Raga Lalit for the early morning.

If I were to be asked to listen to only one ‘type’ of music for the rest of my life, Indian Classical Music would certainly be a contender for the top choice.

Not only is this phenomenally beautiful peace of musical praise worthy of the hour it takes to play, but the accompanying pictures do complete justice to the whole production.

Kudos to whoever made this. It rocked my world this morning at daybreak

The Grove

Sun. August 23, 2020
Lunar Date
July 5, Geng Zi (Rat) Year (2020)
Wu Xu Day, Jia Shen Month
Clash Dragon | Evil North
The Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove
Go to an old grove and sing with others.
Sing a children’s song of earth and trees.
“In traditional stories, the sage teaches in a forest. Buddha, the Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove, the participants in the Orchid Pavilion — all these had their settings in forest groves. We lose something today when gatherings are in meeting rooms or by video feed. There is something remote and divorced about wisdom that is passed on this way. Yes, the words are the same, the texts studied are the same, and the intentions are the same. But we must notice that the ‘how’ influences the ‘what’.
A forest grove is far more than a charming setting.Much more than a place for people to gather if they couldn’t manage a grand building. The grove has its own power, its own energy. Just go into any grove to sense the other lives that have crisscrossed that space. All of the animals, people, birds and insects.
A grove is a living place so much older than any of us. Walk in the grove and you’ll feel the age of the trees. Feel how the ground has been trod for hundreds of years. Archaeologist’s and geologist’s can show us the age of the place and the complexity of the human history there. A power emanates from the ground and gives everyone the opportunity to inhale the breath of the earth, that crucial force that unites all human beings.
Electricity and atomic energy. We consider them to be real forces. Dealing with spiritual questions: we think of this as mere routine psychology – and some people would even label it unreal fantasy. But do we have to keep justifying the spiritual? Our aim is not to sell the spiritual to those who do not want it, but to state the truth of spirituality for those who need it.
If we sit in the grove, we can feel all of this. In feeling all of it we can partake in it together. In partaking of it, we can find a wellspring of power that will alter the wisdom exchanged there. The words will be the same as those spoken in a city, but the effect will be altogether different.”
Deng Ming-Dao

a response to someone struggling w/ tragedy

I sorta hesitated about sharing this, but you know .. honest sharing in hope that some one elses experience and strength may be improved has been the foundation of my recovery from virtually everything in life..

If this helps just one person out there it will have been worth the possible shame or embarassment or fear of singling out myself or others… Be loving everyone Be kind to one another.

