A brief, bewildering tour of where I spend most of my day.

Why hello! I've had too much coffee, and I've taken pictures of my workspace! Come along with me, won't you?


This is what my office looks like in the morning. Look how sunny! You'll notice there's no computer. That's because I compose my thoughts in a linen-bound journal, which I then read into a recording device, and send the digital voice files to a transcription service in Uruguay.


Actually the computer's just downstairs, and I'm too lazy to get it, so I was writing in my journal instead. I tend to write on whatever's handy. A journal, the side of a building, my son's forehead. Whatever.


Here you see the doodles I doodled at some point, I can't remember when. Doodling is essential to my thought process. I drew, as you can see, a heart, because love is very important to me. Then I drew the symbol for eternity, because I often ponder the big questions. Then there's a star and a star-like shape, and I don't have a reason for those. I like to practice the alphabet, because sometimes I forget what comes after what. The "catapult" note is about this deadly, enormous catapult that I'm designing… but I've said too much. Then there's a space for… for what? Who can say! You see how inspiring that is?


And here are the toys I play with, when I crave inspiration. Sometimes I like to take a break and go on a space mission. Or a "mission dans l'espace." It all depends. On what? Je ne sais quoi.


Here is my exercise ball. I have been known to use this for some forms of exercise. Usually I just leave it in that rattan basket, so I can pretend I am a bird, sitting on an enormous, bouncy egg. This amuses me.


This is my chalkboard easel, upon which I scribble angry notes to my inner critic. Here, as you can see, I have scrawled NONONO. This is because my inner critic told me to write something more worthwhile than this rambling mass of lies. Another day I might write POOP, or just draw a space man. I find this technique quite valuable, until my inner critic mocks my penmanship, and I cry.


Here is my cat. She likes to sit on this chair and stare at my back while I work. This keeps me awake, because if I nod off who knows what she'll do. She really cares about me, that cat.


In the adjoining bedroom is Charlie, who as you can see is lounging across our pillows. He does not care about my Art at all. All he cares about is himself. Himself, and his damned sleep.


Now he is pleading me with his eyes to go away, and leave him in peace. And so I shall.

The tour of my office is now finished. You are very welcome.