TL;DR
The riverside crows I made friends with last year came back and brought their baby, Humphrey Brand, with them.
RAMBLINGS: I reminisce about some of the weird, creative stuff I used to do at primary school and try to reconnect with the spirit of 8 year old me.
ARTICLE: A lot has been written about masks that we hide behind but I am much more fascinated by masks that reveal more of who we already are.
WORKSHOP: Masks - 20th March 2026.
BUY: I’ve finally added my full selection of greetings cards to my shop.
MARKETS: Come visit me at a number of different Festive Markets. 06th December Illustrator’s Fair in Kings X. 13th December Kazland’s Festive Martket in Guildford, 20th December Surbiton Farmer’s market in Surbiton.
A photo of dressed as a rook to give you details of how you can support my work financially from as little as £1 : you can Buy stuff in my shop, become a patron of my studio or buy me a coffee (tip jar) or become a paid subscriber of this Substack (you don’t get anything extra other than my eternal grattitude!)
1. Hello
I like Autumn. I can easily find a downside to every season but I seem to have less bones to pick with this one than the others. Whilst the warmth of summer means that I don’t have to think too much about what clothes to wear, it also amplifies human behaviours that I find challenging. More people gather in places I use as a quiet retreat for the rest of the year (the riverside, a park, a beach), neighbours have noisy garden/balcony/window-sill parties and unpredictable summer crowds mess up my usual strategies to travel at a quieter time. So when autumn arrives it feels like a welcome relief and a return to some sort of soothing, routine normality for me. A nice balance between temperature and busyness that summer always seems to lose control of.
But the thing that brought me most joy this autumn was the return of “Crow”. Crow is a crow that I met and befriended by the riverside in the autumn of 2024. I’d spotted her and her partner (who I named “Lightning” due to a white streak on his chest) hanging around on my walks to and from the studio. One day, I brought a handful of monkey nuts along to feed them (nuts are a treasure in the corvid world) and after I did the pair started to follow me each time I walked past. Over the next couple of months I experimented with befriending them and seeing how physically close our interactions could get. Whilst Lightning remained cautious, Crow started to come closer and closer each day. It felt like with each interaction we established a deeper level of trust. It started with her cautiously approaching me to get a nut from the wall I was sitting on, then taking one from my outstretched hand and then eventually jumping onto my knee to eat from my palm.
I became so enchanted by this relationship with Crow that I started to dislike it when things, such as paid work, meant I missed a chance to spend time with her. I find relationships with creatures much easier to navigate than those with humans. There is a liberating absence of human complications such as projections, transferences, use of language, bias and filters (mine included) which means that I never feel misunderstood by an animal. I found it easy to be patient and passionately non-attached about spending time with Crow and if she didn’t show up or didn’t want to sit on my lap I didn’t take it personally. But each time mine and Crow’s relationship did evolve it felt like unlocking another level of a computer game. I was utterly elated on the day that she came up to me and did a little bow, opening her wings slightly, whilst making a noise I hadn’t heard her make before - a gesture that I later learnt is a call of affection to a fellow crow. I was so fascinated by the ease and joy I felt in this relationship that I painted a picture about it called “Crow Therapy” which was exhibited (and sold) at the Feelings are Real exhibition that jdwoof and I did at Barbican in earlier this year. (You can buy a limited print of the painting here.)
However, in the spring of 2025 Crow and Lightning disappeared. They had spent a month or so up in their nest, warming and protecting their egg and then, after their hatchling was born, they just left. I felt sad, but it felt like a different kind of sadness to one I would feel about a human suddenly leaving. A melancholic fondness for the memories of our time together, combined with a total understanding that this is just what crows do at this stage of their life.
So, it was a real surprise when walking to the studio in late October when I heard a loud cawwing and looked round to see Crow and Lightning were back. I wasn’t entirely sure if it was them but when I sat down and the smaller, female crow hopped straight onto my lap I knew it was her. What made this reunion extra meaningful was that they brought their fledgling with them. A beautiful but slightly uncoordinated and goofy little crow, that I have named Humphrey Brand, who is gradually working out who I am based on watching its parents interact with me. I am hoping Humphrey will follow in its mother’s footsteps and one day hop onto my lap to eat.