…you could be my partner who told me the same thing after being together eight years and 5 since my stroke. It was how it happened that still has me going through the odd day I still want to take my life. It’s much better and they are really spread out and I understand it is the pain of my injury screaming loudly at me. Telling me how badly I have been hurt. How deep my suffering is. I now know I just have to listen to it. Hold it’s hand and sit with it so it doesn’t have to suffer alone. It’s an awful feeling and I am not going to pretend that a lot of us don’t know what that is about. I’ve learned not to do anything. Just let the wave of pain pass like a scudding storm in the heat of summer. It will be okay. It will be okay. I have no effing clue what will be okay but I’ve come to trust that feeling. And you should too. .. Are you being selfish. yes you are. Very selfish. There is nothing wrong in that. Nothing at all. You need to look after yourself and have your needs met in life and caring and standing beside him will your future, your world, your dreams, your hopes have all been dashed and crushed and mangled beyond belief by this horrible tragedy. You bet you are in pain and want to run as hard and fast and far as you can. till you have to stop and put both hands on your knees and and fight off the sharp bitter pain clutching at your heart and literally squeezing the life out of it.. He probably even sees that. But he is totally powerless and is watching his life slip away from him like he’s sitting on a high speed train looking out the back window at 635km/hr. The wind is so ferocious he probably can barely breath let alone form a thought or have a conversation about this. It is what I have come to understand is a tragedy. A complete, meaningless, senseless, incoherent and above all brutal and devastating tragedy that has been visited upon you. The reason I am writing this is because it all in how you recognize this tragedy and what you want and decide to do about it. I want to flee too, He actually wants to flee this whole thing too, and he probably wants to flee with you. He no more wants to go back to what you once had either. He can’t. Ever. Even if he wanted to, just like you, his whole life has been yanked out from under his feet so completely that there is probably little hope left in his soul and the only thing sustaining him is that his brain injury has renedered him naive and unaware. The last thought the night before my partner started into what you just said above my last thought that night. And my first thought when I woke the next morning was. What one thing can I do today with my absolutely crushed abilities to make her life a little more wonderful. It’s all I ever wanted to do. But I’m not capable of that. I don’t blame her any more than I blame my condition. What I have come to understand is that both of us were handed a challenge and question we still are required to answer, struggle with, dive into the muck and filth and root around until we find that answer and pull it back out and wash it up. Clean it. Give it back the honour and place in my life it deserves. That work is going to have to be done by both of you and there will be no escaping it no matter where you run. The question is how are you going to respond to this. You can only respond. Tell yourself, how am I responding to this. If my favorite character did this in my favorite book how would I react. Would I understand their motives, Could I forgive them. Did it help, Does it even make sense. I can’t answer any of these or any of the other huge questions. They are huge and have blown a crater into both of your lives that has to be climbed out of. A circle of devastation, pain and bewilderment. Do you want him as a partner to make your way out of this because he will fight for you in unbelievable ways. It doesn’t matter to him one way or the other. He is going to be fighting for his life til the end of his days and knows you’ll be there or not.He knows in his heart there is no person there for him that is going to be there for him. He can’t even do that for himself. You. You have to answer these questions and think. Will moving away from this get you where you need to go? Where do you need to go? What is it you need? How do you get there in fact? … you see we don’t have the power to answer any of these questions. I’ts not possible. None of us have any more power over our lives than your partner does. He just is having to face it a little more bleakly, bluntly and in your face than most. Look around and take stock. Don’t ever go back to what you once had. It’s not there and you would only be going back to wreckage. So in the end. when you leave this all behind. Is he the kind of person you want to have beside you while you head to your new place in life. He’s already answered that for you so he’s faithful on that account.. And the universe has sort of pinned him in place for you so he doesn’t run around or get away. Thing is we don’t know. I can’t answer that question for you ‘hon. I can only say that if you don’t ask that question, If you don’t realize that this is a question you have to ask yourself. You can’t come back later and revisit it. It will have been whisked into the slipstream of life and think for just a second where that will leave you in relation to where you are now… I hope that this helps somebody if not you. I pray that it does. The world is hard and we all need somebody. We all will need somebody at our side because that is how we get well. And it’s going to always be a question of who we want to get well with when we are talking about a partner. Think about it. I’m truly sorry if this doesn’t seem like help but print it out and come back to it every once and a while and reflect on it once again. cheers. life is hard we need others in our life. you too. so be good to yourself. loving yourself and seeing that you get what you need right now matters more than anything else because as you see. You are prepared to do anything at this point in your life to get better from this loss of someone you loved deeply and may never see again even though they are right in front of you grinning like a dog hoping it’ going to go for a walk.. Take care and all I can say is that we must all be thinking about loving kindness to ourselves and everyone around us in this community. These acts are vital and yet so difficult. But they have to be done.

And for all my other friends and acquaintances. When that day comes when tragedy enters your life as certainly it will. This is what grieving and mourning looks like. You will have to recognize it at some point or it will take you under in it’s deadly undertow if you don’t. Tragedy is brutal and uncaring and it affects us all. That’s why it’s so important we all stick together. None of is special enough to be immune from life and together we were meant to be each others destiny and cure. That’s just what it’s all about.

Mellie’s Pedagogy Project –

So here’s some of our top-drawer offerings.

We managed to get these babies into the 2020 curriculumm and now, we’re winning prizes up there with the rest of them.

No more ‘MisterNiceGuy’. The whole line under that campaign. Ya gone. Had to use Covid but hey, we’re definitely back up and running. I mean just look at Melly’s Gold Prize she one with our help.

She got a lot of coupons out of that deal.

Saved her from a life Upside-DownWiggling. It’s 24/7 while she ate slept and chatted online with her friends and managed to rake in nearly $5,000 bucks in one week. Not bad for a 13 year old. It’s gotta suck though. Your gonna have to dread going into business with them when they grow up. Shit I’d take the Yakuza. Yah, there’s a whole channel on it on the OnlyYou-TubeChannel Network. The one with the funny corn chip ad ya. Cool, awesome.. look we gotta go. Bye


Melly’s Cool Science Fair Gold Prize 2023

3 Amazing facts I learned on google about…

“What makes dogs do those crazy things that make you love them and then you never knew!!”


1. Why do dogs always look up at you and smile and there face relaxes when you are scratching behind their ears?
Give up? It’s because you are scratching behind there ears!!

