There's this idea that life gets better - improves - as we get older. I'm 66 and I still tend to believe this, but less so, because time doesn't mean that much to me. I'm gonna stay here till I soothe my soul ... Then again, I tell myself: If you live for a hundred years, you'll never ... I don't have a hundred years. I never had a hundred years. No one ever had a hundred years, not even people who lived for a hundred years. Then again, I tell myself: things would...

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The idea for this picture came from a recent post on Facebook by Tom Cox. It was a sketch of a cat with the caption: 'One day things will get better. Until then here is a drawing of a cat.' This seemed to sum up how I feel about my art practice: The complete failure to articulate or address, let alone resolve, the problems in the world. There's an argument that says art doesn't have to achieve anything, it is what it is and there's an end to it. Leave us alone...

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I had shingles over christmas and new year. Although it was a relatively mild attack, added to the usual impairment shit, its effect on my energy levels and states of mind has not been altogether positive. I keep thinking any day I'll be better and back to where I was.  But then, where I was wasn't exactly a good place. I took on too much, hardly notice when I over-reached and didn't really take enough care of myself. These days I'm more passenger than driver. It feels...

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  Once in a while, every so often, I get the urge to draw. No use fighting it. And so it was, that one day last October, l set the table. Years before, I had set my students a similar drawing exercise consisting of mugs and a check tablecloth. Nothing like a grid for plotting one's place in the system. The scheme of things. Artist is as artist does. Years before, my art teacher had seen some talent in me (he later told me) and set a similar exercise. Six weeks, every Wednesday. How I...

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David Bowie has died age 69. He had cancer. And by all accounts he stayed strong and cheerful to the end. For this he deserves credit and respect. I didn't rate his stuff much. His voice never appealed to me. I thought I liked Rebel Rebel till I checked the lyrics, now I'm not so sure. I can't relate to them. But what fun we had dancing to it in the seventies. Doo doo doo-doo doo doo doo doo Doo doo doo-doo doo doo doo doo Doo doo doo-doo doo doo doo doo I also...

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Today I received praise for my writing. It felt good. And weird. I wonder why ... My earliest memory of being praised was a teacher congratulating me for passing the eleven plus exam. I was baffled. I didn't even know I'd taken it. Then I remembered the strange test we'd all been made to sit. However, I still didn't understand. Why had I passed and others not? It was a mystery. It also changed my life, and not for the better. Bafflement was followed by weirdness. The first weird...

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I went to an exhibition yesterday. In typical form, I approached the task of writing the review back to front. Today, due to my ostensible need to verify and justify each and every word I write, I am not writing. I am researching; seeking, digging, poking, unearthing all manner of info, items and opinions, endlessly clicking and link after link after link. I only ceased (paused?) site-hopping because of the of the silly festive season and the very real threat of me and my guests sitting down on...

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I used to campaign against war and in favour of peace. It seemed important and I felt useful.  I feel too tired and achy to protest now. Or is it that it doesn't seem to be worth the effort? I don't know. I really don't. So, I wrote this rough and ready poem to go with this picture .Then I posted them to this blog and thought, now what?   troops are on the loose sniffer dogs follow leads so their noses know where I live   they'll be along soon telling me...

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1. Woke up.
2. Felt weird.
3. Read Dolly Sen's blog.
4. Did this picture.

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I'm too old (or too/not enough something else) to get a job, so I'm trying to focus on the art side of things. It might come to nothing, or it might come to something. The main thing is I'm doing it. Wake up! City Arts is an interesting project that's recently started. It's local, near to where I live, in West Berkshire. I went to see their little exhibition a couple of weekends ago, talked to the people involved. I'm looking forward to their upcoming Mighty...

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I haven't posted to my blog for months and months.

This picture helps to explain why. Taken today.

Not that I haven't had ANY art action. It's just that I haven't written about it here. Because it's mainly rubbish, to be honest.

Or maybe I'm lazy. No, that's not it.

Or maybe I lack committment. That's probably it.

And I like eating.

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 Sometimes it feels like it's all slipping away ...

