All My Christmases – forevermore full of ghosts and eternal absences. God-damn it.
This hole contains ideas, scribbles, graphic work, and photographs from 1990 onwards, some of it barely there, but nevertheless it just ‘is’. Who would like such stuff as contained within? People like me, really; those who admire structural decay, archaic industrial machinery, rust, rusting morality, rural vandalism, urban graffiti, and general mischievousness. I hope you find a girder, busted door, old piece of rope, or aerosol pattern to call your own. And name it after me if you like.