2. Why do dogs always lick their butt?
Give up? It’s because they – like it!!

3. Why do dogs always fart if they’re some type and snore if they’re another??? And this is a hard one..
Give up? Because their are some kind of dogs who fart and there’s other one’s are the kind that snore.!!! Easy eh! You could do it I bet.

The Triumph of Narrative

I have started re-listening to archive editions of the canadian Massey Lectures.

Robert Fulford has always been a hero of mine. From his inspiration in Big Band music to has absolute passion for everything north of forty.

What strikes me the most in listening to this, is the fact that twenty years ago, this was broadcast on a weekday evening on national radio. You could tune into it directly from the airwaves for the cost of a receiver that was built to handle whatever information in the broadcast spectrum was available and that you turned the dial to.

More specifically. Our national radio service thought that  canadians and people around the world listening to our powerful international shortwave service would not only be interested but capable of enjoying a talk like this. And that it might provide a springboard to interesting conversations no matter where you live.

For the price of an AA battery and a couple of  Rupees, I was able to sit in an ancient wooden chair with no seat in a little town outside of Darbhanga, Bihar and listen to our national radio as late as the mid nineteen-eighties.

People gathered in squares and restaurants all over the world to listen to the radio. Radio havana cuba, deutsche-wella, radio nederlands, abc,cbc, swiss radio international, the voice of china, the voice of america. You’d listen to stuff like this after dinner, while doing the dishes or some sewing, or reading the newspaper.

I can still hear the announcers. The chimes and national clips of music drifting in and out.

But mostly I remember a globe where ideas like this spread freely, people listened, and talked about them. An age where we grew and advanced and developed. A world where civilization began to floursh.

As an important writer once stated. If the story is good. It’ll still be good years later.

This one’s a keeper

The Triumph of Narrative

planks on the raft of life..


I’m going to try and explain this the best way I know how so forgive me..

I am not perfect, I don’t expect to be any time soon, but I have come to know this at a very very high price.

The love you are feeling is pure and natural and yes overwhelming. It is not for nothing that when people encountered god or his angels they buried their head in the sand and yelled for it to go away. God stopped appearing to people.

My brother said something to me a couple of months ago about his current journey.

He said “I felt all this love. I didn’t know what to do with it. It was immense and I wanted to share this love I had. And then I learned it was not my love at all”.

“I learned that it was just flowing through me like wind blowing through me like november maple trees creaking and strong and bare of leaves. I learned love was a force. An intimate force that flowed everywhere and I learned how to channel that love I felt. I learned to be a conduit. I learned to let it flow through me as a channel. Powerful, good, strong, clear. I could feel that love and wasn’t scared of it any more. It carried me along and I gave it a place in my life where it coulld live”.

“And then one day. while all of that love was flowing through me. Channeled through me by the grace of god. Some one took away the conduit. And it was magical. This tube I had been living in. Feeling this powerful love flowing through. It was gone. There was no wall. And I immediately knew that this love was flowing through the entire world. The entire universe. With the same force it had flowed through my channel only now I was surrounded in it. Bathed in it. It was there the entire time waiting for me. God is love. This is the message we were asked to remember”.

I know this is really cryptic ..but it concerns the foundation of ‘why’ art.

Alex Coleville once said that the only value of a piece of art was in understanding that it may have taken the artist twenty-five, thirty, forty years of constant concentration and meditation on an idea before he can actually grapple with it as a subject. Personally the expression wrestling with angels would not be an understatement.

He does the absolute best his soul can muster from absolutely everything from his core and depths of his inheritance, culture, antiquity, acumen and skill. To discern properly is what it is about. To discern from all the other possibilities that it is in fact this clear. That it can be represented. That it can be brought into the world and exist.

And the artists struggles with this in the wilderness as a shepherd watches over flocks in remote fields. It is appropriate. And then he returns to the marketplace. And he sells his goods. They are valuable.

[What has changed is the next bit. And it is everything…. ]

The person takes the piece home and lives with it not knowing they have purchased a ticking time bomb. A grenade with the pin pulled waiting to go off.

They will live with it for years and years and years. In a hallway, over breakfast, in a kitchen or somewhere common. Somewhere unubtrusive and common but in constant sight.

And then, just like the artist. Often years and years later. One day they will look at the painting and it will go off like a bomb. All of a sudden they will get exactly what this painting is about.

And like a crashing symphony, for a brief period, our world comes crashing down while we try and reorganize and understand this massive shift in what we thought to be common and everyday.

