Cityscapes
Motorway To The Moon
Motorway To The Moon


House Full Of Love
House Full Of Love


Schoeneberger Ufer 1982
Schoeneberger Ufer 1982


Storm Over Wilmersdorf
Storm Over Wilmersdorf


Ku'damm 82
Ku'damm 82


After Casper David
After Casper David


House Full Of Love
House Full Of Love, 2022, 100cm x 70cm, Acrylic, Crayon, Pen, Printer on Heavy Paper
The words on the painting are:

"Hammersmith 1987"


In situ dream?

…..overlooking the train tracks that carriages rattle away on, the night rains on gleaming flooded lines flowing behind an Old White Schoolhouse. This house glowers, a little anonymous perhaps, or more accurately described it is secretive whilst hiding those tracks. It is secretive in the space before the road, peering over the large black fence. It is secretive in that it has a ramshackle elegance (a hint of an older and in some aspects more leisurely paced time?) not revealed so easily to the hasty morning commuters or drunk night revellers of the Sheperd's Bush Road the other side of that black fence.

So picture yourself now, - early winter morning say – stood in the back bathroom on the second floor landing hearing that wind and watching the waters fall and flow in the tracks in this lamplight. Shivering though you are, you are arrested momentarily to stare at the stark bleakness of the landscape unfurled beneath. The flitting of shadows and the calling of the wind to the traffic stirs your mind down less well traveled avenues. A tube train, beaming yellow windows in the dark morning gloom departs north.

Down less travelled avenues – this phrase reverberates in your mind with implications of perhaps say, surrealistic fantasy or turgid narrative yet it strikes you that the strangeness, the truly ridiculous reality is that which you have lived for the last few months. Ever since you left NYC for the first time in a year those few short months ago (May to today's October) life has not stopped storming through you like a writhing river of joys griefs passions altercations and loves whilst looming ahead always some nameless, formless, but so very present destination. A purposeful blind drive.

Back now in the front bedroom of the house she still sleeps. Unusual for her, brought up as she was in less indolent mores than you hold. Perhaps indeed you have just risen to pee in the middle of the night and will climb back in bed beside her once this strange mood has forsaken you. But isn't that the dawn that cracks the sky open across the road in the green opposite?

We had a brief little thing again you see. We like to hurt ourselves that way. Not deciding what type of lovers we are, but loving each other all the same. This time the weather was wet and cold, and the wind beat the trees against the lamps of night in London. She pulled the curtains tight against the window that let a draught in. A large soft-toy tiger lounged on the loft-bed, beautifully made as always with a wide patterned heavy blanket. I climbed up first to warm the sheets for her. When she arrived we embraced with sudden vehemence, throwing aside the arguments of the day, and began to move with a quiet intensity beyond words, and the world. Meeting deep in our inner-selves, we inexplicably paused and waited. Slowly silver-light caressed the whole house, stood tall beside us, kissed our souls and solemn bodies, entered and shook our minds, and stopped all speech. Angel-glow passed within, and out, and on, a perfect circle of spirit that floated through and permeated the whole huge world. I asked her what she felt, and she answered, ‘Open, just so open.’. For a moment we were beauty. Like the feeling of that dream.

She has a boyfriend now. By chance I saw her kissing him one morning, a tall white boy with a shock of black hair clutching a bicycle. He looked soft and strong. It’s good to see her happy, but I miss her. I really do. Perhaps I should tell her. Perhaps not. Later, perhaps. I think she’ll like it though, when I do.

Crewe Alexandra

Suggested Listening: All is Full of Love by Björk