I’m assuming that all of this is typical crow behaviour - their fledgling is old enough to come out of the nest, the start of autumn is time for foraging/ caching winter food and I am a good source of monkey nuts. But part of me also likes to imagine that my crow friends have been longing to come back to see me and share in our mutual appreciation of the quietening and calming nature of autumn by the riverside.
Welcome to my world
I held an Open Studio earlier this month. A day when anyone could come in and visit Studio Two, look at my art, buy some stuff and have a chat. I love these events. Even though I am interacting with strangers and talking to lots of people for a whole day, I am doing it in my own unique and comforting niche-habitat.
I’m fascinated by how much more comfortable I feel when I invite people into my world. I realise that it is a thing that I have done for much of my life - creating an environment, event or experiment that is an uncensored and unmasked expression of who I am, and then asking people “Hey, would you like to come in and join me?” Part of the reason for doing this is because it is my job as an artist and workshop facilitator to host events and show my work. But I suspect the main reason I do it is because I feel a greater level of comfort and connection with myself interacting with others in this way.
The main thing I love about doing this is that it is a great way of short-circuiting small-talk. Those initial chit-chat situations in which I genuinely shrivel up inside and have a kind of out-of-body experience where I am witnessing myself trying to play the role of a “normal” adult human. When I do talks I try to avoid speaking to people before-hand as this is the zone of excruciating small-talk (e.g. “What do you do?” “What brings you here?” “What’s your talk about?”) But after I have been on stage and shared a load of weird stories and thoughts and philosophies I really enjoy talking to people. As they have been dipped into my world for an hour or so we have a different start point to our interaction. They have a sense of what fascinates me, who I am and how I am wired and will likely only come up to me if there is a shared interest in that kind of thing.
It is the same with Open Studios - it is very unlikely that when people walk into my weirdly curated cosy space that they will ask “So, what do you do then?” (Although, strangely, some people still ask “What kind of art do you make?” even though it is plastered all over the walls around them!) At this point I feel I need to clarify that I’m not saying that I like the conversation and focus to be all about me! Quite the opposite in fact. I am always fascinated to learn more about others and love asking questions and getting deeper into meaningful conversation. It just feels like a much easier start point when others know more about me and my nature up front through being immersed in it in some way.
It is, however, rather impractical to only interact with others when they come into my world. I also want to get better at bringing my uncensored, unmasked, relaxed self into the world of others. I used to be able to do this much more naturally as a child, but when I think about the things I used to do at primary school, I start to doubt it was actually me! At primary school I used to write surreal short plays and sketches and then recruit a bunch of the strangest kids to perform them in assembly. I used to write and illustrate a series of short stories about a character called Yappy Dog and read them to the younger classes. And a very bizarre memory that came back to me recently was playing, in assembly, a piece of music that I had written on a strange battery powered keyboard that sounded like a hovercraft. This all came flooding back when I was messing about on my Casiotone MT46 writing some music and suddenly remembered how to play the assembly song. I use the word “song” in the most tenuous of ways. As I played it, it made me laugh out loud how ridiculous it was - simply alternating hitting the lowest C key and then the next key up right up to the top of the keyboard and back down again. (I play a version of this on the podcast version of this issue.) What was even more bizarre about this primary school assembly performance was that I recruited a girl in my class, who had the same weird hovercraft organ, to perform it with me as a duo!
As an adult I now wonder what the teachers and other adults who witnessed these things were thinking. But at the time, that didn’t even enter my mind. I was just doing these things because I loved them and probably found myself in a wonderful, immersive creative flow state. Looking back I am very appreciative of my primary school teachers for encouraging me and giving me a platform to express my creativity - a permission and freedom that rapidly eroded in secondary school to such an extent that I became reluctant to express my wild and creative self for many years.
I’ve decided that I want to experiment more with blurring the lines between my world and the world of others. To try and find a more symbiotic balance between the me who prefers to invite people into my niche habitat and that primary-school kid who simply went out into the world and was naturally a bit strange and eccentric. I was invited to the launch of the latest issue of the brilliant Partners Zine recently and decided that this was a good petri-dish for my experiment. I only recently realised that one of the reasons I find social situations like this hard is because I set way too high an expectation for myself. Often I imagine myself being the life and soul of the party, meeting a plethora of new friends, chatting with everyone, getting invited to more events or gatherings, getting some paid work or getting signed by a top art agent. This ridiculously high and unrealistic bar typically results in me feeling very down and crappy when I end up leaving after 30 minutes because it was too noisy, too crowded and I didn’t know how to talk to anyone. (This fantasy version of myself is likely a manifestation of an idealised self-image that my inner critic/super ego constantly evaluates me against. I might write more about this in a future Substack.)
