Took part in the artists bonfire last night at Islington mill. Here's the pledge I made.

There's something about the emotions that fire evokes, the chemical reactions that alter everything, the age old idea of new life from the embers that make me want to contribute to the artists bonfire.

With the comfort of Art school about to be pulled out from underneath me, I feel now is the time to shake as many insecurities as I can. It's been a strange journey, and a constant battle against what is considered to be contemporary art. Struggling with concepts that I couldn't relate to, or felt lacked substance, wrestling with the paint as it squirmed beneath me and fuelled my frustration I've at last reached a place where I feel I can have a bit of faith in what it is I represent as an artist. And so now seems the perfect time to say goodbye to all that I thought I believed in and embrace the sheer confusion of it all.

For me the burning of old work marks an end to the two years of utter annoyance and bitterness towards my own practice. Finally a little bit of joy in what it is I do, so it seems that to take a little warmth and light from that which once made me feel clammy and mildly ashamed.

I'm gearing myself up to continue to be engaged in some kind of creativity, and although the thought terrifys me in regards to the cuts, and the unstable state of things around us, I'm excited in equal measures, and positive in that which is yet to come for all of us making work. Besides, in uncertain times there's nothing quite like burning shit.

Fuck, feels good to not be carrying that around anymore. Wish I had something more informed to say.

Clean slates.

Right, deleted all the old redundant shit on this blog, and starting fresh. Try to be a bit more articulate and informed about things, a little more engagement and all that.

Also want a way to document my work, the triumphs and the epic fuck ups I make with clay. It's such a beautiful material but so hard to know what it's going to do. Perhaps that's why I like it, the unpredictable nature of it. The muddiness and dirtiness of it all. The private and self indulgent act of forming it. It has a realness and an urgency that I've always loved and it's substantial character after it's been subjected to the fire still excites me.

It has become almost like a sanctuary for me, and I guess that's noticeable in the forms I chose to make. Sensual and looking like they've been spewed from inside the earth. The solidness and the weight of them along with their tactile nature provides me with the grounding I need when constantly bombarded with abstract theories that leave me cold, and questioning the ridiculous day to day bull shit and conceptual ideas we are bombarded with.

Moaning.