(This entry part of this page doesn't apply to this painting but I thought it was fucking funny so I left It in anyway.)

I have never shown this piece, mostly because I only rediscovered it recently. I painted it from life, in a life drawing session, from a gurl posing that almost made me pass out with lust when she took her clothes off. I had to stand directly behind my easel in order to not publicly embarrass myself.
After I had quit drinking (I have't had the smallest droplet of ethanol in my system since the end of '98), I realised that 99% of the sexual encounters I had had were at least initiated whilst drunk. And the 1% that weren’t were when I was by myself. So I had NO IDEA how to ask a woman out. Masturbation I remembered.

The first time I did actually ask someone out, I tried to scratch my eyebrow with my paintbrush. It still had paint in it and I got some not only in my eyebrow itself but also in my eye. It was oil paint, and I was so nervous that I just kept talking and tried to pretend that it had not happened, even though there was now a big purple smear over my face and I was actually CRYING because it hurt so much.
This painting comes from third year at uni where my work was pretty much continually insulted and I was, more than anything else, an object of ridicule.

Girl At The Edge Of The World

Watercolours, only 20cm or so. just finished it (May 2008) …

and NOW... here are the lyrics to a song i wrote…

I think maybe I took too much
Of that pretty, pretty powdery stuff
We knock over the washing up
Now we're barefoot on broken cups…
She pulls at my clothes and I take her pulse.
And my kitchen is covered in dust…

She makes me tea
She makes me tea
She
... She makes me tea.
But we – never touch…
We never touch.

She lay with me on the living, dying grass
Nothing endless, nothing vast
Frightened so scared
And pressed against the glass…

She gets ice cream
On her purple dress
And then…just when…
I'm watching her get dressed
She says that patience
Is the saddest kind of shyness.

It's all that we have given
It is the shape

Of our ruin

But this isn't a fever or a dream…
She's wiping her hands onto her jeans
I ask her to stay, I BEG her to STAY
And that's when she really starts to laugh

Blown out like a light bulb a candle a mind…
We are…
So thin;
Our skin…
Is paper-light.
And she smiles…

We fuck in a kind of trance
She calls it
Our

Bone… Dance

She makes me tea
She makes me tea
She makes me tea
But we never touch

We… never touch