So, at the Partners event I tried to set a realistic bar and try something different. I really like my little “Be kind to crabs” zine, so I printed off a load of copies to take with me to give to people, as that’s the kind of thing that Primary School me would have done. When people came to speak to me or if I spotted somebody I would like to speak with I simply said “Hello, I’m an artist, would you like a little zine about crabs?” And it worked! It seemed that people enjoyed getting the gift whether they liked crabs or not and it led to some lovely conversations about life, art, philosophy (and crabs). But the most important thing for me was that I felt comfortable doing it and didn’t care if the person I was giving it to thought I was weird or eccentric. I felt very energised and alive on the tube home, a stark comparison to the drained, self-critical experience I normally have. I felt like I had managed to channel 8-year-old me playing the hovercraft organ in assembly, whilst at the same time meeting my social needs as an adult who is fascinated by interacting with other humans.
I’ve now started bringing various zines with me to events and gatherings. On the 1st November I went to a Samhain/Halloween party dressed as a rook. I knew people would come up to me and think I was a crow and then ask what the difference between the species was. So, to short-circuit this, I created a little zine of rook facts that I handed to anyone who spoke to me or I wanted to interact with. Not only did this prevent me from having to describe the differences between crows and rooks over and over again, it was a delightful catalyst for a different type of conversation.
Zines are just one strategy for this social exploration. I realised that they are essentially a transitional object that helps me allow more of my uncensored, unmasked self to be seen without worrying too much about what others think. And gradually it feels like they are helping build a bridge between the two worlds. Or at least make the semi-permeable veil between them a little thinner.
2. Masks that reveal
In September 2012 I spent a week training with the theatre director and pioneer of performance improvisation Keith Johnston. At the time I was immersed in writing an MSc dissertation about spontaneity and Keith’s book Impro had been a huge influence on my work. So when I found out that Keith was going to be in the UK, I jumped at the opportunity to learn from him in person. The week involved Keith leading us through a series of weird and wonderful improvisation exercises to help build more trust in our own spontaneous self expression. We did exercises such as taking as long as possible to complete a simple task. We danced on the visceral edge of rejection with people we didn’t know whilst others watched. And we tried to hold the attention of an large audience who were instructed to leave the room the second they felt bored. It was a challenging, exhilarating and joyous experience. Towards the end of the week Keith dragged out a battered old suitcase and said “I think we’ll do some masks” and proceeded to place some freaky looking papier mâché masks on the table. “Who would like to try?” he asked. As hands around the room went up every part of me said “No ******* way!”.
I’m not sure what it was that made me so hesitant to try it. Maybe I feared it might be something that could upset the delicate balance of my own mental stability. (I wrote about the fear of losing my mind in issue #5 of this Substack). But the more I saw people put on a mask, look in the mirror and be utterly transformed, the more I thought this was too good an opportunity to miss. So I did it and instantly regretted it! The experience only lasted around 30 seconds and I hated every moment of it. I felt like I had done it wrong. I didn’t know what was going on. I was confused and disoriented and my body was vibrating in a way that told me my nervous system was going haywire. And, I guess deep down, I had wanted to impress Keith and be his best ever mask student - but he just seemed indifferent about what had happened and moved on to work with the next person. As I sat back down in my chair, feeling flushed and maybe a little embarrassed, I vowed never to do masks again. But, a few months later, I found myself thinking about the experience and wondered what it would be like if I gave it another try.
I liken that initial mask experience to eating a spicy food for the first time. Initially we think “Aghhh! What am I doing? Never again!” But once the heat and discomforted has subsided, and enough time has passed, we might think “Hmmm….maybe it was actually quite nice….I’ll try that again sometime.” So, to cut a long story short, I spent the next two years training with as many different mask teachers as possible - Keiths’ protégé Steve Jarrand who helped me discover a whole new character living inside me called Mormo. Trestle Theatre Company who helped me understand how archetypes and traditional characters can be channelled with the use of masks. And Russell Dean of Strangeface Theatre who showed me the crazy, playful and fun side of mask work and later taught me how to make them.
