A Pictorial Essay.

I, or at least my work, am (is?) beset by femmes fatale. Not a week ago Annabel's dangerous curves came into contact with a collection of objects I have been working on. Amongst the casualties was Gosselin's Bell.



Today this creature struck.



I had been packing a number of pieces for the gallery at Aid & Abet and, interrupted part way through by the doorbell, had left them on a precarious shelf under a sunny window ledge. Some might say (Judge Pickles?) that I was asking for trouble. A noise almost immediately came from the basement. It what I can only describe as an amazingly accurate rendition of that noise they always use for offstage accidents.

It goes without saying that the two pieces I had not yet wrapped were the most fragile. It goes without saying that they had been purred over at the meeting with the Aiders & Abettees and singled out as my best chance for making a bit of cash. I'll cease saying.







I like them better now (the second on certainly) and it occurred to me that I have a 'what happens, happens' attitude to film making, so why not sculpture? There's a good chance I will be swinging a cat round the studio later, when she wakes up.