Martín Prechtel’s The Smell of Rain on Dust offers a challenging understanding of grief as inseparable from praise, love and our relationship with the living world.

There are times in life when the sense of direction we once had begins to falter. What once felt clear may no longer feel like our own, and the question of how to move forward becomes less certain. At these points, it is not always a lack of options that troubles us, but a deeper uncertainty about which path, if any, truly belongs to us. Traveller there is no path. The path is made by walking. These lines from a poem by Antonio Machado are often encountered at moments when we

In the current newsletter I explore strands of my life and art that seem subtly interwoven with Arthur Machen, a writer of mysterious and macabre fiction. Starting his life Caerleon (just outside Newport), in proximity to the Roman ruins, mysterious woodlands of Wentwood, and enchanted landscape of the Usk valley, Machen was deeply moved by the energies of this place. You can read the piece at the 'Writing' page of this website, tapping the image above, or via this link:...