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I've taken part in two writing/performing workshops run by Link Up Arts at Salisbury Arts Centre, as mentioned in my last-but-one blog. As a result and by way of follow up, I was invited to take part in Salisbury Arts Centre's Homegrown Performance showcase event this coming Wednesday 1st July. We had our first rehearsal this week; it seemed to go well. I wasn't nervous then, but I am now, and I will be on the day. The showcase consists of the Homegrown exhibition as well as...

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When depression hits, I can't go out or speak to anyone. It's a moment by moment existence. I have no energy. I want to sleep (but don't). I make myself do basic chores. That's all there is. And food. This time (today) I decided to write and draw (fuck work) something, attempt to represent or express my state ('mood' it's called nowadays, which sounds OK). I don't smoke and I can't afford to drink alcohol (anyway it's a depressant) though I love the...

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Over the last three months I did three Our Tales Unveiled workshops at Salisbury Arts Centre. These began with an excellent performance earlier involving Penny Pepper and Liz Porter. Penny's a writer; Liz is a story teller and singer. In Liz's workshop I reluctantly 'performed' a story about Clara who crochets a lot. This was based on someone I know (not me). I haven't asked 'Clara' if I can use her words so am uneasy about going public until I have...

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body says that fucking pain is back I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish it would just I just wish it would just I just wish I wish it would go just go just go away just go oh you you you you you have nothing at all nothing at all nothing to gain by complaining because you you you are to blame for the pain brain opines to spine who’s rather shy and rarely smiles and whines and sighs and cries and you you you you you know nothing at all nothing at all nothing and if you had...

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The two greatest loves of my mother's life were the colour green and dancing. She dressed in green as often as possible and drooled at green items in shop windows. Dancing was an escape from drudge, the hope and potential for wealth and glamour. But it was among the many things my mother took too seriously to enjoy, so it was never fun. She took me to a dancing lesson, possibly just the one because I was in hospital for most of my childhood. We lived in Romford Essex at the time. We...

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Poem 1 Retirement in Abingdon UK isn’t like in Oregon USA here we get assistance to live with independence there the doctors help you  toss your controversial life away on the dubious basis that pain removes your ability to die with dignity on google and yahoo the issue is in no way similar to euthanasia for when suffering is terminal and someone kindly kills you say thank you and smile as they put down the lid on you your shoes soon filled  by someone youthful someone...

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I wrote this flarf poem in the first few days of this New Year, having written almost nothing for a month. I hope it sparks the imagination and provides the reader with a fresh, unique perspective on life.  Flarf seems to have come about by accident. It began as a send-up, a bit of a lark, by Gary Sullivan, to bring out the inherent awfulness, etc., of some pre-existing text. Flarf his now an accepted and respectable way to generate poetry. Flarf is taken seriously. Poets enjoy writing it...

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DaDaFest's two-day International Congress on Disability & Human Rights was one of the best events I’ve attended. It brought together some amazing talented disabled people from within and beyond the UK. Arriving late on day one, I stumbled up the auditorium steps (no hand rail) during a presentation that worried me so much I’m keeping quiet. Suffice it to say that charity is alive and well and doubtless always will be. For where you see oppression you will find opportunities....

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This poem was inspired by the picture on the right. The picture was inspired by a recent DaDaFest poetry event where I experienced problems processing the performance, because of the large screen that showed very powerful images, against an accompaniment of classical music. At one point I had to close my eyes so that I could hear the poems. This might have concerned me less had I not been asked to write a review of the performance. Sitting down to write the review, I was faced with a near-blank...

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After a lifetime of political and organisational activity and activism, I'm reconnecting, touching base with the basics, giving proper attention to art at last, becoming an artist. Being an artist. By the way, why do I need to keep announcing this? I first did it 15 years ago. This has to stop. Just do it! So I'm here at DaDaFest 2014 and I've been listening and watching; enjoying a kind of immersion in other people's experiences and ideas, exposure to different ways and other...

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  Doing and learning   I'm learning by heart some poems I wrote in a class started by our slam impresario   the end of the course is nigh and resistance is as useless as punctuation in a poem   as if   performance is inevitable but not humiliation providing I learn my lessons and lines so to speak   to keep breathing not like underwater swimming submersion of an altogether different kind   absolutely no deep-end clichés here but indeed it is quite...

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