In the S(P)ink of Things

In The S(P)ink 1

Well, there was that old pot, pretty rusty – don’t you think ?

Cuts like a knife.

Give it the brush off.

How transparent of you.

Irony is rusted wit.

In The S(P)ink 2

                            That pot shines pretty-

                            trusty sharp knife – don’t you think ?

                            a reflection smiles

                           back at you through  curved scratches –

                           you are in the s(p)ink of things


In The S(P)ink 3


Sink .

Green Sheen 

Shines brightly on, 


so like the past days –

chaotic mundane order

contained, drained


mmmmm, what’s next ……. 

Damp towel



In The S(P)ink  4


Lost Knowledge

Lost Knowledge 1


In conclusion, it is safe to say that knowledge is lost when we allow one person or group to control the narrative. Common beliefs, values and ideologies can unite, but at the cost of creating a False Other  –  Those who do not belong  – they live in an implied space that is shaped by fear, ignorance, and the desire to create self worth by projecting internal weaknesses on those who walk a different path  or dance to music unheard or unrecognized.




The Shadow

Screened by Beliefs –


Hidden away fears

mask mirrored truths –  masque of denial 

waltzes around facts,

Screened by Beliefs,

United Fears


Self .

Hands -Mystery 1 MT


Denying The  Other  Diminishes the Self

Tree Graphite Expression

Tree Graphite

Tree Expression,

where wonders born

of magic lines

twist between Earth & Sky,

saw there a figure striding,

the blood-red graphite of his leather jacket –

briny skies reach down to hard stones.


Grey lines cracked

in an image of sharp memory-

The Man of Grey,

hair in the long red loom,

reaches out;

The boughs kneel before him now. 


When behind him, he heard that sound,

like a faint breeze in the tree tops –

yet there was no wind blowing;

in all of the  wood was the stillness

that holds a picture in its frame. 


There, looking for wrens and thunder stones,

his steps grew glens,

his breath brewed bowers –

whispering cups of moss-flowers

call out names of forgotten lovers,

fish, dreaming in languid lakes,

murmur of soft summer kisses

lingering by the shore at dusk.

As the pine tree followed him,

The Man of Grey came upon that place,

green as darkness in the shade of old trees,

old as dawn’s first memory,

a leaf-gift ring , a timber trove. 


It was the same size as the wings of empty wind in a large-star filled room,……..



hidden hall,

king of forest,

Standing guardian,

loyal oak-soul, song bringer

lights the soul’s fire-hearth,


embers ignite memory,

wind wheel




Process Note; Having re-worked a digital image I had made a while ago, I used it as a prompt. Playing into the imagery associations was my recent reading of Suzanne’s Behind the waterfall, which in turn reminded me of Lord Dunsany’s The King of Elfland’s Daughter.

As the piece grew, it took on an Old Anglo Saxon tone in the construction of images, setting & character. I concluded it with a Fibku.

Broken Folklore: Tile Tales

Tile Tale1

A slight disappointment begins to cuddle the heart………

the bathroom tiles have a life of their own.


Tile Tale 2

When flying in aether, access to other pulp magazine realities can be seen through the scratches, murmuring where the grout has cracked and the mould has caked.

Tile Tale 3

If a man dies at the stroke of midnight will the devil take the foot of his soul or just the sole ? Does he reach out in the dark, sliding his hands against the cool tiles, like a sleeping cloud – seeking egress, only to find the wings of the black egret ?

Dark pinions brush palm –

the skin whispers memories,

take flight weary soul –


Crocodile cocoon

bursts open, smoky wings spread –

night song rises upward.


When fugitive days unravel, the threads of fate dangle from the loom, an abandoned time-worn towel on the rack of passing moments. Reaching out, grab for the towel to dry away regrets and damp spots of might have been heartbeats .


Tile Tale 4


Transcript of Witness Account

I can only say Tuesday, but I realize that is blasphemy, it was much more than that. It smelt like burnt Panic and there was an almost pleasant noise buzzing away the few seconds remaining . Determination was athwart to the receding corners of circumstance. I know I am being oblique, but one can only describe the whole event metaphorically. It was not just a series of actions and consequences. The emotional context was not restricted to memory,…… or even time and space.

Tile Tale 5

A line of flight (French: ligne de fuite) is a concept developed by Gilles Deleuze and used extensively in his work with Félix Guattari. Translator Brian Massumi notes that in French, “Fuite covers not only the act of fleeing or eluding but also flowing, leaking, and disappearing into the distance (the vanishing point in a painting is a point de fuite). It has no relation to flying.”    Wikipedia – line of flight


the act

of  fleeing ……

flowing, leaking , drain

into the vanishing point

eluding time’s grasp….

curved corner

appears now



Tile Tale 5-CN


Note Found on Bathroom Floor

Did you know that time bends in the corners of a room like eggs thrown from a balcony ? Yes it goes against logic and all common sense linear experience. But if you squeeze yourself into a corner, of say a bathroom with cool tiles, and close your eyes you can feel the moments slipping through cracks. Perhaps it is the grout or the smell of the mould.  Proof will be provided on Tuesday.


Tile Tale 6

Note on Creative Process: Inspiration comes from many places . When charting the ever shifting Implied Spaces two blogs provided both examples of these shifting territories and sparks in the form of ideas, images and emotion.



See: 1) Susan’s Lines of flight

– Her blog is Art and Life – a creative journey.

2) Meredith’s removing old burdens

– Her blog is Living is Not Mental Illness.