I've spent hours in galleries pondering... and hours in my gallery while others ponder. I don't like sitting still. I don't like being centre stage. I don't like talking about my art while I'm trying to sell it. I think it pays to be honest with yourself. Do what suits you, what works for you and what sits right. Everything is food for thought, to be chewed up and spat out. When my brains not traveling it's busy eating itself...
Ears pricked up and on alert. Filling in space so delicate it shatters it's own record. A filter of light...
A powerful thunder from the devils throat... standing in awe of the sound. Buying another...
A sketch so clammy on the high seas... leaning over to take one for the team. Journey on...
A true blue from the palette of Professor Peacock and Miss Scarlet. Shining in the wonder hall...
Drizzling in smoke, pants on fire, a breath of fresh air... what Popeye would cough up from sea...
A mouthful of mist, chewed up and spat at from every wise bud on tongues floor...
A kind of mesh, not sure if it's coming or going. Slipping in from the outer nether regions of stars eye...
An icy surprise on grass so green it lends ink to the mint for refinement...
What a star... somewhere between super and duper... sprinkling everywhere, sparking another flame, chewing through blue like butter through knife, chop chop. K
Everything is inspiration to me... everything.