We begin on black. The dawn of time. No colour. A white dot expands. The Big Bang explodes outward into stars. Circles. Ages. Water ripples. Drops. The Sun. Seasons. Nests. Circles of birds. Circles of stones. Circles of rocks. Onward. Flashing. Lapsing. Relentless. Lines. Pylons. Buildings. Atoms. Into the Sun. Enveloping. Fade to white ...

Koyaanishidy

All my drawings are both of an idealised utopia, and what we have right here.

Walking these streets I’ve so many memories I can hardly remember them all. Is this how getting old feels, a rising thrum of melancholy, more real than flaneur.