acrylic, charcoal and paper on cradled panel, 2022, 76 x 76 cm.

Another square panel with a poem inside it
– small voices buried –
I am fierce frosted breast cut
and lungs trying in the heather

[Spring and visionary]

swinging in the windy dark/thrush flourishes his trumpet/picks and picaloes and changes tune



Acrylic, charcoal and paper on cradled panel, 76 x 76 x 2 cm, 2022.

I’d been writing a poem in an online workshop that ended up being about the watermill on the river Tas, in the village I lived in as a child. We used to catch minnows and sticklebacks in the gravel shallows of the leat, and paddle through the culvert tunnels. The mill waterwheels had gone, but the river went down through the tail race in a scary fast oily way, through the metal bars, and under the wooden building of the mill. From inside you could see the water, and the road through the loose boards. This painting references all that, with words carved into the paint.