Sad Stories Of Finite Love - Moleskine Art

In a perfect world every new life would be a precious and valued one. In an ideal world every child is safe, loved and nurtured by every adult he has contact with. But if you look around you, read the papers, listen to the news you'll see this isn't that kind of place. With all the technical and social progress the world has never been a more caring, aware place or a more dangerous one! We are awash with societies for the protection of children, animals and the elderly yet we have never had more incidents of abuse, neglect or indeed murder. To realise that even parental love isn't guaranteed or infinite is hard to deal with. I wish I has some answers, explanations or solutions. All I can do is impotently hold up a mirror for those who give a damn to look inwardly. Pathetic but honest!

Number 293, 079 Dream - Moleskine Art

I've always been lucky in having a rich inner life. There has never been a time where my mind hasn't been choc full of pictures. The tritest, most innocuous comment triggers a torrent of images that I am helpless to stem. This particular image is a patchwork of dreams/ nightmares that I've had at various times. In my favourite ones I am aware of dreaming, I control the action as much as I can but strange stuff still happens. I solicit dreams from other people in order to enrich my own. I keep them in a mental dream box just as I store my collage cuttings in an actual box. Thank God for art and for being creative, it saves me from madness. (or does it?)

We Are Stardust - Moleskine Art

These sketches were done surreptitiously at a party, I think it may have been a wedding. I was moved almost to tears by the sight of women of all ages dancing with complete and utter abandon. Probably with the aid of a drink or too, their inhibitions three sheets to the wind. Everything was forgotten except the music and the feel of their bodies moving. I don't know wht it made emotional but it did. They were in that moment beguilingly beautiful.

Drink Me - Moleskine Art

I collect old photos. It saddens me that people could so easily dispose of old family photographs, so I see it as my duty to adopt these long forgotten relatives. I weave stories around them, give them names and generally make them comfortable.

A Multiverse Of Stories - Moleskine Art

The word Hesteria stems from the Greek cognate of uterus, ὑστέρα (hystera). The naughty uncontrollable uterus was thought to wander around a woman's insides blocking passages, obstructing breathing and generally driving her nuts. Men couldn't understand how a space large enough to hold a human child could fail to interfere with a female's general wellbeing. So by filing every mental or health related complaint ever suffered by a woman under 'Hysteria' Men could generally sit back and pity these defective, crazy creatures. It continues even now. The description a 'hysterical woman' is often bandied about, without a murmer. I am a woman, and my womb has carried five children, A feat no man can hope to emulate. Forget penis envy, I believe men have long suffered from womb envy, let's face it; the ability to create is one only ever ascribed to the highest divine powers. So all men could do was diminish and contain women's role in society.

Believe In Us - Moleskine Art

Another page that deals with my ongoing relationship with angels. This relationship began when at the ripe old age of three and a half I told a porkie pie (lie). I was already a skilled liar, a skill I used to get what I wanted simply because I felt powerless in a world where the adults held all the keys. This time however, I was caught out. I was given the option of sending a written apology to God and waiting to see if he accepted my apology. I dictated the letter to my father (not yet having mastered the alphabet) and we left it on the roof as high as we could.
That night, while waiting to find out my fate, I received my first visitation. I was in bed thinking about the day and casually leafing through a story book when I heard a strange sound. It was a strange rhythmic squeak coming from the ceiling above my bed. At first I couldn't see anything but the noise grew louder. Eventually what looked like a cork screw appeared and it continued to make the hole bigger. A face peared at me from the hole as a rope with a swing on the end of it was lowered towards me. At this point my mother barged in with the ironing and proceeded to put my clothes away. She was completely oblivious to what was going on. The swing contraption was pulled back up until my mum left the room. All this went on without a word from any of us. I just lay there wide eyed with curiosity and without a hint of fear! The swing thing was again lowered until it was almost touching my face. Suddenly, I knew that I was required to climb onto the swing, that it was a vehicle for me to ascend to the heavens and explain my crime to god himself. But I wasn't stupid! I shot out of my bed and out of my room at lightning speed and joined the rest of my family in the sitting room. my heart was thumping and I kept looking around to see if I'd been followed. I didn't go to bed till my sister was tired enough to join me. I never spoke of this to anyone but the next morning my letter had gone. My dad said that meant I'd been forgiven.
 Over the years, I have caught glimpses of the same angel, but he'd disappear as soon as I caught sight of him. I saw him the night after my daughter Lucy was born. And again after my mother's funeral. There have been many other occasions but those two stick in my mind because they lasted a while. I'm not crazy, but I can't explain what happened rationally. Since then I have been somewhat wary of angels, I don't think they are always as angelic as they want us to believe.

I Was And Remain Earthbound - Moleskine Art

The older I get, the smaller my life gets! I remember being four and sitting at the bottom of my grandmother's garden and thinking if I sat still enough, I'd catch sight of some elves/fairies/goblins going about their business. I'd follow ant trails in the hope of being led their homes where I was convinced I'd find miniature bunk beds, tiny sofas, and antified stereo systems. Once, I got stuck atop a pile of rocks where builders where adding a new garage.  Too scared to climb down, I was relieved to see our 'mother' cat that had recently given birth to a litter of kittens in our garden. I politely asked her in plain English to either help me down or call my mum to do so. You can't imagine how deeply hurt I was to see 'Mother' cat stick her nose up in the air and walk away as if she hadn't heard a thing! Anyway, life slowly chipped away my convictions and it slowly dawned on me that life is much more linear than Fairy Tales had led me to believe. As I digested my limitations I turned more and more to art in order to take flight and indulge my fancies.