Ghost Worlds

In the 1935 film, the Frankenstein monster is welcomed into the home of a blind hermit. In this self-portrait the hermit's table is formed by a pencil rubbing of my eyedrop packaging (complete with Braille label). On the table is a representation of the tiny eyedrop bottle itself.

This drawing is inspired by a dream experienced by my wife in which I appeared to be conquering my life-long fear of cattle. The pencil rubbing is of the foil container of my beta blocker tablets.

Shortly after Cumbrian born artist Sheila Fell's death in 1979, aged just forty-eight, she was quoted in an article written by Hunter Davies: "I ... intend to live till 104. I've promised myself I will. It's what keeps me going. I worry if I'll ever have time to do all the paintings in my head." The pencil rubbing is of the historic leaded window of my own sitting room. Like Sheila Fell, I have endless paintings in my head and wonder how easily I might be able to bring any of them into existence.

What are we artists really attempting to capture? In the mirror I have depicted the North Sea coast at Sunderland, Tyne and Wear, the place where I was born and grew up, and where L. S. Lowry spent many of his adult summer holidays. Lowry was a friend and mentor of artist Sheila Fell (above).

This is a very accurate depiction of the view I see in a mirror when using just my right eye.

Referencing the first version of the painting Puberty (1894-95) by Edvard Munch, I look back to my teenage years and remember the inspiring 1976 Olympic achievements of my near exact contemporary, fourteen year old Romanian gymnast Nadia Comăneci. As an adult Comăneci spoke of the harshness of the East European training regimes and became noted for leading a refugee group across challenging terrain to escape the then tryanny of her native country.

Heirloom doll, handed down through the family of my wife. Probably originally a pin cushion (c.Nineteenth Century).

Sir Thomas Allen as Don Giovanni, La Scala 1987. An imagined depiction of the character's arrival in hell (not a scene actually featured in the opera). This drawing is about facing demons. (And is an excuse to depict my friend Tom in all his costumed splendour.)

I have based this drawing on a painting hanging at Isel Hall, Cumbria, where I occasionally act as a guide, and where I live above the historic stables next door. I like to think Chieftan might once have been living and breathing directly beneath my bedroom floor. The rubbing is of the stables' cobbles.

Picasso's lost painting was probably not a self-portrait as in my drawing: the hat-wearing artist in the original was thin-faced and bearded. Only one tiny fragment of Picasso's artwork is rumoured to have been found following the loss of Swissair flight 111 off the coast of Nova Scotia.

We are all bit parts in this great movie called life.

Ferdinand Hodler - Swiss artist (1853-1918), best known for his mountain landscapes. This drawing is from a photograph taken in 1917. Whilst war was raging across Europe, Hodler was mourning the death of his lover and growing increasingly ill in Geneva. Despite all, he continued to paint tranquil scenes of Lake Geneva from his balcony. How many beautiful Alpine mountainsides these faithful old boots once tramped across in happier, more active times is unknown.

Artist Gwen John (1876-1939) was both a model and a lover for sculptor Auguste Rodin. This drawing is based on a photograph taken in Rodin's studio and includes pencil rubbings of modern-day stone carving. The image also references my own double vision.

I was looking for a photograph of Andy Warhol before he started wearing the trademark grey-white wigs, but happened upon a captivating image of Warhol's mother. This drawing celebrates her own impressive hairstyle.

Artwork in memory of deciding to miss attending a Schubert recital because of "Storm Amy" (03/10/25). This drawing also references my bizaare visual disturbance of sometimes seeing people in the street appearing to be missing heads or feet.

The previous creative tenant of the property where I now live was potter Edward Hughes (1953-2006). This drawing includes a pencil rubbing of the exact floorboards that would have been beneath his feet as he created this teapot at his potter's wheel. (Image derived from an archive photo-sequence.)

My vision is often extremely clouded but I have come to adopt an attitude of positivity towards the spectre that walks beside me, helping me to remember to take extra care with every step I take. 

This drawing toys with the idea of masked out areas of vision and is also a pun on the insistent line of much of Coltrane's virtuosic saxophone playing. There is also an allusion to a creative life cut short (Coltrane died aged forty).

Jean-Jacques Rousseau based his entire political philosophy on a belief in the essential goodness of human nature and the fundamental equality of all individuals. In current times this is a message that much of the world seems to have turned its back on.

In 1965 British pop artist Richard Hamilton (1922 -2011) created the artwork "My Marilyn" depicting crossed-out images of Marilyn Monroe. In 2010 I created a Hamilton-inspired poetry publication to give to him at the opening of one of his last London exhibitions. This drawing (based on a 1970 photograph) is an homage to his endearing dark wit.

With this portrait of American abstract artist Mark Rothko (1903-1970) I am inviting my audience to join in my discomfort of perception. I am also enjoying the subversiveness of a casual semi-obliteration of my own technical accomplishment.

Many people with eyesight problems need to wear dark glasses, but here the glasses are a fashion statement, a barrier and a mask. I am attracted to the symbolic power of eyewear but also simply enjoy the pleasure of trying to capture it with a pencil.

Swiss artist Paul Klee (1879-1940) was one of the first artists to completely captivate me as a young teenager. His work showed me that creating seriously ambitious art could be fun, experimental, tirelessly ideas-based and small scale, like this series of drawings.

The quote on this drawing is how the life of jazz pianist Bill Evans was described by his friend Gene Lees. Evans had a long-term struggle with alcohol and drug addiction and died aged 51.

I am interested in how something soft and organic can be transformed into something rock-like and monumental by the power of art. This drawing is actually based on a self-portrait sculpture of Auguste Rodin (1840-1917).

In 2008 I had an enjoyable letter-exchange with fashion designer Vivienne Westwood. She told me she believed that portraits should always be done from life, but that she was too busy to sit for me. Dear Vivienne, I have created this posthumous portrait from a photograph.

One thing I share with artist Tracey Emin is a love of the works of Edvard Munch. This drawing borrows one of Munch's titles. Welcome to my world of double or even sometimes triple vision.

I wanted to depict a performer who uses glasses as a trademark not of stereotyped nerdishness, but of witty smartness. Phil Silvers (1911-1985) had surgery to correct his very poor vision, but continued to wear glasses for effect. Few know he had a lifelong addiction to gambling, easily able to lose a fortune in a night.

One theme of these drawings has become hair. Footballer Erling Haaland unashamedly flaunts an audacious coiffure and here could almost be an Art Nouveau motor car marque or a sculptured relief of a Norse god.

Actor Lon Chaney Jnr. (1906-1973) made his mark as the neurotic Larry Talbot, haunted by his curse to live as a werewolf. I dedicate this drawing to anyone living with health challenges (vision problems or otherwise).

I was contemplating buying a very expensive aquatint created by one of my art heroes Georg Baselitz of his wife Elke. In the end, I decided to make my own artwork of Elke. In the spirit of Baselitz this portrait consists of multiple drawings, obliterations and erasures.

With eyesight problems I rely more heavily than ever on music for my entertainment. The electronic wizardry of prolific Klaus Schulze (1947-2022) provides untold hours of beatific reverie. Schulze is endlessly witty and inventive with his titles, which is why I have titled this drawing "Untitled".

I have omitted all the signs of ageing from this depiction of an octogenarian Lucian Freud. The drawing is a celebration of battling onwards with creative dynamism against the ravages of time.

I knew nothing about Ida Lupino (1918-1995) other than her name when I inexplicably had this dream. I urge anyone reading this to look her up, she was a remarkable woman.