We’ve been back from Greece for a month. In that time, I’ve been making some tiny paintings of things seen there, and some of the wonderful people we encountered.

So here they are. Each painting is 8cm x 8cm. They are done in watercolour and acrylics on paper. I’ll add new ones at the to


Icon. Panormitis Museum, Symi


Self-portrait as a tourist, Symi

Chora wall

Street in Chora, Patmos

Dead moto

Dead moto, Symi


Monk with shopping bags and umbrella. Panormitis, Symi

Katerina Mourati

Katerina Mourati, an artist from Patmos


Aphrodite, a sponge shop proprietor. Kalymnos.


Skafandros (diving suit), Symi.

Ferry reflections

Reflections as the ferry docks, Symi.

Hole in the Wall

Wall with hole, Symi.


Nicos Vassilaras, a jeweller and political activist from Rhodos

Panormitis rain

Rainy day. Panormitis, Symi.

Steps down Symi

Descending steps with washing machine, Symi

Cats Symi

Garbage cats. Symi

Storm Symi

Storm brewing. Symi


Theodoris Eleftherios, a poet from Kalymnos.

Reflections Kalymnos

Reflections, Kalymnos.


The Innocent. Patmos.


Lataris, a former sponge boat pilot from Kalymnos.

Version 2

Archway and window. Rhodos.


The Aegean.



Version 2

Chamomile coming up in the cracks, Symi.


Pizzeria, Symi.


Archway, Hora, Symi.

red boat

Red boat, Panormitis, Symi.

Panormitis doorway

Doorway, Panormitis, Symi.

Panormitis scaffolds

Doorway with scaffolding, Panormitis, Symi.

Lefteris Kamitsis


St George arch

Archway with tree, St George, Symi.

Blue steps

Blue stairs, Yialos, Symi.

Aegean Symi

Stony seabed, Symi.

door Symi

Doorway, Symi.

Chora Patmos

Square, Chora, Patmos

Dog Patmos

Dog with tusks, Patmos.

Blocked window

Blocked portal, Symi.


This time tomorrow (1 May) we’ll have entered the International Travel Tunnel, and the next morning we’ll pop out at Rhodes, Greece (1 & 2). Then we spend some time on Symi, (3 & 4) and then Patmos (5 & 6). We’ll make a side-trip to Kalymnos.

I have final proofs of my book The Craft – selected poems 1989 – 2016!! And a mockup of the cover! It will be published some time in the next three months, by Douglas Skinner’s Left Field Press. I am excited. I haven’t published a book of poems since Ghaap – Sonnets from the Northern Cape in 2005.

Here’s a mock-up of the cover. The image is a detail of a porcelain tile by my friend Christina Bryer, from her series entitled ‘Swatches’.

the craft cover mockup

And here is an excerpt. The head is, of course, that of Orpheus.

The head sings

The Head: ‘On the left of the House of Hell,
Next to a white cypress, is a well
Fed by a spring. Don’t go near.
There’s another spring in the dell
By Lake Memory, cold water wells
From it. This water is defended
By the unsleeping guards of death.
When you see them, you must call
To them, saying,’
Chorus:  ‘I am a star that fell.’
The Head: ‘Tell them,’
Chorus:  ‘I am a child of Earth
And Starry Heaven,’
The Head: ‘as in the spell,’
Chorus:  ‘But Heaven is the realm of my birth–
You yourselves know this is the truth.
My throat is dusty and my tongue swells
With thirst. Quick, give me the clear
Cold water of memory, let me bathe
In it and drink it, let it heal me whole
And mend me where I am wounded.’

There are cheap sapphires and spinels of poor quality available out of India. They are murky and have no doubt been heated or whatever they do to enhance the colour. It is precisely the bright colour and the hardness of the stones that makes them good for a ring – providing a dab of pigment on the hand.

I bought some and made these rings, which can be worn together or singly.


Rings: silver and spinel; silver and sapphire.


In my last post I put up pictures of some sculptural pendants in the form of buildings, that I had carved in wax. Harald cast them yesterday and they came out perfect. I have finished them, leaving a host of imperfections. I am very pleased with them.

Here they are. I photographed them in golden morning light, which gave the silver the wrong colour – so I have rendered them in B&W. There’s a lot of detail. Click to enlarge.

I had this idea of making some pendants which showed the fronts of imagined buildings. I opted for wax. It would give me the imperfect, hand made textures that I want.

I have carved these waxes and sprued them up. (Sprues are the channels through which the metal will flow when it’s cast.)

These are cell-phone snaps of the things I made. If you click on them, you will see more detail. Each has tiny figures. The pendants are all on the same scale. The smaller ones are about 20mm x 50mm.


Now comes the moment of anxiety when I hand them over to Harald for casting. Will all the parts fill? Will there be porosities, or other problems? Harald is usually pretty good, but shit happens. We’ll do it after Easter and I’ll post pics.


I’m not much given to illustrating poems, but this acrylic painting on paper  does  somewhat illustrate a poem of mine – the first in my forthcoming book with Left Field Poetry, The Craft: Selected Poems 1989 – 2016. The image won’t be in or on the book, but here it is.



Relaxed in the flow of things, we float
Down the wide river in a small boat.
There is nothing to do but to pluck
With leisured fingers on the lute,
Let the song rise in the throat
And spill over the water, or not.

The boat drifts slowly. On either side
The landscape passes like a long scroll
Full of intricate detail. Each tributary’s slide
Into the main stream makes the wide
River wider. How gradually we glide
Seawards, how vivid the afternoon sky.

The different water-birds around us
Vanish and return to the surface,
Drops sparkling. They are full of business
But we are caught up with luxurious
Late day warmth, the lute idly plucked,
The possibility of a kiss

Far over the river sounds can be heard:
A bull bellowing from his pen,
The high chaa chaa of a gliding water-bird
And the hint of the water’s gurgle
Against distant banks. The returning herd
Answers the bull. The boat drifts on.

Six plums tied in a cloth, some bread,
Are all our simple provisions,
Along with half a bottle of cheap red.
All day we have followed the delicate thread
Of the lute. We glide and sing. Ahead
The huge moon rising, almost red.

All day we drifted downriver in our flimsy boat,
The dark cargo ships slid by like dreams.
Now we are beyond the delta. We float
On calm water, deep blue and remote.
There is no land beyond the wet
Horizon. The stars are coming out.