Scream intolerably at me
And hope that how you shake remains
For the years to come, for the months
To come, for the weeks to come.

For the days to come, hours, minutes,
Seconds of change, sec’s of being
That could not be before the turn,
As outer layers turn in’t Sun.

Turn as the Sun heats green and black,
As the Moon raises blue to bumps,
Crashing to white and stirring the
Moody blind’s red chilly wide maw


Enter, ye human plankton, ‘tween
Long brushes of rubber giants,
Singing softly and high cross deep
Legions of salty earth, in love.

Remember the fire of wooden
Youth, led by bugs and held inside tents
Against all will, a sideshow of
Uniqueness strung and marketed.

Be a freed woman, an un-man
Against the sexless greedy things
That slink their digits into all.
You are not a pie to be shared.



12189567_10150654268609956_5640580007421745498_nAn oil painting I made for my partner (Is that a suitable replacement for girlfriend? I hate saying girlfriend…). The textures on the original are juicy, I always want more texture, thick paint, lots of colours. My rough brush strokes are far more subtle than my precise ones… In my case that is… Probably because I’m not a very skilled still-life painter.


I am sick of it,
Where is my control?
Am I not a young
Man, with Olympic
History and drive
Plunged elsewhere in life?

I am sick of it,
Where is my control?
Am I not a new
Book opened at its
Second chapter, full
Of author’s energy?

I am sick of it,
Where is my control?
Am I not in love
With the odds-less burst
Of vision, with all
Sense and sound a gift?

I am sick of it,
Where is my control?
Could it be a born
Diversion, my goals
A tap to sap my
Fire and soak my cheeks?

“I am sick of it,
Where is my control?”…
Or do I know all
That I know yet hide
Away in layered
Throes of misery?

I am sick of it,
Why have I, control?
The mind is weighty
Within the thickness.
Thought must turn its face
From plans to action.

I am sick of it.



Here is one of my attempts at creating something without a specific subject matter. It seems to me that to create something emotive and effective without a direct visual message is very difficult, far more difficult than creating an image full of opaque signifiers.

Originally intended to be a part two of my sandman painting (see Work In Progress #Z), I ended up reacting to my friend Craig’s conversation and began improvising with oil paint smudged on a plastic cd sleeve, followed by some vigorous sanding (so very vigorous) and some different shades of white in the middle. I really enjoy looking at it, and it is very difficult not adding more, and for that reason I will not add anymore, good or bad, it will forever remain an experiment in simplicity.


Space is a broken love affair
Grafted to New Orleans,
Swimming in bright lights
and covered in cream.

My dreams do the tango
In dark little rooms
Where the underfed man goes
And the overweight loons

Spin finely under the beams.
Time ran past the lucky few
As another day to do the tango
In the land where Peter Pan goes,

Where we are old on the outside only
but loosely under ten on toes.
Where we want to fly forever in my pants,
We don’t want any other clothes,

Just pants in which the wang goes
But keep the peaches free.
Free to do the tango,
In the land that Peter Pan knows.



Waiting for some of my previous painting to dry, so I started a new one today. I had a stronger concept of what I wanted to do, now that the basics are down I’m going to carry on improvising over the top.

I love the way the paint begins to look when you repaint the parts thicker with a slightly varied colour, so that will be the next step. I’m also trying to blend colours as little as possible with this one, which would be easier with acrylic, but I much prefer working with oil.


Pork rind requiem:
The love of a blind pig.
Reimburse my pocket book,
Fill it up, turkey stuffing,
Money muffins and coins.
Chocolate loins, on the wane
Of thy light liturgy.
How unburdened I’d become
Some secret day past.
Limp as a shrimp canned
And soaked in briny waters,
With a meal shorter than with wine.
A peel of orange, segmented slaughter,
Sought-after like pea-sized diamonds
Higher than deeper precious stones,
Clear cut and plentiful but held back
And unleashed yearly.


12109108_10150649437024956_1278909732102217166_nThis is my first foray into painting with oil paints, I have not used any thinners for this one, the paint is straight from the tube. I’m enjoying using them a hell of a lot more than acrylic. As with most art I do for fun, I like to create it on the fly without too much of a plan… Originally this started out as brown feathers but quickly transformed into a golden head!

Each individual section was born from the previous, opening new doors and ideas every step of the way. Sat-is-fy-ing.


Unfinished forever
Even when it’s over.
Pregnant hand, I sever
This e’er wanting lover.

