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The Greats.

MEMORY OF THE MOON AND MOTH ☽

LITTLE F∀CES

Here they are, emerged from the shadows, man and fox, fox and man.

ONE WING & ANOTHER THING

A drawing of a little bird's wing, and some sketches of a few other things.

GOOD BOOKS, GOOD FRIENDS

Recently a few of my friends have given me books, some old and some new. I thought it would be nice to share a few images of the older ones I've acquired. Sure, they contain interesting pages to pour over, Darwin’s ‘The Expressions of the Emotions in Man and Animals’ will certainly shed some light on the more perplexing expressions my dog has whilst darting curious glances at me, but for now I will appreciate them as objects, in all their uniqueness and charm. What I like most about these old books is the sense of history that can be felt in them; they’re dense with the past.

Thank you Shing, Lee, Austin and Elsa for these lovely things.

☠

A sketch of a skull, I think he means business.

LITTLE THINGS

I suppose I am,
Like you
The intricate labour
Of love,
Where deep inside
Moss, dust nor rust
Have managed their way in.
In this colourless vacuum,A token from you
Rushes swirling waves
In my blood
To recall in unimagined ways
The hot, searing memory.
And after
Comes another image-
Little, little, beautiful you
Your velvet head
Held perfectly in my hands,
You, I understand,
The motions of your fingers,
Nothing needs to be explained.

LITTLE FACES

Okay, admittedly I need to resume doing a lot more drawing. These are a couple of photographs [albeit, shamefully poor quality] I've taken of a drawing I've done recently. We see a man and a glassy eyed fox, both look fixedly, into a space only we are left to define.
[Better quality images will soon follow]

RUBBLE

We, like the wild beasts
And the darkest creature of love,
Paced wide strides
Over ferocious desolation
Devouring the delicate wings of white birds
And grinding their bones at our feet
Sacrificed to the soil.
Dear you, seeing everything
Through your round deep eyes-
The Weak worshipping whispers
From shallow graves,
Crumbling cities raging into an avalanche,
True, even the trees are rotting.
We paced these voids
Until the last shore
Where, in the black rubble,
Something crucial in you left,
The wind blew soft circles in your hair
And untied your soul
Throwing it out into the night.

DEEP OCEAN

Two beautiful images, both tell a story about the bounding expanse of ocean; one gentle with a quiet sense of calmness and the other exposing a sense of reverent surrender.