Books

                                                                      

                                                           Tart Art

Created from part of her 'Berlin collection' 'Tart Art' contains some of  the earliest and rarest hand drawn Tart cards from telephone boxes across London from the late 1980’s, which she collected and has been building on ever since as part of her ever growing archive. 

Each and every card has been hand plucked out of the phone box , sometimes easily and without thought, at other times with a little bit of a confrontation with those putting them in!

 

The book contains a section of her thoughts on the graphic content of the cards, how the images came about, how they changed or where borrowed or plagiarised from existing imagery, where in London they came from and the social situation and desires they mirror, as well as more than 300  full colour representations of the original cards.

With 192 pages this book will have you wishing you were back in the mid-eighties and able to get your own Tart Cards from London phone boxes.

There are 4 different dust covers over the same hardback available within the limited edition run.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                                             

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                                            

 

     Rave Art

"In the mid- to late 1980s rave culture developed. It influenced music, design, art, drugs, fashion, language and even the law. Emerging in the USA, it was refined in the UK by people who wanted to dance, party and express themselves in terms of art, music and culture.

Originating in small, sweaty clubs and growing into enormous Raves with tens of thousands of people, 'house' music and ecstasy were the driving forces behind what turned into a global phenomenon.

Events that started as secretive nights in underground clubs, with word-of-mouth advertising grew from one-off take-overs of unusual venues into huge open land-based events.

Pager and telephonic communication became the medium of message-passing, and flyers were key to it all: informing the right people about the right place at the right time.

Chelsea Berlin was there from the beginning, attending many of the now legendary events, from Club Shoom to Energy and beyond. In Rave Art, the whole exciting movement is documented through the flyers that were handed out freely (or sometimes privately) to inform partygoers of the next venue.

Flyer design became an artform, and this book contains hundreds of the most significant and rare examples from Chelsea's huge collection. Rave Art paints a vivid picture of what is probably the last significant youth culture movement of modern times."

 

Available from all good booksellers, online shops and major art galleries/museum shops.

1st Edition hard back sold-out, 2nd edition paperwork still available.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

 

The Bench

 

'The Bench' is a self-published limited edition book of photos that can be seen on the photography page of this site.

 

 

"Moments in the life of an inanimate object"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Prose.

These first four poems make up the remaining content of 'A Folio" with the ten risograph prints, they deal with the inner turmoil, positive emotion and spiritual content within D&s and S&M relationships.





“She made every effort but it was never enough.”


Fragile sermons drift on
the edge of experience.
The shredded ribbons
of a heart that cries for solace,
Flutter like tormented tendrils
in the breeze of your breath.



Words that mean to sooth
viciously entangle in the barbed wire
of a fortified heart.
Such distance between
intent and reception,
so near and yet so far.



Screaming silently
there is no relief.
No chagrin too small,
scorn a friend to cuddle with
lost in a frenzy,
a masochists delight.



Torn and twisted emotion
As a sentiment lost in the void.
Seething, sordid, unscrupulous,
Wanton desires that lead
Only to darkened alleys,
Dead ends crowding in again.

And so and so,
And then some more.
Seeing is the be all,
Not the end all.
Still to dare to travel along the path
Wretched as it may be.

“…..and then it all fell into place”.

 

Awakened by the moments
now conscious and aware,
what seemed once so far away
is suddenly right here.



Borne of understanding
emotion put aside,
miraculous and empowering
no thought process required.



Seeing without vision
knowledge from inside,
the subtlest of touches
guides toward the light.



Acceptance offers freedom
from contrition and from strife,
a new horizon dawning
the emergence of new life.



Strength that comes from fortitude
hewn from more than stone,
resplendent in it’s self less ness
to bear another home.



Fragile like a babe in arms
compelling as a dream,
intriguing as a mystery
peaceful and serene.



 

Hold to what is beautiful
and true and pure of heart,
embracing the dichotomy
of each step along the path.
.

"Whilst doves cry."

 

Silent pools of emotion
come into my peripheral view,
not formed by rain or river
but by feelings shorn in two.



This self-inflicted damage
so viciously obscene,
that wrenches at my heart strings
and ravages my dreams.

Words innocuously offered
not meant to hurt or pain,
yet twisted out of context
by a masochists disdain.



Inspiration falters
the words don’t mean the same,
running round in circles
no quarter to be gained.



My frailties encompass me
drawing me asunder,
pulling on my faithfulness
to suffocate my honour.



Devoid of any meaning
confused and so obtuse,
my reason fights a battle
whilst hanging from a noose.

 

And so I pinch and nip and peck
and cause myself distress,
a dark place to retire too
my familiar recompense.

"Patience."


This minor form of despair,
disguised as a virtue,
that teases and tests,
pulling on my resolve
my best instincts.



Slow,
cravings that cannot be
sated,
struck by the notion,
this could be how it will be.



Yet,
fixed, within me,
such is the understanding,
within, I must wait,
hankering with myself.



I am partially invisible,
seen but not seen,
my soul a rapture.
A symphony of
delusion.



Lost in time,
a shadow ticking,
passing dalliances
of unknown meaning
all but lead somewhere.



You my Sun and Moon,
i am here,
waiting,
drowning in my solitude,
yet unable to stir.



I must find courage,
to add a little to a little,
and again,
to find soon,
it shall be much.



All the whilst straining
in muddy waters,
to try to find You,
i will get nowhere,
until again I am still.



Will you hear me,
In this meditative state?
Alone, together,
whilst all I can do
Is wait.

Still, waiting the

appointed hour,
even darkness and silence
have wonder,
and I learn
therein to be content

And I await.