The Yellow Book

A return to the book series that I commenced at the beginning of the year...'the yellow book' will be the third in the series...dry-point etching on aluminium plates...after a certain time and distance from the first two books I now have a stronger sense of what guides them...quite simply it is narrative...but the type of narrative that is fixed to the vagueness of memory...where things are at the edge of slipping into the forgotten...then these appear like a trigger...sp

'studio floor'

I remember as a child my mother would cut up old clothes to make rags for St. Vincent de Paul to sell to businesses...first the buttons needed to be cut away and then the material was cut and torn... every Saturday morning beneath our high set home I would hear the sound of cutting scissors and the taring of fabric...for the past three days these same sounds have been in my studio...but now the rags have become birds...sp

'myth and poetry'

Regardless of where things may stand either within the depths of myth or floating upon the surface of  poetic reverie what exists in the end is narrative...I have once again commenced a series of seemingly disparate objects, still incomplete at this point in time, yet developed enough to sense their potential to engage or resonate beyond mere appearances...but my difficulty is in recognizing the utterance of any single story...there are multiples of both the bird figure and the collection box (unfinished)...they do not necessarily belong side by side...perhaps at a point of making where narrative begins to write itself..sp.

'Mytho-poetics 1...'happy valentines'

Toy trailer, cheese cloth, thread and bone black etching ink.

Narrative & myth

I grew up with very little ever being explained to me as a child...which I remain thankful of...I think it continues to be the reason I make art...a continual questioning of the relationship between things that I never expect any answers to...sp 

  

Rimbaud & Aeroplane wing

For several days I have been reflecting on these two images in my studio wondering what dialogue they share...perhaps they remain silent in each others company...never meant to share the same room...separate poetry...separate myths...sp