Purpose and process
January 2025 and I feel small and mute against a backdrop of Trump's aggressively backward policies and what voice do I really have when social media is controlled by fascist white boys who are proudly flaunting their agendas. I am raging - Ever shouted inside so hard that everything inside and outside starts to crack? A silent scream, because what is the point of screaming out loud? No-one wants to hear me scream and it won't help. What will help? Anything within my power? So I pick up the charcoal and hide somewhere between black dust and white paper - a running zebra, slightly out of focus, a prey animal, one of millions crossing the savanna. I can't draw it, I can only feel it - a big sky hidden above the dust. Driven by hunger and fear, the illusion of freedom and I can see something there, a reluctance to be herded, an upward glace and a barely noticeable hesitation. Then I'm back - have a cup of tea, load the dishwasher, get ready for work because a human doing ...