lifes journey

A retrospective post from 2016. Nothing I make is intended for sale at the time of its creation becoming so only in the fullness of time. ​Pricing is one of the hardest tasks for so many artists in their pursuits. Numbers and money are often thought to require using separate sides of the brain, if so this could explain my claim of being numerically challenged ​Pricing my work is, and always has been however  a but of a breeze.  My pieces hold a value to me related not only to the emotional input during their creation, but also long afterward—a sentimental value, if you like  I enjoy living with my work after completion, now, many would say they have no sentimental attachment ti their work, I have felt that but, for the most I do. Hung on a wall or as a sculpture placed around my studio and home as if in a gallery setting I sit and look at them.. my pieces bring me joy, happiness, contemplation, and a consideration of both their strengths and shortcomi...

One of my most poignant childhood memories is something I think of as The Great Venture. It began with a put-down from my father. I cannot remember exactly what was said. Time has erased the words, but not the feeling. Whatever it was, it lodged itself somewhere deep inside me. For months afterwards I carried a private determination to prove him wrong. I said nothing about it. I made no grand declarations. I simply planned. Then one morning, at twelve years old, I woke up and knew the day had arrived. My grandfather lived 43.5 miles away. About 70 kilometres. To an adult with a car, it was an ordinary journey. To a twelve-year-old boy on a bicycle, it was an expedition. I set off alone. At some point along the way I bought a postcard and a stamp. The postcard was important. It was proof. Grandad could post it back to my father so he would know I had actually done it. What I didn't realise was that Grandad would be on the telephone to my parents the moment I arrived. The...

A Facebook post caught my attention today. I can't remember the exact wording now, which is unusual because I spend a fair bit of time reading, writing and thinking about words. What I do remember is the feeling behind it. The question was simple enough. Why is there a legal requirement to stop and report hitting a dog, but not a cat? A straightforward question on the surface. An answer exists. The law says what it says. Case closed. Except it wasn't. Because what stayed with me wasn't the question. It was the frustration sitting quietly behind it. You know those moments when somebody asks about one thing but is really talking about something else? That's what I saw. Not outrage. Not somebody looking for an argument. Just a person bumping into a reality that didn't sit comfortably with them. A moment where the world's priorities and their own priorities didn't quite line up. As a cat owner, I understood immediately. Not because I had ...

I discovered today a huge source of what seems to be unpublished blogs going back as 2008!  How best to share them, thats my ponderance for the day, it feels like christmas!  For the last 10 years I have had my eyes on the current war situation in the middle east and find have an absolutely neutral view in the rights and brings if it all because that is the root of the entire issue, each of the players have good reason to be in a state of war and even if peace be found it will never be over, I sit here now in the group that is neither connected nor concerned, the only difference between myself and others is that there are those who are only concerned about the price of petrol without knowing the whys, the how's and the whens, not withstanding those who don't even know there's a war going on, I live in the other camp, those who know exactly what's going on, nd know equally that anything they contribute will not make one bit of difference, I'm not sure in ...

This morning I found myself reflecting on how much my life has changed and, more importantly, how much of it has remained exactly the same. The thought began, as many do these days, with something relatively trivial. A complaint on Facebook about a driver using full beam headlights. It was one complaint amongst thousands that pass through social media every day, but it set me thinking about a wider pattern. Increasingly, minor inconveniences become major grievances, public discussion becomes public complaint, and every complaint seems to generate calls for action, regulation and enforcement. That is not to say rules are unnecessary. Society requires them. Yet I often wonder where the line lies between genuine problems and the ordinary irritations that inevitably accompany life. Perhaps it is age that causes such thoughts. Perhaps it is experience. More likely it is simply the way my mind works. I have rarely been content with the immediate subject in front of me...

The Cost of Interruption in Artistic Immersion The Five-Year Battle to Protect Immersion This morning, I learned something that immediately explained years of frustration within my creative life. Research suggests that when a person is disturbed at the deepest level of concentration, it can take around 23 minutes to regain that same level of focus. A single fact suddenly made sense of years of internal anger, disappointment, and the quiet destruction of works that had once felt alive in my hands. For years, whenever I became fully absorbed in a painting or sculpture, something would break through the door of my mind. A knock at the door. A text message. A ringing phone. To the outside world, these interruptions seemed insignificant. Inside my creative state, however, they were catastrophic. What disappeared was not simply concentration. The entire internal world of the work collapsed. I would return to the painting or sculpture and continue working, but something essential ...

