I’ve been on an expedition – that’s how it feels I think. I’ve been to foreign parts, sampled the local delicacies and now find it reassuring to be home. Trouble is, home isn’t the same as when I left it!

I’m further unsettled by circumstances beyond my control, as I am still without a studio.

What this has done, in amongst this particular set of circumstances, has rendered me incapable of the back-track-recap-reassessment process I usually go through when I go off on a tangent. The tangent isn’t unusual (although recently it’s been a particularly long one), but the lack of opportunity for the reset is.

I’m sitting back at my dining table surrounded again by boxes and piles of books, none of which I can bring myself to look at, let alone read.

I have my sketchbooks, which are like an internal ordnance survey map, they help to recalibrate at least…

But my work is packed away, in storage, in the loft, in the shed and garage etc… so it becomes mythical, legendary, out-of-sight-out-of-mind.

I am a loose end… a kite with no string…

I find the intellectual and creative loose end inextricably linked with emotional turmoil. I have no root to hold me down… I am clinging on by fingernails…

I have people I turn to that help pull me back in… they’ll know what to do…