Phil Colins and the sewing machine.

The title is not the name of a pitch for a particularly disappointing children's book but the motley medley of musical accompaniment to this evenings creative melee in the studio.

With the revelation that someone, in fact up to three someones, maybe even four have read my blog I really should improve the quality of the written content but seeing as that would detract from doing the work Id otherwise be writing about I shall leave it at images today. Of course I could have followed that philospohy to its logical conclusion and just not written this blog but we live in an age of instant communication where we feel the need to instantly communicate whether we need to say something or not. We feel that even our silence should be commented on, just so people know that we're too busy to let them know what we're doing. So I thought Id pen the comment anyway as an ironic way of presenting a little piece of social commentary for you to dwell upon. Pretencious you say? Im a painter.

"Blessed is the man who, having nothing to say, abstains from giving wordy evidence of the fact." George Eliot