In autumn 2015 I decided to combine all of the things I had learnt from my different teachers, along with my interests in spontaneity and gestalt psychology to run my own mask workshop for the first time. It was an intense, nerve-wracking but overall magical experience. One that allowed me to stand on the other side of the mirror and watch parts of other people suddenly spark into life and grow in such a way that it transformed them. It was like witnessing people give birth to different elements of their personality in a way that simultaneously surprised, confused and delighted them. I have run mask workshops regularly over the last 10 years and have seen people who say they can’t sing get up and perform an amazing song. I’ve seen people who say they can’t do public speaking stand in front of an audience and deliver a faultless, eloquent and engaging improvised talk. And I’ve seen everything in between - people who feel they are not assertive suddenly tap into an assertive part of themselves, people who tell me they have forgotten how to play and laugh suddenly finding themselves channeling an infectiously impish way of being and people that want to develop more compassion or stillness or quietness dropping into a state that had been in them all along, but had been forgotten or locked away behind a secret door.
We often think of masks as things that we hide behind, that grant us anonymity and hide who we really are. And whilst this is true, the techniques I’ve learned from Keith et al — and have synthesised into my own process over the years — have helped me realise that some masks actually do the opposite. Masks that reveal even more of who we are. Masks that grant us access to different ways of being and thinking. Masks that allow a fuller range of our personality to flow freely from our bodies — so powerfully and intensely that we can still access them long after the workshop has finished. Charlie Chaplin spoke eloquently of discovering the power of stepping into the mask of his famous tramp character: “He ignited all sorts of crazy ideas that I would never have dreamed of until I was dressed and made up as the tramp. I realised I would have to spend the rest of my life finding out about the creature.”
Back in 2004 I co-wrote a radio comedy show that I would perform with my fellow writers. Whether the performance was a recording, a live broadcast from a studio or a live show in front of an audience, I would always transform myself into my character Cornelius Chapman. Clothes, make-up, accessories etc. I was never quite sure why it felt important to do this, especially if nobody could see me other than my fellow performers and the sound engineer. But modifying myself to look, feel and move like Cornelius seemed to help me access parts of myself that were less self-conscious and less anxious about performing. Cornelius also seemed to grant me access to a very surreal and uncensored stream of spontaneous dialogue that became a compelling part of his character. (He would say and do things that Steve would never thing of saying or doing!)
Over time, Cornelius permeated my being and we sort of merged in a way that meant I felt more confident, more spontaneous and less anxious performing, even when i wasn’t dressed as him. It was like wearing the mask of this strange and eccentric old man eventually trained my body and nervous system to find ways of accessing these parts when I was simply being Steve. I have since experimented with other masks in this way. I created a huge mask of a character called Len to help me feel less self-conscious about moving and dancing. Len went on to lead a dance class in a huge tent at a festival, something Steve would never dream of doing. (You can watch Len Dance here.) A mysterious and fluffy hat wearing guy called Huevos Rancheros became my alter-ego for recording and sharing my music - something Steve felt too self-conscious to do. And just like it did with Cornelius, the more I inhabited these characters, the more comfortable the embodied experiences became and I needed them less to access those ways of being. I like to think of these masks as stabilisers for my personality - allowing me to try something new and scary and, once I find my own balance, they can be removed.
(My next public mask workshop is on the 20th March 2026. More details can be found in the Workshop section below or here)
3. Cards for all occasions
I’ve been selling cards for some time now but have only recently sorted out the ridiculously messy page in my online shop so that people can browse and buy them more easily.
I like cards that are not tied to an occasion. Whilst I get there is value in a card that says “Happy Birthday” or “In deepest sympathy” or “Great new baby” I also like the idea of somebody receiving a card that just has a weird painting of a cheetah on it saying “I run very fast”. And that’s what you’ll find in my shop.
There’s a selection of over 30 different weird and wonderful cards to chose from. You can buy individual ones for £3 or get four for £10. I’ve no idea on Xmas posting times so will just say if you would like some in time for the festive season then buy them sooner rather than later.
