A man sits alone on a train, at night, the destination unknown, a fleeting moment of transience, paths crossed. It is summer, the carriage is hot. Shorts, t-shirt, a paper mask that adds a sense of mystery. It is a strange summer indeed, and yet in the midst of it, we continue our lives. The work is striking, […]Read Post ›
Alien and exciting, this underground world of neon and tile, of screeching trains and sparks and otherness. The tiles are evocative, faded and yellowing, the green still vibrant and the black letters bold. It is good to be in a new city, feeling its vibes, its ghosts, its history. It is good to travel and […]Read Post ›
A former warehouse, now flats, on the river Hull. The windows reflect the wintery light, solid walls of brick, little clues to the building’s origins. I love this spot, an oasis of peace, strangely timeless. Behind is the High Street, cobbled, a patch of old Hull, and beyond the fence the muddy, shallow river that […]Read Post ›
Alien and exciting, this underground world of neon and tile, of screeching trains and sparks and otherness. The tiles are evocative, faded and yellowing, the green still vibrant and the black letters bold. It is good to be in a new city, feeling its vibes, its ghosts, its history. It is good to travel and […]Read Post ›
A man sits alone on a train, at night, the destination unknown, a fleeting moment of transience, paths crossed. It is summer, the carriage is hot. Shorts, t-shirt, a paper mask that adds a sense of mystery. It is a strange summer indeed, and yet in the midst of it, we continue our lives. The work is striking, […]Read Post ›
A former warehouse, now flats, on the river Hull. The windows reflect the wintery light, solid walls of brick, little clues to the building’s origins. I love this spot, an oasis of peace, strangely timeless. Behind is the High Street, cobbled, a patch of old Hull, and beyond the fence the muddy, shallow river that […]Read Post ›
A man sits alone on a train, at night, the destination unknown, a fleeting moment of transience, paths crossed. It is summer, the carriage is hot. Shorts, t-shirt, a paper mask that adds a sense of mystery. It is a strange summer indeed, and yet in the midst of it, we continue our lives. The work is striking, […]Read Post ›
A former warehouse, now flats, on the river Hull. The windows reflect the wintery light, solid walls of brick, little clues to the building’s origins. I love this spot, an oasis of peace, strangely timeless. Behind is the High Street, cobbled, a patch of old Hull, and beyond the fence the muddy, shallow river that […]Read Post ›
Alien and exciting, this underground world of neon and tile, of screeching trains and sparks and otherness. The tiles are evocative, faded and yellowing, the green still vibrant and the black letters bold. It is good to be in a new city, feeling its vibes, its ghosts, its history. It is good to travel and […]Read Post ›
A man sits alone on a train, at night, the destination unknown, a fleeting moment of transience, paths crossed. It is summer, the carriage is hot. Shorts, t-shirt, a paper mask that adds a sense of mystery. It is a strange summer indeed, and yet in the midst of it, we continue our lives. The work is striking, […]Read Post ›
Andrew Reid Wildman, Scottish Artist living in France 
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