Exhilarating, frightening, shocking, liberating, sensual, passionate, often hypnotic and absorbing. It is a disturbing experience to come to realizations about ones selve and this world. Who we are and our place in it.

It is something the artist struggles with from the moment they are born. And as Picasso said. The best they can do in their sojourn into the wilderness is to plant a way-sign here and there to say we have been here before and give hopeful and meager comfort to one another engaged in this journey.

We can make our pieces, our little homilies, exhortations and prayers and cast them upon the wind. And through our work we may be able to hammer just one more plank onto the struggling raft of life.

I don’t apologize for putting it this way nor for paraphrasing the words of my brother, picasso or alex coleville. All heroes and well known to me.


Missa Papae Marcelli:

The moon changed and brought in the true dampness of winter this week. No longer nourishing showers falling from above. It’s a cold and driving rain that chills you deep. Even when you’re inside.

I like to think that living in a climate like this tends to help in understanding the depth of what it means to be inside. To carve out a separate space and shape it for ourselves. We are not just clothed in nature and the world but deep within us, there rests a place untouched profound and undescribed. And I recognize the yearning in all the faces around me that it would be revealed.

And that’s why when I look for inspiration I look at those who have gone before, who have grappled and wrested something from this experience and have sought to give it voice. Give it shape or words. Something tangible that others can experience as well.

That haunting and vast space contained by the transept of St. Peter’s or Hagia Sophia.

Constructed in Constantinople in 537AD by the order of the Emperor;  Αγία Σοφία becomes the third church of the holy wisdom to occupy the site… the largest building in the world and the largest cathedral for a thousand years. That is until the gold of the new world can fund a larger one in Seville.

A space we do not recognize nor comprehend. As alien as life beyond our stars. It lasts solely to contain the invisible presence and experience of  holy wisdom itself. This vast unknowable wisdom to which we can attach no name and to which we can properly only respond. To live this experience and give it voice. And few are those who manage to succeed in hearing this calling and have it reach our crumpled and distorted world.

Hagia Sophia managed to do it for a thousand, three-hundred and ninety-four years until was made into a museum and fell into disrepair and abuse in 1931. A time my parents lived in.  Today it serves as the destination point for dinner and a selfie. Or a short sit on a bench in this hard and foreign place. To wait for the bus that got you there on time for the tour and back again for lunch.

I don’t think Palestrina ever misunderstood what he was doing and it shows. I can close my eyes and rest.

I let the sound wash over me like a sheet of wind flowing across the landscape. Hear the breath of the heavens above in that wondrous space between earth and sky where we all live together inside. Along with this sacred space reserved for the soul.

Have a good weekend everyone.



man:                      “Wonderful. Thanks, it’s good to know. I’ve been watering my yard like this for fifty years”. How long did you say you’ve been at this”?

younger man:      “I’ve got degrees in hydroinformatics and modelling. It took a couple of years”

man:                       “And you’re saying I can’t water my yard”.

younger man:      “That’s right. It’s a well known fact that it’s bad for the plants”.

man:                       “Plants don’t need water”?

younger man:     “No, that’s not what I’m saying”.

man:                      “Okay..”

younger man:     “Today, even a two year old could tell you that watering in the day when it’s this hot is bad”.

man:                      “And on Monday’s”

younger man:     “And on Monday’s”.

younger man:     “Monday’s a different reason though”.

man:                      “The thing I’m still interested in is how long you’ve been working for the city. Since you graduated. Since you stopped studying”.

younger man:     “Since I graduated?  Um .. almost four years now”.

man:                      “So you finished your studies four years ago”.

younger man:     “Yah. I’m done my studies and now I have this job”.

man:                      “Well, how come I can’t water”?

younger man:     “Well you could actually. You could get a licensed contractor to do it.  You just have to give them a call and set something up”.

man:                      “A Contractor”?

younger man:     “A lawn care company. You know, trained professionals. They drive around in pick up trucks with little trailers on the back. You’ve probably seen them in the neighbourhood from time to time. There’s a couple of ones we work with that do most properties. They’re not hard to find. They’re like licensed practitioners and if they take on your yard, they can water any time they want. They have expertise”.

man:                       “I see”.

younger man:     “Meanwhile you’ll have to stop watering your yard until you get that sorted out”

man:                      “The plants don’t like it”?

younger man:     “Yah. (pause) Okay so we’re on track here, that’s good . I’m glad we could have this little talk. You have yourself a nice day now”.  (exeunt)



Never wrote a short story before.


