You go, We go

Bit

No sleep year

We eat them, those things.
Those small
Things
They instensify

Intense things
They were normal before

To the High Castles
No more ground for your tiny feet
No more
No more rest
No more rest for you
No more rest for you
No

High feet
eating castles

Loose Castles

No more for you

Our barbeque is an aquarium

Our barbeque is an aquarium
And our mint is queen on rebirth
The empty bottle might become
part of

Our Back Yard


White
Thick
Smoke
The future seems less

Important




There are melted holes
Black deformed spaces
On our green plastic table

From the jungle of our bushes
I can see

The gate that never opens and the wall that lies behind

After nothing comes something

After a month off Uni I started working on my project again. It's quite nice not to have worked on it for a while, I feel like I can start over again. Fresh

I have done a few paintings that I want to post here, I know I haven't been posting that much lately, but life and the weather have just been too good to spend time at a computer.

I decided to work with the ties, they seem to work, so I just spent the day rearranging them and trying different compositions. I like how they reflect light, and the shapes they turn to when I put them in the blender.

Ties and Chicks

Two new pieces,

Continuous ties

Serial chicks

I had a good chat with one of the tutors and started spending more time in my studio and producing more work. I have been messing around with the blended items and doing some collages aswell. Produce produce. Have also tried to go and see this chocolate factory in Winchester but apparently health and safety rules do not agree with my visit.

Touch of no words. It grows slowly

This abyss ocupies too much space.
Suspended sounds of sunken times not to come. He came. Abysses came too. They came to me, they rose from you.
Sounds tickle my skin, my ears melt to melodies. Suspended melodies, melodies of times that will not come. Skin and skin. Skin that longs for the kind touch of no words. Touching with Fear of What Could Happen. Fear of what could happen grows slowly. Slowly it grows. And it tastes bitter. Taste of no future.

Don't start up a fight, you can just close them. I will show you. Close the door, close the window. Close. Close the whole house, close the curtains. Do not let melting ears and tickled skin feel the bang of your kind touch of no words on the wall. Shut, lock, enclose. And it tastes of no future. Nothing could happen because. It slowly grows. Lock it.