Drawings — William Butcher

'Festival Trees'

'Spirit Of The Forest'

'Only Way Is Up'

'The Lonely Tree'

'Cacti Friend'

'Cacti Friend' Version 02

Printing Tray No 3

'Varanasi'

'Old Git'

'I'm Crooked'

Illustration for 'A Traveller In The Narrow' by D.C.Priest Version 01

'Lost In Snowdonia'

'Studies In Flight No.1'

Illustration for 'A Traveller In The Narrow' by D.C.Priest Final Version

Concept poster for 'La Roche And The Finch'

Poster for 'La Roche And The Finch'

Lip Service Brass Band 'Al'

Lip Service Brass Band 'Josh'

Lip Service Brass Band 'Keith'

Lip Service Brass Band 'Harvey'

Lip Service Brass Band 'Dan'

'Solitude'

'Creatures Of The Deep' Pt 1

'The Grouper'

'Lobster' No 2

'Lobster No 3'

Illustration No 1 for 'The Long Road From Portman Square' by Ian Carnaby

Illustration No 2 for 'The Long Road From Portman Square' by Ian Carnaby

Illustration No 3 for 'The Long Road From Portman Square' by Ian Carnaby

Illustration No 4 for 'The Long Road From Portman Square' by Ian Carnaby

Illustration No 5 for 'The Long Road From Portman Square' by Ian Carnaby

Illustration No 6 for 'The Long Road From Portman Square' by Ian Carnaby

Illustration No 7 for 'The Long Road From Portman Square' by Ian Carnaby

'The Farmhouse'

'High Plane Geezers'

'Pelecanus occidentalis No 1'

'Window Flowers'

'Iguana iguana No 1'

'Esox lucius' No 1

'Up & Out'

'Apis mellifera No 1'

'Calypte anna' No 1

Printing Tray No 4

'Mirage' Oceans of barren heat Scarce a drop to quench our thirst What life could cling out here? What desperate forms could eke some blessed moisture From land without shape, without soul. Ever-morphing dunes the Homogenous wreck of All that ever was, that is, Futures unimagined now Ground to solar-beaten dust. The horizon breaks! Great trees and twisting vines, Chaotic music of countless wings Beating in divine chorus, A hymn for thirst abated. Stumbling forward through searing heat, Minds long taken beyond States of reason, of reality, Fractal fragment-thoughts congealed, Dragged us, dreaming, to salvation But, drawing close, Telltale shimmers give way To nought but lifeless sand, Endless desert devours all in The slow, relentless creep of death. We ate the forests long ago, We cannibalised ourselves, Ancient source of primal fear Now sustained on life support, Fenced off from its own children. Those desert trees, Mere phantoms of meaning, Ghosts of life lost to packaged perfection, Haunted plastic consumes Last lingering scraps of the real. Illusion perceived, not shattered, Onward we march, No alternative in sight, Into that spectral jungle, Let the sand swallow us up. By Hugo Turner