Every morning, as a child, on those special visits to granny’s flat in Edinburgh, my father and I trudged down the long hill to Stockbridge where a newsagent had a plastic covered tray of fluffy Scottish breakfast rolls. On the way back we often turned through Ann Street. It has always been the prettiest of […]Read Post ›
It is early on Sunday morning, and London has yet to wake up. I have Soho to myself. I love the green tiles of the shop front, the way the shadow draws me to the alleyway, mysterious and deserted. Windows draw me upwards, and I imagine what lies inside. It is Sunday morning in London […]Read Post ›
A quiet magic settles over this corner of the huge city; a shop prepares to close early, yet the lights still shine brightly, time still to purchase joy, trimmings for the feast. There is snow on the ground, winter in the air, a scent of smoke. On the walls, Christmas decorations. Christmas is coming.This work […]Read Post ›
A summer afternoon in North East London. The light is special, light blue sky and long shadow. Victorian red bricks bake in the sweltering heat, languid and dusty, the plane trees shimmering. A rumble of traffic, buses, brakes and gears, shouting children. A familiar walk to and from work, passing shops filled with exotic fruit […]Read Post ›
A summer afternoon on London’s canals. Flights of fancy; imagining a life on a canal boat. It is peaceful, in this brick valley in the heart of the city. I imagine a time long ago, a time of steam and acrid smoke. That is long gone, replaced with smart new buildings. Yet traces remain, red […]Read Post ›
A place of enticing aromas, the fragrance of curry, dal, spice. A place of special occasions and memories full of love and affection and longing. The work owns an eerie, wintery light, of late afternoon, as darkness begins to summon its strength. This small work is full of character, it is original and a perfect […]Read Post ›
A perfect Hull Saturday, when the heat of the day picks up, and the dew clears on the weeds on the embankment. Through the bridge, almost iconic to those who know the city’s little Bohemia, is a world of second-hand shops, cafés for Hipsters, and vibrant pubs. Scrambled eggs on toast and coffee with hints […]Read Post ›
A little French shop, a place of delights, of delicious snacks and savory treats. Fresh bread and sweaty cheese, freshly roasted coffee and sugary drinks. There is a nostalgia, a longing for a lost world. The work has realism and detail and it’s full of life, colour and atmosphere. The work is a great souvenir […]Read Post ›
Night creeps in with crepuscular inexorability, casting a magic spell of darkness. Ancient city of wooden framed houses. Air filled with laughter and the scent of hoppy beer, fresh bread, butter and chips, the crooning of pigeons. This work depicts an old French town. The work was created using a restricted palette and is a […]Read Post ›
It carves out its own space, a building created to strike, an architectural slap, a sharp crease in the fabric. A French city, vibrant and humming to the sounds of cars, horns, motorbikes. A place of small shops, of bakeries with buttery croissants and pain au raisins, cafes with dusty bars and bottles of Riccard. […]Read Post ›
Andrew Reid Wildman, Scottish Artist living in France 
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