Issue 54, 27 September 2021

Monday. Argh. The wind bloweth and it ne'er raineth – it poureth. What a sodden summer it has been in north-western Europe. 

What’s to be done? Well, for my part, I've been eating less meat (unless in the company of my parents who’ll offer nowt else), and trying in general to be more thoughtful about my carbon footprint. I will not fly again. And, etc. We need less of everything, not our compulsion for more, and that, I suppose, includes travel, plastic trinkets and breeding. 

On the other hand, emerging from the isolation of the last year-and-a-half, blinking in fright at the gathered crowd, I really enjoyed my first canapé in a long time at the Signature Art Prize gala at Bankside Hotel last Friday. Especially the smoked salmon ones with caviar on blinis. Less so the glazed chicken thighs (see above, and for the sticky lips and awkward spitting of bone into paper napkins). And bottled beer, begorrah! 

Gosh, it’s been a while though, hasn’t it, and I was positively stuttering with nerves when talking to Liorah Tchiprout, whose monoprints I love. And I apologise to Ursa the young lady from Wisconsin for wilting her with a beery, hungry breath – canapés aren’t filling, are they? And somehow I never managed to say hello to Margo properly; I think I was too engrossed explaining some of the many layers of Sausage, Dogs & Schadenfreude to a tall man in a blue suit called Scary. 

There were 31 etchings in the show, of a total now of 700, many printed in the last year at Thames-Side Print Studios down on the river opposite the Tate & Lyle sugar refinery. Here they are:

They were picked at random and hung to suggest a narrative of some kind, but, as usual with this work, it is for you, the viewer, to interpret the story. Ideally, I’d let you shuffle them about on the wall to determine the whole caboodle of what the hell is going on. “Very mysterious,” is what one punter muttered, peering closely at a decapitated Rex Harrison in a German uniform (DCLXXII - A Perfect Match). 

Each etching has a number and a title:

59 - LIX - That What Grandad Did See

198 - CLXXXXVIII - Let It Begin

205 - CCV - Jostling

207 - CCVII - Nighty Nighty

208 - CCVIII - Pyjama Pyjama

210 - CCX - Tingles

212 - CCXII - You Cock

248 - CCXXXXVIII - A Prelude to an Encounter (Just Not Ever Not on a Bed)

249 - CCIL - Argh

268 - CCLXVIII - I Wish I Knew That One

277 - CCLXXVII - Apocalyptic Superheroes

303 - CCCI - And Then

325 - CCCXXV - I only Have One

360 - CCCLX - Circling an Abyss

387 - CCCLXXXVII - I Watched It Suck Away and Fainted

411 - CCCCXI - Nothing Is Not Revealed

436 - CCCCXXXVI - Whichever Comes First

441 - CCCCXXXXI - Hah

442 - CCCCXXXXII - I Lie of Course

448 - CCCCXXXXVIII - It Gets Unbearably Momentous

456 - CCCCLVI - Forthcoming

460 - CCCCLX - I Could Be a Prize Fighter

493 - CCCCLXXXXIII - Hanging on the Walls

497 - CCCCLXXXXVII - Because I Made It

503 - DIII - God Save the Queen

535 - DXXXV - At the Point of Death

592 - DLXXXXII - Bollocks to this Game of Soldiers

609 - DCIX - So Here We Are

672 - DCLXXII - A Perfect Match

677 - DCLXXVII - But Let’s Move On

757 - DCCLVII - Can You Hear It

Issue 53, 30 April 2020

Confinement Anglais 2020 presents: Le Mutin.

A classic French film – tragic drama at its best from a golden time of global lockdown – recently unearthed, fragmented and smeared in chocolate, wine-damaged, behind a box-set of Homeland, and lovingly restored to partial glory. 

Synopsis (spoiler alert): Twins, separated at birth, raised in different social milieus, find themselves serving in the same regiment abroad. On discovering the identity of his brother, a charming Capitaine with fine prospects and a beautiful Parisian fiancée, the poorer twin, a mere poilu caporal (that’s corporal in French), consumed with envy and jealous rivalry, plots his brother’s demise through mutiny. Yes, mutiny – that dreaded fear of the French officer class! The attempt, however, fails and he is mortally wounded. Or is he? The director leaves us questioning the true identity of the man returning to his distant homeland... and who really is the mysterious fiancée waiting for him…?

Issue 52, 27 March 2020

Well, well, well. Fancy meeting you here. Ah, no, please – not so close to the screen, thank you.

Issue 51, 20 September 2019

My time as intaglio instructor at the Royal College of Art has come to an end. It was a hugely fun job with fantastic colleagues (Damon Rostron, Andy Richardson, Mollie Tearne, Kristina Chan, Thomas Cert and Oscar Eaton), and I shall miss them.

New adventures await though, as a printmaking technician at the University of Creative Arts (UCA) in Farnham!

Exhibition-wise, come and see my etching 'Tanz!' at the Bankside Gallery (until 29th September 2019), and other works at the Woolwich Contemporary Print Fair (7th-10th November 2019).

Issue 50, 24th November 2018

Prince Charles came to visit the Royal College of Art, where I am now employed as an intaglio technician and instructor. It was the fourth time he shook my hand, and I feel obliged to report that he remains the most outstanding shaker of hands I have ever encountered: Precisely manoeuvred, firm and dry. None of that heart-sinking feeble limpness many an Englishman proffers. Could it be his German roots?

The future king and I

I brought dog biscuits for the sniffer dog, to no avail; the police had already scoured the building in a pre-dawn sweep.

Issue 49, 13th June 2018

My new studio here at Royal Albert Wharf in London will be open to the public on Saturday 23rd June from 11am. 


It's a five minute walk from Gallion's Reach station (DLR line to Beckton) - see the map below.


So, bring a dog, look at art, enjoy a beer by the quayside and be amazed as the aeroplanes land.

Issue 48, 27th February 2018

Ach, it was time to move on again. The artists at the Rum Factory in Wapping were told their time was up, because the developers wished to begin their work three years early. Bow Arts have just opened some lovely, brand new (clean & warm) studios along the waterfront at Royal Albert Wharf, and I have finished hauling my things over. So, ever eastward I go, further and further out, into parts of London which still has wasteland and German bombs, and where the new homes-of-the-future are being staked out. I shall miss Jaime Valtierra, my brilliant, paint-bespattered neighbour, and Robyn Litchfield, but paths always cross.

Goodbye, Wapping...

... hello, Albert!