A bit of street photography is a healthy exercise. I didn't stage this. "How does it feel to kiss a poet ?" The poet is Paul Valery. France, bling and collapse ? The sculptures are by Henri Bouchard 1875-1960. Paris wouldn't be Paris without a demonstration.

Dax-Paris

In the news stand in July. AD France. St Tropez.

Helga da Silva Blow, Isabella Blow's aunt, 

runs an extravagant Hotel or anti hotel rather in 

Kandi, Sri Lanka. 

It was built by Le Corbusier and her aunt Minette.

Most people think that the studio is where art happens and it's probably true for most artists but not for me. When I photograph, I go out in the world, I only draw when I travel, sculptures and clay works are made in a workshop 60 miles away from home, so what should I need a studio for ? Well there is a very good reason. The working place creates the function, the function determines the man. When I step into my studio, I step in as an artist, even though I might not do any work at that moment. When I step out, I step out into the world again as an artist. The studio is where I focus on my projects with the appropriate attitude towards the world out there and once the work is done, it goes back to the studio where, in my mind, it was originally conceived and where it will be stored with the rest, face against the wall leaving the place bare like a slate and ready for something new.

Beth Nelson Better than no mail at all...?

A little creative exercise for you. Can junk mail be a source of inspiration ? The model is above. I'll post YOUR way of treating it.

This is a canvas. A small surface of stretched linen. Well, that's where it all begins. That's what painting is about. I'm not sure whether it's Picasso or Dali who once said 'Painting is easy or it's impossible.'

The black and white painting in the previous post is the final version in oil of a group of preparatory sketches in china ink. As they collide, heavy monoliths are stopped and blocked in their fall by little stones. The whole structure stands in place because of one little pebble. Whenever I think of shapes, it is always a combination between something mineral and air and possibly with movement. They remind me things.

New shelves for the studio. As it's almost impossible to fix a nail in the stone wall, the solution came with a rope. Simple, efficient and above all intellectually perfectly satisfying.

The essence of Englishness by Peter Ustinov. A priceless little entertainment for the week end.

The Farrow & Ball Polo Cup. It used to exist when the company was still owned and run by the two men who made its fame, Tom Helme and Martin Ephson. Martin, whom you see here fixing his boots, is a passionate polo player and used to organize a game versus the local regiment under the rule of Major Tom. A local event where properly educated guests volunteer during brakes to step on the clump of earth pulled from the ground by galloping hooves or mallets. Clumping... ah ah...

The raw clay, before it goes in the oven, looks like smooth leather. It is at this stage that I like it best but it never stays like that.