Artist In Resdidance Photos



A Little later than expected ( i forgot) Here a selection of images of the show i put on in Milazzo in Scilly as part of my artist residency. There are also some image from in and around the areaP1000407 P1000405 P1000402 P1000400 P1000399 P1000396 P1000394 P1000384 P1000392 IMAG0145 IMAG0151 IMAG0150 IMAG0140 Artigiana 2013 Presentation 021 _MG_2083milazzo show _MG_2082milazzo show



Secret Location for #helfagelf

So I’m all packed and ready yo depart for Sicily tomorrow morning. However last night i had a bit fun projecting in a secret location for something i am doing for Helfa Gelf at the end of the years. it will involve 1960’s cine film projection and my words. It was a long night waiting for it to go dark but the results were worth waiting for.



A tease of the finished results can be seen here                                                                      …





So what have i been up too

I’m off to Sicily this time next week. I’m pretty nervous for me (see i do admit it). Having major issues with my bag so i can get my cameras laptop and peco projector.  Add to fact that going away makes me feel sick. I’m doing well. _MG_8635This is an image I’m working on as part of Focus in Sale Manchester at the Riverside Arts Gallery. Which will end in exhibition later this year. I’m not saying on what though.

Librium; Spoken word by Alan Whitfield


I  think outwardly did we compete

the lines got blurred or maybe imprinted to sand

washed away or back of a hand

I don’t care were we put them

your sculptured controversy

leaving me alone an on looking adversary

this is wrong but I don’t feel it

you slipped by on a technicality of crazy

leaving me the Librium pawn

like the stale stench of gutted key side fish

left looking not really sure who’s head you was cooking

It doesn’t matter now

it’s the mirror where I see your vision

telling me what!


in clear view the unrolling of a role model

my hindrance your pain



A Poem By Alan Whitfield

On the under pass
Is this that beaten path
purple rich from a fox glove shine
Dance the story to tell

Lay there.
arms out reached.
mirrored its life.
branch tips like fingers,
Grasping at untouched wind.

The dying man of Dwygyfylchi
A numb applied Clasping,
yields the hill fall
Still looks alive.

Bees gamble the heather.
As the wind still in its blow
Around the cumbersome Gray tree
No heart just soul…

Poem by Alan Whitfield. Up High

Up High 

Up high.
The coast line
The drop
An island below
its emerald coat glitters gold 

The waves attack.
From the front
to the back.
Its light shines on
for lost souls.

The white dots are just birds
or maybe they are words
of people who went and never come back.

I watched euros sing.
On a path of concrete so long.
The wave crashed the chorus
breaking white before us.

On the edge of the world
with south stack before us.




Lethargic to say  the least

with an outlook not good

as breeze picks up

gray zips to blue.

Arrays of jack marked smiles

across the baked asphalt

the orange dinosaur trill.

Steam snarls from every valve

The significant bearing of brick yards

tales and technique

passed back on forth.

Up onboard

sat on Welsh gold

steam coal dust a shower

the aging sturdy stalwarts

repetitive rumble

the beast builds power.

Wind swept and sun bleached

the dismounted group

folk-lore explored

welling up now a man

as a child he often rowed…

Applause rings out

the day must close.