Friday, 29 July 2011

Limn Workshop

The first Limn Workshop took place yesterday at Seven,
in conjunction with Creative Networks Yorkshire.
The workshop included live collage and illustration on the Art table,
& live digital projection on the Exhibit table.

The works from the workshop will eventually be archived on the Limn website

Monday, 25 July 2011

Keep Cards

Featuring artists:

Ian Stevenson

Christopher Bettig

Blanca Gomez

Rupert Meats (ThisIsRude)

plus many more

All cards are 10 x 15cm, printed on Accent Calisto 300 gsm with matching envelope. For wholesale orders please contact

Friday, 22 July 2011

Loose Talk Costs Lives : Wax & Gold

Released : 08/08/11

Thursday, 21 July 2011

Field Day for the Gods, and Others, Such as Us

We rest

on tired cliches and proto-hippy waves

lost in ancient perspectives

hollow expectant winds sing

as they clothe our bodies in gilets and watch earwigs dance inappropriately on Saturdays.

The rains applaud naturally and rapturously as we impregnate spectacularly

the mud with the souls and smoke of moons wrapped in a thousand lost words and leaves.

It's time to leave

Bukowski in the bush

blind with tshirt slogan head rush reading the mist of literature written by the forest that never existed.

Double sun maneuvre ecstatic

bursting atmospheric places at the centre of the tree bestowed with an eye

offered to the sky by meandering erratic children of yellow gentle breezes and

nonsense and horses constructed from sprays of water

making lungs grow shorter, static

and then the eye freezes.

... ... ...

Blinking then

blinking again


staggering stargazing of internal constellations


isolated incarnations illuminated inside ruminating

internally cocooned in our bodies lost beside melancholic moons and

notions and middle class potions coaxing the trees

who can now only speak in high-class hyperbole.

The perambulators are stuck

being pushed

by adjectives that rise like dust from the mud that's stammering through vocal chords of roots

being pressed closed by boots as heavy as planets and yet...

the babies of Venus are expanding into their inner-planetary oasis

and are planting dreams through their waterproof roofs,

with stems and sprouting flowers on wheels

being navigated by miniature upright fields where the high Priest of Nowhere sits


on other people's legs

spinning rhythms of winds relinquishing the roots of all their knots

And the eye of the tree speaks to us, and only us

although we are not sure how, it just does

and furiously our feet are majestically bathed in swathes of light

and we are wet

from our souls to our socks.

This bright eye can't dance like the pulsating glow of night

our bodies are getting used to the idea of being lower than soft, our mechanisms are stuck

facing one another

like the mirror portraying the looking glass, at last

we are lost.

At last,

we can move with the essence of Cassiopeia and gravitational shudders.

At last,

we are nearer to the wet glances of shadows.

At last,

we are benevolent trees that stare and dance to the timeless rhythm of earthy hands, applaud,

because at last

the clouds have given birth to the lioness's paw

At last,

the fallen trees form parts of vibrating dreams

hidden under the awe of resplendent poets and branches and stems and spirals of animals and

whirlpools of invisible electricity

and within these cool depths of morning we'll imagine

our city

cast in the shimmering trinity of trees

frozen deep within the tender fountains of Venus and the wombs of infinity

blooming in the scent of twilight fast

burning like forgotten monuments of skies

between glaciers of you and I

cascading at last, we gasp

in a simple effort to breathe

our world becomes statuesque

like a requiem

for weakened knees.

Auspicious Canopies