.
























While the blissful ones carried blissfully on.


And in the jet stream the whispers of crystals slowly disperse until we mistake them for clouds, and we realise we are alone. We have become the new gods.