There’s an ordonnance that says you can’t water your yard by machine unless it’s between three and five in the morning. And then only on every second day. On Mondays nobody gets to water anything. No matter how you do it.

Watering by hand, I get it. Out in the backyard after supper, get out the hose and ‘giver  a few sprinkles. A quick wander round the perimeter, maybe poke under the bushes with the water and stuff while we’re at it. See how things are doin’.

It’s a far cry from having a hole drilled into your house then right back out again so it can be connected to a flexible pipe that has a watering machine on the end. Instead you’re a little organic mandelbrot on the front lawn spreading water where it’s needed and making your neighbourhood green and look good on behalf of the city and real estate prices. That’s value.

Here’s the deal though, you can go to any store you want and buy  whatever attachment suits your fancy and attach it to the end of that flexible hose. Hell, you can even go digital if you want. Lot’s of these attachements make it so you don’t even have to be there. Reels and crawlers, auto-oscillating three armed sprayers, turbo pattern masters on polymer sleds. There are heavy duty brass pulsators and orbital sun-mate gear driven heads. You can bury the pipe in the ground and get a four pack of nineteen to thirty-two foot spray heads that will give you forty to three-hundred and sixty degrees of coverage.

You can go out every once and a while and see how it’s doing, maybe move it around if you want. See if the ground is squishy. Sure sign of water. You don’t really need to know what you’re doing because whatever it is you’re watching or paying attention to between April and September is bound to be interupted every couple of minutes to tell you how it should turn out. You might even enjoy getting up Sunday morning to watch a show about how to best organize your yard requirements.

The point is – you can turn that thing on and leave it. You can go to bed, go inside and watch TV, it doesn’t really matter what you’re doing. It’s pretty much foolproof with just enough necessity to make you think you’re on top of something important and rewarding. Even better if you can find an app that runs the whole show. (Now that’s something worth sharing).

The problem is – the city doesn’t want that. Not really. Well they do but they really don’t. They want their communities to look good but they’re only ‘gonna go so far.

Unrestricted people pouring water onto their yard at thousands of gallons a minute without any thought. A large chunk of it seeping off the lot and into the storm sewers along with the water from people who insist on washing their cars and hosing down their driveways and sidewalk in a ritual of sanitation. It really doesn’t look good. Not at all. So yes, if it’s dark, and between three and five on alternate mornings we’re okay. Not ‘gonna really look.

And it works  ..mostly ..sort of.

The kind of properties you want watered get watered. The rest ..well let’s just say it’s not going to be brought up in conversation. The grass is undoubtably a little drier and ragged. A little thin ..mostly in lots of places in most yards. A little browned and pretty brittle, even the green stuff. Well maybe not brown actually, more like straw coloured if it were a little more golden. As it is, it’s a too tiny and bleached to really tell. Not much green in there though. That’s for certain.

But all that’s beside the point.

I was thinking about a completely different world. One where there’s this business with older men. It’s ‘kinda cool.

Most people don’t have the time to figure out the yard watering garden thing. Some people are really into it but they usually fence their properties off and out of sight so they don’t have to deal with the visual riff raff. You know, the people whose idea of a backyard resembles the space around the houses on that flat marshy stretch at the bottom of the hill out there by the something or other sideroad.

Anyway. Not everyone is buyin’ five thousand dollar charbeques and egg-smokers to put next to the outdoor couch and big screen TV. Alot of people are just trying to keep up a little scrabbled lot like you by the side of the highway.

The one where you slow down at the end of the big thick grey wire anchoring the guardrail posts to the ground and cross a gravel covered culvert to get into. There’s likely a slightly circular bare spot somewhere because they probably have a dog.

Mostly we’ve managed to get these people up off the ground once they’re in town. Limiting the amount of space these people can affect in the outside world, we’re getting pretty good at it because once they start… little things pile up. Lumber, tarps, bits of leftover machinery and the inevitable pile of dirt. We gotta’ watch it because it’s catching like a virus and you don’t want it spreading in the neighbourhood.

Worst of all it could go Eco. Ton’s of painted bark and some scraggly bushes that look an awfully lot like the ones on the edge of the vacant lot you passed on the way home. No bayberry groomed hedges that’s for sure.

Anyway, the majority of the residents seem to get it right. A tree, a little shade, a sunny spot and a small place that they can tend grass and flowers and plants.

