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about me
I am a small seagull living inside a clam in the UK. I make cute comics about transience, memory, and miserable metaphysics, or sometimes none of those things.
You can find all of my comics here, as well as a couple of journals on my life and what I'm reading, notes about the online art collective I run, and other stuff I'm doing.
vibe injection
From this vantage point atop the 15th floor terrace of the Travelodge Abingdon West, the death of the world was visible.
Far below in the narrow gyle of motorway running between Oxford and Witney, where the softly flowing lines of vehicle lights could be seen flickering in and out of the shadows cast by the towering blocks of the retail estate, you could hide yourself from this dreadful sight, convince yourself that the little canyon oases buried underneath would prevail to inherit creation. But up here, with only a vacant expanse of gaseous loneliness above you, and nothing but the colossal derelict sprawl of the south-western industrial edgelands before you, everything fades into an infinity of dismal certainty. All that remains is an utterly senseless fugue of rain and snow, unrelenting and eroding everything with a glacial persistence. Loose spackle appears to slough away in slick contours, adjoining vasculature of PVC and metal bend and buckle and wither into formless functionless aberrations clinging to their fittings, and people are beaten down until they too are macerated into engine dust, distinct in the haze only temporarily before vanishing once more into the liminal.
Far below in the narrow gyle of motorway running between Oxford and Witney, where the softly flowing lines of vehicle lights could be seen flickering in and out of the shadows cast by the towering blocks of the retail estate, you could hide yourself from this dreadful sight, convince yourself that the little canyon oases buried underneath would prevail to inherit creation. But up here, with only a vacant expanse of gaseous loneliness above you, and nothing but the colossal derelict sprawl of the south-western industrial edgelands before you, everything fades into an infinity of dismal certainty. All that remains is an utterly senseless fugue of rain and snow, unrelenting and eroding everything with a glacial persistence. Loose spackle appears to slough away in slick contours, adjoining vasculature of PVC and metal bend and buckle and wither into formless functionless aberrations clinging to their fittings, and people are beaten down until they too are macerated into engine dust, distinct in the haze only temporarily before vanishing once more into the liminal.
annual prayer: 2025
Dear Etenernal Soul and Spirit of the Universe inhabiting this slice of HTML,
I hope this year will be characterised by finishing and publishing some bigger projects, and continuing to develop more of a robust body of work and portfolio. Alongside that, I want to keep collaborating and connecting with other artists, and never let pursuit of cheap wins or unimportant shit take precedent over creativity, fun and community. Also don't kill me.
With reverence, Mouette
I hope this year will be characterised by finishing and publishing some bigger projects, and continuing to develop more of a robust body of work and portfolio. Alongside that, I want to keep collaborating and connecting with other artists, and never let pursuit of cheap wins or unimportant shit take precedent over creativity, fun and community. Also don't kill me.
With reverence, Mouette
fridge quote
"Unfortunately I am a completely impractical person, caught up in endless trains of thought. All of us are fantasists, ill-equipped for life, the children as much as myself. It seems to me sometimes that we never get used to being on this earth and life is just one great, ongoing, incomprehensible blunder." W G Sebald
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