New studio.

May 2020, Symondsbury, Dorset.

In a half empty space with a high ceiling. Light floods in to one corner in stark contrast, a warm patch on the concrete floor from the sun’s angle. Outside, high speed gravel turns, brakes. A space mine but not yet my own. Ideas quietly tucked away between papers, softly folded up on shelves and held in bags of unpicked thread. Closed into files and saved in folders with a padlock. Gathering dust.

Wishing for a flood not just the drip from that new, high ceiling. But it’s been dry for months, perfect weather. What we really need is one of those electric storms straight out of Mexico. A deluge, a release, flooding the streets with all the grime and dirt and rubbish, coffee coloured torrent under the bridge and over it, washing away flip-flops and over-hot skin. Crack over my head and blow up the power line. Fireworks! Sparks! Electrical fire!