Thank you John Dargan, thank you for breaking that skin, that veil that so frailly kept me back from releasing all the little stories that soon exploded out of my finger tips. A thought, understand that hunger you harbour and use it to draw. A pot of ink, sticks of charcoals, back ends of paint brushes and all the Nouvelle Vague films you can find (preferably screened onto a spontaneous white sheet draped across the studio).
The recipe is to use projected still images at random, and just draw, overlay, under the table, one after the other. Let it all bleed from your finger tips. I had never realized that thirst for art, or how intimate everything becomes. Every object in the room is connected, my fingertips, the stills, the ink. Its like electricity, one that vibrates through the molecules of the ink and onto the paper. Something clicks, and everything falls into place.