I have dreamed of a beautiful space, perched high above Porthminster beach or in the center of Hay-on-Wye, floating around in painters overalls, splattered with a multitude of colours, wooden floors and whitewashed walls, shafts of glistening sunlight crashing through the windows. The reality is far less romantic but practical – the spare room. I have thrown out the carpet to get to the floorboards which is essential should you be attempting to create a truely splatter happy environment; walls washed over white though still woodchip. Surrounding myself with ‘things’, bits from the garden or beach, books, postcards, objects I like the texture/colour/smell of and much other stuff that really would be better exiled to the bin. A veritable cornicopia of personal junk. That is my space.

These are a selection of semi-abstract images that I have created over a period, they are of the Fens at various times of the day or year and in a variety of weather conditions. I have tried to avoid a literal transfer of colour and form, they represent an emotional connection with the moment and express to me my feelings for the landscape as a memory, they are not controlled technical interpretations of that landscape.

Firstly the bar at Cadwell Park race circuit, drawn because of the way the light fell on the chairs which are variations on Arne Jacobsen’s Series 7 Chair from 1955.

Secondly a few images of local people out shopping. An Alan Bennett look-a-like with an extraordinary hair do who was gazing into Costa Coffee, plus a woman, who at her age should not be sporting a doggy over-the-shoulder bag. At the bottom a snap happy tourist and a couple of Fenland mafioso. The dude on the lower right reminds me of the father of a school friend who was a wirey chap with a bad joke obsession.

This chap is doing good stuff… and he’s a Yorkshire man, power to the Northerners. Sorry but I can’t post a preview due to copyright and DH’s lawyers are bigger than mine.

http://hockneypictures.com/home.php

More flatland skies, an early morning misty sunrise and a late morning dazzle.

Some sheds just need a new love. This lonely outpost of Fenland shedery [hmmm] was once loved, the details of its interior are the whispered stories of some past life, the dazzerling shades of aqua and cobalt splashed on the walls are testement to a distant care.

Apples and the culture of appleness are woven deep into the fabric of Englishness like village fayres, tombolas, egg and spoon racing and gymkhanas. Annually villages, towns and cities promote apple culture at a local level. Gardeners bring sample apples for identification, children compete in the apple’n'spoon races, some sip the juicey liqour that the apple expresses when pressed and others sun themselves in what often proves to be a beautiful October day. This is how it was this year in the annual Ely Apple Fest. You could eat Ostrich burgers and hotdogs, Swedish Apple Cake, a fine selection of experimental cheeses and drink hot spiced apple and blackberry juice. Some say this heady mixture of easy going milling around and cheerful banter has been lost in favour of a fast paced less informal way of life but not so on this bright October morning when tumberling out of bed and drifting into town was all one had to do.

The owners and lovers of sheds beam affectionate and deeply protective rays of glorious care upon their 2nd homes [primary dwellings for some but presently we will steer clear of politics and mental healthcare], and this global love fest of creative space creation should be celebrated. I therefore have a new minor quest… to record those upon which I stumble or seek out those of which I know. Lets begin with two city sheds.
The first is a well established shed-cum-garage-cum-town hall, secreted down an up-market backstreet near the river Cam, it has a wiff of timelessness, a sense of past projects ousing from within, a residential tardis [time and relative dimensions in shed].
Shed number two is in-embro, forming lovingly using multi-skilled staff [though not necessarily in the art of building], it will be a space of contemplation and graft. The owner is a natural shed dweller, although I suspects it is the shed that owns him.