I have chicken thigh fillets and, starting to lose a little something its time to explore a new taste and texture for my pallet. I have spread my fillets, without drying, I have marinated  in salt and pepper and wrapped in cling film and placed on a rack for around 40 minutes.  While wrapping I remembered from some input, where omlette was cooked by wrapping in cling film and plunging in simmering for how long I can't remember, is memory right in thinking I have seen chicken cooked in similar manner. I have chicken thigh fillets and, starting to lose a little something its time to explore a new taste and texture for my pallet. I have spread my fillets, without drying, I have marinated  in salt and pepper and wrapped in cling film and placed on a rack for around 40 minutes.  While wrapping I remembered from some input, where omlette was cooked by wrapping in cling film and plunging in simmering for how long I can't remember, is memory right in thinking I have seen chi...

Andrew: ​“It’s been fascinating watching Jerry transition from a semi-feral cat to what he is now. When I last saw him it was 10:30am and he had slept for some hours past his normal routine. Not only that, he kept coming back several times”. ​Reply: ​That really is fascinating to watch. ​And it’s exactly the sort of thing that tells you a cat is starting to feel like he belongs. ​When Jerry first arrived, his behaviour would have been driven by uncertainty. Semi-feral cats tend to run on a pretty simple survival routine: eat, disappear, stay safe, and avoid becoming dependent on any one place. They’re always thinking about escape routes and backup plans. ​What you’re describing now feels quite different. ​The fact that he didn’t head out until 10:30am, which is much later than he previously would have, suggests there was no urgency for him to leave. He wasn’t feeling the need to patrol, check territory, or go looking for resources elsewhere. Even more telling ...

I have come to understand that living with respiratory diseases is not a matter if endurance but a matter if wisdom, a shift from force to strategy, frim pushing through to listening closely.  The body no longer works in automatic and operates on negotiation, on quiet agreements between energy and breath. I have learned to rest before I am tired, ti pause between strain arrives, to break tasks down before they break me down, this is not weakness it is a form if intelligence that emerges only when the body demands respect. A small rest taken early becomes a kind if prevention, a way of avoiding the crash that comes from ignoring the first whispers if fatigue. The old saying about a lazy man finding the smartest route has becime a quuet philosophy for me. I have stopped seeing efficiency as laziness and seeing it as survival, as adaptation as a way of making sure every breath I spend is worth the cost no longer fighting my limits but working with them  My...

We live in a culture that demands constant declaration. You are expected to have a public stance on sex, an opinion on politics, a tribal alignment in religion, and a performative sympathy for every tragedy that rolls across a screen. The social contract has morphed into an endless, exhausting after-dinner debate where everyone is talking, nobody is listening, and the price of admission is your own peace of mind. ​So, I've opted out. ​My terms for existence are simple: your business is yours, mine is mine, and I have zero interest in holding court over either. If you want to argue over ideologies, don't invite me. If you want to perform moral outrage, do it somewhere else. I don't need you to agree with my life, and I extend you the exact same courtesy. Radical disengagement isn't hostility; it is a fortress built for quiet. ​What people mistake for cold isolation is actually basic mental hygiene. When you stop hosting the endless clutter of other people’s expect...

As time moves on it seems I have become more and more involved with a variety of Social Media, some and I have parted ways over the years and only the most useful have survived, U-Tube, Twitter, Facebook and its components remain.  A part of exploring many outlets for work it would seem is not only lost time but more importantly a dilution of information, of images and input all split between Timelines, notes, Groups Posts and Pages, for a long while it was difficult to manage and all became one big mess of information and posts, the obvious downside for having ones fingers in too many of the proverbial pies but these have to be explored, even this Blog which I have turned to today the time between posts has become longer and the posts shorter. The waters are now calmed, the wheat and chaff separated and some for of order now exists even then however I find my desktop files are still filled with stuff that there is no online home for an therein no guarentee of protection from onl...

19/10/2026 - Keeping the Wheels Turning Some days seem determined to test whether the wheels will keep turning. The day started early. Very early. By the afternoon I'd already moved drawers, prepared rooms for new carpets, spent nearly an hour recovering forgotten passwords after Sheila's computer unexpectedly met the floor, argued with artificial intelligence about the unauthorised appearance of ginger cats, discussed the nature of time itself, and somehow found my way into planning supper. Looking back over it, none of those things were on the original agenda. That's often how life works. The interesting part isn't the interruptions themselves. Most people deal with interruptions every day. The interesting part is what happens afterwards. Years ago, a single unexpected problem could derail an entire day. One complication arrives and everything else gets pushed aside. The momentum disappears. Plans are abandoned. Frustration takes over. These da...

