One and one and them

He pursed his lips together
and tried whistling,
the hiss of his attempt
hitting the walls
and splintering
into shards in the air.
Through the window
he saw a man struggling
with his shopping bags
and knew with certainty
that if he had been outside
the day would have ended
differently.

Beginning, middle

It was through the window of his car
with the heat turned to red
that he saw the town that November morning.
Cold air clung to grass,
undisturbed since night time,
the sky a blue that exists only in Winter.
He saw five boats on the sea
and imagined each filled with people
he hadn't met
whilst an old folk song on the radio
told him about a man and a camera
on a Grecian Isle.

The last time I was there the sun was so hot it burned holes through my t-shirt, illustrated

Cassette, illustrated

The world was on top of him

He tied the fringe of his scarf,
wrapped tight around his neck,
into plaits
and chewed his gum
in time with his fingers
until it lost its flavour
and became just a foreign body
in his mouth.
People around him spoke
of a future that was alien to him,
their voices sounding like music.

It was when he saw the Empire State up close that he knew he could only walk so far

He had been quiet,
hoping that silence
was an anecdote to size,
all the while acutely aware
that worlds only grew with time.
Reaching for his dictionary
he looked up the word 'terror'
and laughed without realising.
The sound filled up the room
and left piles of debris
below the window.

It was an effortless sort of love that led them to evening

The sky was chalky with lilac
and the trees glowed green
as they walked in unison,
their arms tied together like rope.
Rain fell and sang patterns
on the ground.

My Christmas Cards

My Christmas card designs are painted, printed and ready to be sold and if you can guess which movie each one is from then I might give you a penny.

They're on sale at Made With Love, The Ceramic Painting Cafe in Hastings or, if you're far away you can email me and I'll make sure you get one if you like.

Stood in blue jeans he thought of forever

He had only climbed the steps in the park,
now covered with a skin of wet orange leaves,
to see beyond where the trees covered
and to remind himself that all he had seen
wasn't everything there was.
His hand held tight to the key in his pocket
belonging to a door he hadn't yet found
and his mind walked somewhere off ahead,
chased by cold evening winds.

Outside a boy and a girl played hopscotch on the road

He sliced the brown envelope
back and forth between his fingers
until it caught on his skin
and tore it clean open,
watched as red oozed from the papercut,
slow at first,
and formed a pool in his palm,
its sting dancing through his inside.
It was an impossible love
that consumed all he was.
He heard the sound of next door's telephone
and counted the rings.
There were seven.

The last time I was there the sun was so hot it burned holes through my t-shirt

It was a day coated purple
when he drove the car towards
the edge of all he could see
and sat as an evening began
without him,
and would undoubtedly
end the same way.
Lights turned white to red
and back again
as hours became night
and October disappeared
for another year.
He smelt Autumn in the air
and it was warm on his face.

For you, who was never aware but continued on

You casually talk my name
and I,
with an ambivalence that was new to me,
painted myself out of a corner
and travelled back to the beginning
without
ever
even
knowing.

No Voice, No Choice on Hastings Online Times

'HOT’s Erica Smith spoke to Zelly Restorick about a short animation she has produced with her friend, Thom Kofoed.  ’NO VOICE, NO CHOICE’ is a film about the export of live animals and their journey.'

Guys, check the article out here. It explains in a little more detail our reasons behind the film and what you can do to help.

Flash

I could barely form words with my tongue
(which felt as though it filled my mouth)
so enamoured was I
by the state of your face.
And so I, embarrassed and out of depth,
merely mumbled your name
as I stumbled
to home
again.

It was alone when I felt most far away

Yesterday before I slept
I imagined myself without you,
and my stomach cartwheeled and kicked
and the air in my room
was compressed into a cube
and dropped onto my chest
and it was heavy without really trying
and cumbersome in its size
and stayed pressed upon me
until I gathered up my thoughts
and counted our days.

I woke up crying

Without trying
I remembered a play I had read
once before,
about war and empty woods,
as I walked alongside a man
I had once known clearer than myself.
A boy ate a cooking apple there
as he tried all he could
to make his way through days
far from his own design,
and as green hills grew steeper
and the man I had known so well
walked farther ahead
I saw with utter clarity
that there was only forward
and yesterday was dead.

Barack Obama was re-elected as the President of the United States...

  ...and so I painted his portrait to celebrate.

2012

The world was bigger
than the tiny choices,
but each one,
piled on top of the last,
built a platform
high enough from which
to see it all clearly
and to begin
making change.

As we continue travelling

He stood with the door open behind him
and looked out onto roads
that had once bought him here.
He grabbed blue gloves from his pocket,
pulled the fingers right side in,
and put his hands inside.
It had grown cold suddenly
and the air felt like staples on his face.
The sun was absurdly bright for the time of year.

It overlooked the water

I was never one for climbing trees
and so was surprised,
when my head rose over the bough,
that I could almost see forever
and was hardly scared at all.

A tiny birthday woodland Stoat

I think this quote might change my life

"There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and it will be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is nor how valuable nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep yourself open and aware to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open… No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others."-Martha Graham

Somewhere in between two places

The sky had quickly turned pink
and it made the sand glow whimsical
beneath our feet.
We were an hour from sleep
and my eyes were heavy with tired.
In the distance I saw mountains.

Cassette

I had a friend once
who sat beneath my bed
and put her voice inside a tape.
'Now I'm not here,' she said,
'it's as though I never left.'
If I hadn't known better
I could have sworn I heard birds
behind her.