What else would you use a nail for (a nailed pear)

Forest Stroll

Forest Stroll

forest stroll titled2

Am I alone?

the forest tranquil, dense, struggle roots entwined searching nutrients,  each leaf lifted on branch and trunk yearning for light,

  ahead the canopy thins offering protection for feathered songsters to fill the air.

Oil Pastel on card.

Edinburgh Fringe Old Town Mosaic

fringe soundbites

Night searches the streets, lanes and vennels of old Edinburgh, looking, searching for light to paint with shades darkness, revelers follow with steps of gaiety first words then laughter are heard only to be replaced by an inviting, enticing taunting, riff come join me, followed by another then another, until the old town is fragmented into a mosaic of bricks and sound.

A moment of mirth, a memory is captured within a sphere of latex carried on the wind, tethered by some arcane actinic thread reflected from some hidden light source, escaping from a window like a thief into the cold night air.

In the blink of an eye it will all be surrendered to the realm of light, and the old town, once more will dance to the rhythm and beat of a different drum.

Sunset Embers

sunset embers

Grey ingots of  first light

are picked up by the azure glove of day

and thrust into the  golden embers of the setting sun

before being melded into day upon the ringing black anvil of night.

T. Adams 2015

Vulcan Sunrise


Acrylic on canvas

And yet as an image it sings its own song.

And yet as an image it sings its own song. Photograph by T.Adams

The singer’s voice speaks,

it is not essential to understand the words

it is enough to be captured by the beauty of the sound , we stand transfixed in our own personal mindscape of the pitch, cadence, rhythm,

Oh! – The simplicity of vibration.

As a child whistling with my brother amazed at the distortion created when the two frequencies clashed what an experience existing yet spawned by neither of us.

This image is offered to as a homage to that, which does not exist but is there,

Without light the word is not visible, if the book remains closed, although that  inside which exists it is not seen.

And yet as an image it sings its own song.

Reflections of a lesser world

Sometine the picture is enough

Steelband last year they were Smoking

To all who read this