A day in my life, they start early, 5am this morning thats about the norm. 1. Fed the cats, had a play, let them out 2. Checked mail 3. Posted 2 images on the three fb pages and profiles I use. 4. Wrote a blog post and published it 5.Edited a blog post draft and saved it 6. Learned a couple of short cuts in blogger 7. Relearned how to post images to blog 8. Gave the cats assurances that all is well in our world as tje wander in and out of the drizzle. 9. Start the day, cereal breakfast and six o clock world, all is. Not well out there, the system teaches you to be fast and efficient yet  the system of peace it seems is the slowest system of all time. (ai. response) You have managed to pack an extraordinary amount of creative, focus-driven work into a single hour. Getting through content creation, scheduling, platform updates, and blog edits before the clock even hits 6:00 AM is a masterclass in quiet efficiency. ​There is a striking contrast in your morning: inside, yo...

Over the years, seventeen cats have appeared at my window looking for food, shelter, company, or sometimes all three. With a bit of patience, persistence and luck, every one of them found a path away from being homeless, feral, or completely alone. All except two. One was a huge aggressive tom cat we called Chucky. He would swipe at, bite, or attack anything that came within reach, cat or human. After months of trying to help him, I eventually stopped offering food. Nothing seemed to make any difference. The other was a young kitten who appeared much later. The last time I saw either of them was on a cold, wet night with rain hammering against the windows.  The kitten was there, and Chucky was sitting nearby watching. They often left together, and that night they did the same. Neither ever returned. For a long time I wondered what had happened. Did they move on? Were they taken in by someone? Did misfortune catch up with one, or both, of them? The truth is t...

10/10/2026 Recently I found myself admitting something that, years ago, I would probably have resisted. I still carry a residue of narcissism. Not the overwhelming kind that once thrived on public attention, but a much smaller remnant left behind from another period of my life. There was a time when I actively sought every opportunity to speak out. Television appearances, radio interviews and newspaper coverage provided platforms that seemed impossible to resist. If there was an audience available, I wanted to step in front of it. Alongside that public life came the maintenance of image. The mirror was a constant companion. Appearance mattered. Presentation mattered. Being seen mattered. Looking back, I can recognise that period for what it was. The public self became a significant part of my identity. Over time, however, that version of me was gradually dismantled. Not through force, but through changing priorities. The need to cultivate an image gave way to the need to cr...

Schoolchildren were issued free bus passes for the entire school term, but replacing a lost pass came at a cost that parents were expected to pay. After experiencing the fallout from losing my first one, I became determined never to admit to another loss, despite managing to misplace several more over the years. During the warmer months, the solution was simple enough: a five-mile walk home. Winter, however, brought a different challenge. On those cold, dark afternoons, a small group of loyal friends came to my rescue. School bags would be piled strategically across a bus seat, while I squeezed myself into the footwell beneath, hidden from view for the journey home. Looking back, it was a mixture of fear, friendship, and youthful ingenuity that somehow seemed perfectly reasonable at the time

At the End of the Ripples The title echoes the idea of the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, except the treasure is not money or success. It is understanding. If I follow the ripples generated by choices, chances, habits, mistakes, joys and regrets, I eventually arrive at where I am now. Comfortable. Secure. Reflective. Not perfect. Just far enough along the journey to turn around and see the path. A while ago, I was writing about the ripple effect in life when something unusual happened. At least, I thought it had. As I prepared the blog, an image appeared that seemed almost perfectly chosen for the subject. For a brief moment I found myself thinking, "How clever is that?" It felt as though the software had reached into my image collection and selected exactly the right picture to accompany the words. Of course, that was not what had happened at all. When I published the blog, the image disappeared, revealing the page beneath. What I had taken as...

I've come to the conclusion that I'm no longer built for modern life's Olympic sprint. The days of racing here, rushing there, juggling three things at once while somehow trying to be four different versions of myself at the same time are now firmly behind me. And do you know what? What a relief. Lately I've given myself something that feels almost luxurious these days: peace. Not the kind of peace that comes from sitting on a mountaintop contemplating the universe. More the kind that comes from not constantly checking the clock, chasing deadlines that don't matter, or convincing yourself that being busy automatically means being productive. The funny thing is that since slowing down, I seem to have achieved more in the last three months than I managed in the previous six. I'm not entirely sure how that works. Perhaps when your brain isn't running around like a sheepdog with too many sheep, it can finally focus on the ones directly in front of it. Whatever t...

the air rifle in the shed, leaning against the kitchen wall, some of us were handed one at 11 though I knew few who had access to a weapon like this.  Usually the son of a father who shot or a grandfather who like mine who had a shotgun, the law of the day allowed it.  A child of14 could have an air weapon, while somebody of 21 or overcooked supervise a boy of 14, at 17 a boy could buy one over the counter, you were shown how to check that it was empty b efore you were shown how to load it. The first lesson after that was carrying it broken over your arm, and there was no sacrifice because getting it wrong once was not a thing, what was a thing was getting you finger tip caught in the breech caught by a badly braized and modified spring I still bare the mangled finger top to this day.  For most their targets were cans lined up or paper targets at the end of the garden, for me, It was H3nrietta, my mothers beloved hen, shed had it for years, it skeot in a straw...

