Pleasant walk in Marbury this morning with Hazel and Archie. Quiet - just a few people with dogs, some twitchers looking for the illusive flying wig wobbler. Here they are frozen in their tracks as they spot a ooslum bird in a nearby tree. The ducks were particularly manic - hoovering up some crumbs some toddlers had dropped on the lakeside. We sat on the moss green bench to marvel at the one legged display of snoring. One flappy duck was contorting itself into strange shapes, its bill penetrating deep layers of feathers and fluff. Hazel said she was scared of feathers when she was little and had to be persuaded that they weren't alive. Also the story aboutthe digger monsters at the bottom of the garden. Her Dad had to take her down to the bottom of the garden to show her the diggers were just mechanical objects driven by workmen who came over to re-assure her. What a sensitive child eh?
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A kind of diary, a log, a ramble, nothing to do with the Flowerpot Men. My life as an artist, a collagist, a rubber stamper, a networker, a dad , a letter writer and a postcard maker. Observations about this and that in no particular order.
I grew up in the home counties around London during the 50's and 60's. Went to several art schools including Southend ,Chelsea and Manchester. Trained as a painter and printmaker but now mostly using collage. Collect novelty songs and old mail art amongst other things too numerous to mention.