After a huge amount of time with no updates i've finally gotten round to updating the site (May'2009), there is now a complete ebook version of my comic-Cold Sweat Day Dreams available for your viewing-If you like it please buy a copy-you can paypal £6.50 to c.ridley3@ntlworld.com if you are interested-i'll include a free sketch in the cover too! At this time there are only about 12 copies left out of the original print run of 50.
I'm also pleased to announce that the photography section is now live and up and running-enjoy.
Please remember that all the art you see is for sale unless marked otherwise, you can buy my work from Londonart.co.uk or when I exhibit in galleries but you will end up paying commission which increases the price by up to 100% for example-my recently completed painting 'Dreamland' costs £350 to buy here, if you buy it from londonart or a gallery you can expect to pay upwards of £640 so buy work direct from me! You can paypal money to c.ridley3@ntlworld and I am happy for you to see the work and send it back if you are not completely satisfied.

Tthis is where my ideas and ego run rampant like rampaging mongols across the steppes, where ideas go for a walk, where wonder has returned and stories are told, where horror and beauty mingle with magic, humour and repulsion, sort of.

As soon as we are forbidden then something has to be done, tell us not to push the button and guess what, we HAVE to push it, as soon as i knew i couldnt play the game, i knew i had to push even harder to foist my vision on the world.

If we want to make the world a better place then we should all make what Kierkegaard called a 'Leap of faith' to no longer live constrained by our reactions to each other but by our own voices, to stop living as an effect of our circumstance and to live instead as a force for what we can be in ourselves.

Click away on the links and enjoy the work.

Wonder had gone away, and he had forgotten that all life is only a set of pictures in the brain, among which there is no difference betwixt those born of real things and those born of inward dreamings, and no cause to value the one above the other. Custom had dinned into his ears a superstitious reverence for that which tangibly and physically exists, and had made him secretly ashamed to dwell in visions... They had chained him down to things that are, and had then explained the workings of those things till mystery had gone out of the world... Then he would have recourse to the polite laughter they had taught him to use against the extravagance and artificiality of dreams; for he saw that the daily life of our world is every inch as extravagant and artificial, and far less worthy of respect because of its poverty in beauty and its silly reluctance to admit its own lack of reason and purpose.
HP Lovecraft