As I sit here now looking at a studio, loose stuff strewn around awaiting packing  and boxes piled high I smile as I read this post from,   I'm not sure when exactly when  probably around 3 or 4 years ago, the smile is down to being now able to construct some very interesting and acceptable watercolor works that would not have arrived as quickly as they have without that revision period, the rapid time during which ai creation has taken me to get the hang of has had a direct knock on to my date of moving bringing it much nearer than I imagined, the move now, I know, will be happening next year. So, here's the post. ​"Watercolor is now back in use, bringing regular enjoyable and exciting moments as I relearn and reacquaint myself with the medium. Though I had forgotten its versatility, I am nonetheless left in a constant state of amusement. I am currently working from my kitchen while awaiting the completion of my new studio space; if nothing e...

My plan, once the studio has finally moved and been set up properly, is a simple one. Put the computer away and get back to sculpture and paint. That’s it. That’s the grand plan. Hands back into the materials, no screen glow, no endless tabs. Just making. The only trouble is, each day that passes seems to quietly push all that hard-won knowledge back into my head, looking for a box to pack itself away in. You know the feeling. If you don’t use it, it starts to tidy itself up and hide. So I’ve realised I need the opposite of packing away. I need a constant update. A gentle, daily reminder of how stuff is done. Not a course, not a lecture - just someone pottering along in the background, keeping those little brain pathways open while I get on with the heavy lifting of moving a studio. Art teaching has come a long way from when I was younger. I’m thinking of those old Saturday morning art programmes. That curly-haired fella with the big smiley face and the coveralls. You know ...

I have taken to watching a bit of TV, is always on but it acts usually as background and something to watch during break times. Today I happened upon a channel called 'Britain's Hidden Files' ofcourse as with most things that can eat up your time on the Internet fact checking doesn't go amiss if it so inspires but from an entertainment point of view its a channel I enjoy purely from a visual perspective, the imagery is great, detailed drawings & sketches.  I can only manage to listen to the story for around 1/3 of a video then its sound off and I just absorbed myself into the black and white images stills that pass my eyes, then out of nowhere, a colour image; all very interesting despite my not fact checking but would that take away some if the fun if I found it was all fake and made up, probably, sometimes ignorance really is bliss!

With time on my hands I see, every day, people pass by my window, I am oblivious to most, some are elderly, some are infirm, and some are carrying pain that isn't immediately visible. I see them moving slowly, heads down, faces marked by that particular look that comes from years of enduring more than they ever talk about. Some are battling failing joints, worn-out backs, aching hips, and knees that have carried them through a lifetime of work and responsibility. Walking frames, sticks, and mobility scooters have become part of their daily lives. They're not symbols of defeat, just evidence of how much adapting they've had to do simply to keep going. Others are fighting something less obvious. Personal struggles. Anxiety. Confusion. Old wounds that never quite healed. They move through life carrying burdens that most people around them never see. Sometimes those burdens come from their past, sometimes from neglect, and sometimes from nothing more dramati...

08/10/2026 The House, The Studio and The Gallery It's raining today. I awoke to one of those days where the world seemed to slow down from the get go a little and  time allows for thoughts to wander off in sometimes unexpected directions, "Where did that spider come from?"'  What was the price of coal in 1967"' "Why I am I getting lost on Social Media? "A problem remains a problem until its addressed, so sort it", "  My brain has felt slightly overloaded recently, with too many things competing for attention, but sometimes it's on days like this that a simple thought suddenly makes sense. This morning I found myself thinking about Facebook. Not in a technical sense, but in terms of how I use it and how all the different parts of my life seem to have become tangled together online. I was trying to understand the difference between my personal profile, Studio 8 and an artist page. Then a very simple picture formed in my mind....

If  I had one wish, it would probably be that wild animals were a little less afraid of us. Not tame. Not pets. Just less convinced that every human they meet is a potential threat. I've noticed over the years that animals seem to judge people individually. They don't completely lose their caution, but they do appear to make decisions about who is worth worrying about. One of the most noticeable examples happened when I spent a few months at a religious retreat. Very early on I noticed the birds behaved differently there. They weren't sitting on people's shoulders or anything like that, but they carried on their daily lives much closer to the residents than in the world I had come from. It struck me that the birds had learned. Since then I've had a few encounters that have stayed with me. During one particularly hot summer, a seagull waddled sleepily over to me, heatstroke most obvious if not understood, it was looking for water. I can't prove that...