One of my favourite plants is the Crocosmia, or Montbretia. It dominates many of the cliffs of the North Cornish Coast in late summer and casts a striking shadow of warm red against the cool slate and granite rocks. 


Just when Timmy thought he was going to score...




Damn Hank! Yer missus sure looks like a Wiccan!

Here we have the first in a new set of images from the project Images from Abstract/Arbitrary Starting Points. I've got around 30 of these to do over the coming months, so watch this space.

The top image is a tiny circle taken from a large watercolour painting. The details, colours and composition give me the starting points to imagine an image. In this case a scene. I can't say that I knew what would be happening in the scene when I started drawing; rather that the shapes and colours instructed me on what to draw. I find it difficult to lay claim to the characters or their motives and actions. They are up for interpretation. 

Having said that my interpretation is this:

As punishment for his infidelity, Hank's horse was magicked into a hollow log. Maggie-Lee had turned to the occult three months ago, and, driven by desperation after finding her good-for-nothin'-excuse'v-a-man dangling his pail in other woman's wells she dragged her young'uns outside and made them watch their father's humiliating and abrupt dismount.



Binary Dreams

My Dad is a software engineer. From a very young age I have asked him what his job entails but now days the image above is what I prefer to imagine. I know that he sits at a desk with a computer and has files and a waste paper bin. I know that he understands the intricacies of computer code. But I haven't the slightest clue what he actually does with his knowledge and his objects. His expertise is to such a degree that the most crystalline elucidation is a simplified series of 1s and 0s. Ultimately; you have to be a computer to understand it (and Dad is a computer, really, at least when he is at work: his job is to compute, and to deal in absolutes). 

So, to help myself, I imagine there must be plasmatic fluid that suspends many amorphous shapes and it is the software engineer's task to tag these shapes with ones or zeros, therein giving the shapes a sense of purpose, clarity and identity and thus arranging them into groups depending on their persuasion. The software engineer carries a satchel containing square plates that can be placed over an existing denomination to alter its value. There is an ambient warm light in the plasma and also an army of Microsoft Paper clips and Linux Penguins that try to stop the engineers from completing their task. The army comprises the guardians of vagueness and is unified in its belief that 'All things are Wiggles' and that 'Mankind's arrogant attempts to compartmentalise and categorise the ephemera of nature are misguided and destructive and so must be fought.'