4. Workshops
A couple of workshops coming up including a new date for Masks in 2026,
Super Secret Musical Improv (SSMI XL)
5th December 2026
Waterloo, London
£95. Limited to 16 attendees.
A very special 40th edition of Super Secret Musical Improv with me and the lovely Heather and Joe. We started these as an experiment in a room in the old BBC television centre back in 2011 and are so excited that the 40th edition means we can call it SSMI XL!
SSMIs happen at various times in the year they are an opportunity to come together with a curious, friendly and supportive bunch of people and improvise songs, scenes and musicals. No previous experience is necessary, nor is any ability to sing, improvise or be funny. In fact, any of the above can prove a disadvantage.
Previous participants have described these sessions as “life enhancing”, “beautiful” and “I need SSMI like I need to breathe.”
Mask Workshop
20th March 2026
Bloomsbury, London
£135 + VAT. Limited to 10 attendees.
If you like what you read about masks earlier in this edition then this is the workshop for you. It is my absolute favourite workshop to run. A day of using masks to explore parts of our personality that we have lost touch with or didn’t know existed. We will spend the morning getting to know different masks and the afternoon putting them in different playful and bizarre scenarios and situations.
Previous participants say:
“Simply the best workshop ever.”
“Possibly the most liberating experience you might ever have.”
“I’ll never forget the bits of me I met for the first time at the mask workshop.”
“Very weird. In a very, very good way.”
“A truly magical experience”
“It is like going home with a bunch of new friends inside yourself!”
To keep it playful and intimate the workshop is limited to just 10 places so if you’d like to come along the grab a place ASAP as they sell out quickly.
..:: MORE INFO AND TICKETS ::.
5. Markets
It’s festive market season! I’ve picked three of them to set up a stall and sell art stuff.
Come along to browse, buy or just say “hi”.
Saturday December 6th: Illustrator’s Fair
Kings Cross, London
.:: MORE INFO ::.
Saturday December 13th: Kazland’s Art Martket
New House Art Space, Guildford, Surrey
.:: MORE INFO ::.
Saturday December 20th: Surbiton Farmer’s Market
Maple Road, Surbiton KT6
.:: MORE INFO ::.
6. Support my work
Here’s me dressed as a rook for the Samhain party I wrote about earlier. This outfit took me ages to make but I loved making it and I loved wearing it. It now adorns the wall of my studio. I could only dedicate the time to making it due to the financial contribution that people generously give to support my work. Not only does this help me with things like studio rent, buying art materials, bills, food (etc) it allows me to pursue random fascinations such as obsessively making a rook costume. As I’ve written in previous Substacks, being able to just follow my creative instincts, without worrying about them having to be profit making, is a vital part of my process.
I want this Substack to be free and accessible for everyone irrelevant of financial means (the podcast version too) and this is an important principle in much of my work. When I do charge for things (like art prints or my mask workshop) I strive to do so in a way that doesn’t exclude those who do not have the financial means to participate.
So, when people do support my work financially it means so much and helps me continue to work in this way. If you can afford to do so you can support my work in a number of ways, be that buying me a coffee for £1, buying some art from my shop, becoming a patron of my studio or becoming a paid subscriber to this Substack. (And if you can’t afford it then I absolutely love you getting this for free)
Buy some art from my shop. I have a big selection of prints, original art, books, badges, t-shirts, posters and more.
.:: VISIT MY SHOP HERE ::.Become a patron of my studio. For a one-off donation of your choice you become an official patron with a badge, a certificate, a behind the scenes blog and your name added to the scroll of honour in the window of the studio.
.:: BECOME A PATRON HERE ::.Buy me a coffee. Like a tip jar.
.:: BUY ME A COFFEE HERE::.Become a paid subscriber of this Substack. I didn’t even know this was an option until a few people spontaneously did it! You don’t get any extra content or anything but you do get my eternal gratitude!
I’d love to leave a clever, or insightful, or even useful, comment here to explain how much I enjoy reading these lovely newsletters, but I can’t think of anything. So, I’ll just say that I enjoy reading these lovely newsletters, and I hope you don’t stop writing them. (The ‘crows’ part made me cry, but in a good way).