From the shame of my own speechless stupor.

I can just keep staring out over the hills, watching the haar slink in from the sea. Smothering the strath in its Stephen Kingishness. And my mind with it.

The view from my window, mid-morning.

The Haar

Smug in the knowledge that somewhere, out there, another blogger is doing my job.

Bless you, Josh, IOU!

PS. Don’t miss the many entries on glass art and artists on this blog. It’s truly brilliant.

Why is this man shooting his dinner?


Because for dealers at SOFA some of the most memorable experiences happened off the show floor.

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…through the front door of the Bullseye Gallery, the first attendees to arrive for the opening night festivities of BECon 2007.

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As art fairs go, so went COLLECT. Hours of endless chatter punctuated by moments of high hope crumbling into I’m-just-lookings, or I’ve-spent-a-fortune-alreadys, or call-me-when-you’ve-got-another-in-a-cooler/warmer/darker/ lighter-shade.
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I’m going to fast forward. We’re into our third day of the fair and still standing. Despite my incessant kvetching, we managed to get through set-up, get the lights focused, glass cleaned and all the clutter crammed into our tiny stand closet, before dashing back to the flat to change and return in time for Opening Night.

“Can you focus it 2.5 mm to the left and about 1.5mm up, Steve?” Loughlin obsessive? Yet another misunderstood personality.
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Last month I was rudely awakened by the shocking rumor of our corporate-ness.

I’ve been introspecting for the last few weeks, ruminating on this ill-fitting identity . But I do sort of get it. It’s a close cousin of that other curious piece of urban mythology surrounding Bullseye lately: that we’re “elitist”.

Dashing to present our glorious objects at the V & A. We must be just SO cool.
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Factory schmactory. I’m on my way to the Victoria and Albert Museum in London to set up Bullseye’s stand at COLLECT, the international art fair for contemporary objects.

Fifteen hours, three airports and a cultural canyon away from Garlic Gulch.
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