First published in touches of sense… in 2014, at a time when I began to build up and play with a palette of painting and remix apps on iPhone and iPad, I was both attracted and repulsed by the relative ease with which I could create visual imagery.

The poetic style of the blog post is typical of much of my writing which emerges like some of my art in a stream of consciousness.

Much of the artwork I created between 2014 and 2018 exists only as a series of digital files. The resolution of the images, the multimedia nature of the creations or their existence as part of a collaborative dialogue with a group of musician, poet, artist friends means that they have meaningful life only on a screen.

Nevertheless, I chose to include a few examples here as these images are an important part of my artistic journey and remain a source of inspiration for future play…

As I take time to review the different collections I see more and more connections.

Each image, each blog post has the potential to spark off unpredictable creative exploration.

A selfie.

I am already dead.

The instant is over.

I am passed into pixels.

Beautiful chimera.

I am young, I see myself acting, acting middle-age anger.

There is hurt in the glaring eyes.

I am reduced to a still.

I am framed in a moment 10:30 on Sunday 7 September.

I am a stream, a river of disconnected instants screaming for attention.

I am alive, I am dead.

Hope resurrect my youth with a swipe.

You see me as your thing.

We are as web of avatars, algorhythmic robots, waltzing in a cloud of particles.

I am made in your image.

I am target.

I am customer.

I am lover.

I am your object for an instant.

Save me.

Move me.

Scale me to your attention.

How will you divide your attention?

No matter.

Grains of sand

We are swimming in quick sand.

We are both grain and grinder.

Time slipping through our fingers.

Shall we drown in this sink-hole?

Save me

Throw me a rope of reality, of time spent together, of common history.

Let us drink together before we drown to drown no more.

Let us touch.

Let us breathe in the dew of distant lands the dawn awakening.

Cyclops

What shall we make of Cyclops, who would Google us up?

Should we believe his plea that he serves no evil?

How shall we avert his gaze, while we dwell on the island?

Must we seek to blind the Cyclops?

We are prey, toy-thing, free lunch.

Circe

Sleep, and doze, listen to the sweet songs, fix your eyes on beauty my friends.

She is yours. Your play-thing.

She is dancing for you.

She is already ancient, her face is made up.

She is Circe.

Notice how the wolves are packed around her court.

They are as docile.

Beware the enchantress.

They are wolves and we are become swine.

You are myth, an odyssey to be written.

Attend to ancient heroes.

Awake and sleep no more.