I heard a  comment the other night that I’d never heard before. An idea that most people no longer have a place to direct their nurturing, care and compassion. They may have a small animal or a few house plants, but otherwise this little patch of land is it. It’s the limited place where their soul pours out into the world and world pours back in.

But what I was thinking about was this world of older men. It would be shady. It’d have to be. And the shade would come from trees. Big ones. Lot’s of them. Trees wouldn’t be these spindly ornamental things we put in and pull out for decoration. They would be cultivated and proper residents of the neighbourhood. They would comprise the landscape that the buildings are mingled into.

Early in the morning and later in the evening, these men would come out and water their lawns and flowerbeds by hand. Out there for hours and hours, silent and content in knowing that they were part of ‘taking care’ as the sun climbs into the sky. Standing out on shaded lawns or sitting on the stoop with life swaying about them in the breeze during the best part of the day.

The part of the day where for most of their life they had always been somewhere else. Doing something else and trying hard to figure something out for somebody else. Now they can sway with the water in the cool of the morning and begin to understand what it’s like to paint or dance. Life coursing like the water through their hand to where it’s needed most. There is so much time to relax, to observe, to be calm.

They take on watering their neighbours’ yard. Not because it’s a career choice but because it’s calming. We discover it’s good to have these men in our midst. And after a time they begin to dispense wisdom along with the water. Easy words like ‘how’s it going?’ or ‘good to see you’. Simple things or maybe just a tip of the hat.

Sometimes their advice is more selective along the lines of ‘I don’t think any amount of watering is ‘gonna bring that back’. They know because they’ve seen it and they’d like you to know while you still have time.

It doesn’t need to be much more than that. Just a little shove that gets you away from the dock before you slip your paddle into the water. A growing feeling for life and change. Slow, gentle, constant and always in motion. A way they can adapt to a world where they aren’t the main feature. And finally, their souls can learn how to blend in.



(for pat landon)




“what you learn in art can never be used: if you give in, it’s called imitation.. “

I came across this in one of my recent readings. It went on to state that art is a way of exploring, creation, reflection and searching that continues day in and day out. Most of what we make being unusable.  And a sizeable amount of our efforts ending in failures if we are truly and deeply involved.

“Making a lot of beautiful things that are like a lot of other beautiful things is manufacturing, not art.

Our mind is a wilderness. As artists, we are explorers along the frontier. We run into dead ends, box canyons, sheer walled cliffs. The vein being mined runs out. Sand runs through our fingers  after drilling for water. Hacking at weeds reveals only stone. Abandoned, woozy and sweating under the sun, not even the vultures will circle. We continue to place one foot in front of the other but never relent. Understanding the importance of staying on this path that appears before us; we cross the wasteland and sooner or later enter a paradise that is ours alone.¹


The path of an artist, a warrior, of life – it’s much the same.

Recent work over the past several months has taken me in many directions. Much of it has been spent re-visioning, imagining, and visiting ideas that I had previously left off for reasons of time, focus and other pressing needs. Over time, original impressions have had time to mix with the mulch of daily life. Many of them fermenting and decomposing until ultimately they have provided a rich medium for lush new growth.

Ongoing reading on contemplative enquiry and Goethe’s approach to the world has renewed a long held interest in the history of pigments, the foundations of how we perceive and understand colour and a renewed interest in painting, watercolour and visual comprehension.

Throughout this I have been revisiting work by Ivan Illich on the conceptual nature of the world we live in and it’s relationship to language, body and our human nature. Taking a much harder look at the literate world as we slide into a post-literate future; the nature of ‘stuff‘ and how it enters into our imagination, behaviour and belief and the social structures we use to support it all.

I have taken to shooting pictures almost exclusively with my phone at the moment. It intrigues me how our phones have managed to conquer and command massive parts of our lives and former equipment, devices and tools in an iron fisted grip as strong as that of the Roman Church at the height of it’s power. A catholic tool that mediates, interprets and binds all experience to it. It’s caused me to poke about in pre-history and the period before the end of the 12th century in a very disjointed and inexplicable way.

My current focus is more on apprehension and comprehension than the technical pursuit of ultimate sharpness at the moment, although I still have the gut feeling that a kind of hyper-realism is necessary for our time.  All this underpinned with the sound of Indian Classical and vernacular Brazilian music

A thorough sojourn in the wider social experience of our age has convinced me to return to writing more thoughtfully and trying to comb apart some of these strands over the next couple of months as I return to this blog. Never a dull moment, it’s great to be back.

¹ paraphrased from a reading on art by Deng Ming Dao