Moleskine Pages- She Knew

She knew he knew. She liked knowing he knew. She spent so much time re papering the inside of her head she didn't hear his pain, that was a relief.

Dilemma
I was advised recently by an art critic that removing text from my work would make it more powerful. He offered his tips (I didn't ask for them!) generously and without prejudice. Work should speak for it's self and I should stop trying to control the narrative. I can see what he is saying. I only use text in my sketchbook and not on 'stand alone' pieces. But this has got me thinking. I do tend to work instinctively and the words are meant to illuminate not dominate. If any of you read this far I'd love to hear other opinions. Are the words a distraction?

Old Sketchbook pagesSometimes roses

Add Sometimes roses don't smell of anything much.

The ultimate weapon.

These pages are from an old 2006 sketchbook. I am always surprised by the changes in content and style. Naturally I only post the pages I can stomach to the rest doesn't past muster in my opinion.

Moleskine Pages- Look Behind Me

I smile with open eyes never knowing which way the wind is blowing. Everything carries on breathing while my back is turned, then dies.

Moleskine Pages- A Plague Of Angels

The flies were a nuisance but no more so than the prim little cherubim; the little voices of conscience sent to plague us. God's mini tax inspectors keeping track of what is given and taken. The spare room held so many casualties of my war. So many stinking corpses I love too much to bury. So many shining hearts that now stain my clean floors with their decomposing compositions. As their grip loosens, I hold on a little bit tighter.

Moleskine Pages- The Sin Eater

The sin eater would absorb everyone's transgressions till her very DNA hummed with danger. Her serene skin held in a sausage of unspoken fury. He misread her signs and risked his all.

More 'rough' work.

Nothing to say as they are pretty much self explanatory.

Moleskine Pages- Bobby

I looked into my own eyes but I couldn't see the sea. I was still a long way from home. I was born behind my bedroom curtain in the dead of night. My mother was talking dirty in another room. Neither my mum or dad ever knew I was missing. I was too bad to tell them.