let's get serious

gentle, sweet singin' of leaves in the wind....

My friend Ramona sent me this link recently, we spent three blissful days together in Corniglia on the coast in Italy — swimming, walking, chatting, listening to the horizon, sipping on spritz after spritz.  We had a number of conversations and one of them (suprisingly) was about guitar solo's — this is her favourite.

aaaooooowwwwwwwww

schools out for summer

claes oldenburg at the moma

all lines

Text, font, diagrams, landscape, maps, globe, detail, vision are all compositions of lines in some shape or form. Sure there are other ways to describe these things but for the sake of this argument I’m going to focus on the possibility of lines, specifically the horizon line. The possibility of connecting with something that does not truly in a physical sense, ever materialize.

horizon line meets guitar solo meets conversation jam

lines lines
thought lines
landscape lines
time lines
pencil lines
eucalypt lines
fluro lines
pick up lines
grass lines
tree lines
horizon lines
pee lines
your line
time line
denim lines
tracing lines
static lines
sight lines
song lines
set lines
note lines
wailing lines
electric lines
wailing wailing
waveforms
histograms
silhouette
land lines

joining forms

linear form

thought form

line form

form work

train of thought

thought lines

sunburnt

the phones for you mate

studio yarn

The sun streams through the snow covered trees, bounces off the windscreen and reflects off the dash. The trees are running past by and by. It's the beginning of the journey home like so many ahead and so many before. The music is playing — talking has ceased — there are no words just reflections. The mountains are heavy with snow, the weekends activities are projected onto their sun drenched mass as we are moving and they remain— we are moving, they remain.