Either quick and flung out
Or landed, slow as mud.
A careless arty bout,
To clout the careful dud.

May you stain forever
Young, and bob up to cry
From time into ether.
Wreathe her, born yawning, to die.


Hello, I’m Grant.
I’ve been a passionate musician and poet for about 13 years now and have found deep pleasure in abstract and lucid painting. The following is a loose summary of how I ended up the way I am today.


The birth of my creative fervour came at 11 years old, when I would sneak out of bed in the early hours of the morning and watch horror films on the TV with the volume on 1%. Films like Evil Dead, Se7en and Hellraiser left me feeling very hollow but excited and immediately sparked my desire to write songs; my first song being a folk ballad about the ending of Se7en.

I found it very strange that I was drawn to writing music with an acoustic guitar, as I mostly listened to heavy metal (Mastodon/Megadeth) and hard rock (Queens Of The Stone Age/Coheed & Cambria), but realised it was grounded in the fact that I found the lyrics and the way the chords framed the mood of the lyrics to be more important than writing a huge ‘riff’ and I was never attracted to being clad in leather chaps outside of the bedroom.

This led to me to become greatly interested in singer-songwriters, especially those grounded in Americana and Southern Roots music rather than Rock’s blues foundation. Artists like Iron & Wine, Neutral Milk Hotel, Fleet Foxes, Van Morrison, Jonathan Wilson, Neil Young, Bob Dylan and outsider artists like Abner Jay or Daniel Johnston provided the palatte that I would build my own style upon.
Around this time I released my first solo record ‘Cold Home & The Family Bones‘ ( through Loom Studio and The Orchard. The record came out just after my 20th birthday and earned some attention from BBC 6Music and I enjoyed a summer of playing music festivals and local venues. However, I struggled to raise money to plan a full tour and produce merchandise and ultimately felt that the approach to the release was very amateur and unorganised.

I am incredibly proud of the music on that short album, it was intensely personal and I learned a limitless amount from both the successes and the failures of its release.

During this whole period I wrote poems daily, I would often go back and read them, finding the ones written when I was 14 to be the most painful to read, but also the most grounding. I wrote about loneliness and I wrote about death.
I felt that my fight with the concept of death plunged me into a very dark depression that I wrestled for the majority of my teenage life, but ultimately my refusal to suppress my fear of death created a strong core for me to build my beliefs and opinions upon. I found that I hated death because I loved life so deeply, I love people and music and creation of any kind, I love advancing culture and fashion and sex, I love having friends and I love having people that don’t like me as well. Death takes all of that away, and I still hate it for that, but I also appreciate the value that death places on all the things I love, without my internal confrontation with death I would never have felt so in love with everything.

I felt myself change while I was 22 years old, my sadness began to leave me and I felt that I could live happily with death looming. During this period I began listening to very long songs, especially progressive rock bands like Pink Floyd, Yes, Jethro Tull, King Crimson and Mike Oldfield. It was also around this time that I started the mighty Cottonwoolf ( Suddenly I noticed I had accidentally metamorphosised into a ‘dude’ from the 70s, but luckily I caught myself before It consumed me entirely*.

I decided that I loved all music and began asking my friends (and the internet) to tell me what music they thought was good, and I mean ‘the real thing’ good, the stuff that pushes the boundries. I let myself drown in it for a while until I knew how to breathe underwater… and now I dig it all**: Jazz (Bill Evans, Ornette Coleman), Blues (Muddy Waters, Howlin Wolf’), Hip Hop (J-Dilla, MF Doom), Electronica (Nicolas Jaar, James Holden), Avant-Garde (Captain Beefheart), Classical (Vivaldi, Debussy) and the Jazz-Fusion side of Progressive rock (Zappa, Mahavishnu Orchestra).

I also began drawing and painting during this period, and my writing output quadrupled, My new plateau of open-minded-ness helped me form a strong definition for my Approach to Creativity: Begin creating without a plan and see where it takes you, stop thinking and start doing, follow your gut, take risks, live within the first seconds of your thoughts, try it, even that weird idea you just had, spit on it, open it, break it, kiss it, cover it up...

Don’t be a square and get in touch with your mojo.

Which takes us up to ‘now’ (whenever that is.).
This is my blog about that now and all the nows that will follow after this now.
So now you know,
Follow my site (or bookmark the blog) and see how I feel,
Or blow.

Grant Fennell

*For a while I wore double denim.
**I still have a slight 70s lexicon.