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Abstract art isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. Which is why I only drink fresh coffee. My forays into abstraction are more about energy, emotion, frequency, harmony, colour, texture, space and sound. (Yes, sound.) Which is why music always accompanies my posts on Instagram. Creating ‘intuitive art’ is about letting go and not consciously thinking about what you’re doing. Some may say that it’s…

It was my very great honour and privilege to represent ARC (Arts for Recovery in the Community) at a Royal garden party at Buckingham Palace in recognition of ARC being awarded The King’s Award for Voluntary Service (KAVS) earlier this month. It was an amazing day that I got to spend with my fellow ARC volunteer, Rai. It was really interesting to see what the back of the palace looked like! (I…

The Chair. By David Milligan-Croft. . During the daily tropical rainstorm, my father would haul his rattan chair  from the comfort of the verandah  out onto the lawn and sit in the torrential downpour.  . Regular as clockwork, the skies would open each afternoon, and unleash their deluge. Macaws and howler monkeys silent for once. . The only sound being that of the…

. The Shoe Box by David Milligan-Croft . I take the empty shoebox  to the recycling bin, and pause. . It’s a sturdy box with a hinged lid, which I open and close, as if it’s talking. . There’s tissue paper inside. Tissue paper is useful. It rustles beneath my fingertips.  I could use it …  for something … . The box is pristine, undamaged.  Plenty of life left in it  yet.…

I couldn’t resist doing another quick post to share this little piece, (it’s actually quite a big piece), I did on Christmas day. I know my work isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. Which is why I only drink coffee. It’s acrylic on cardboard, 81 cm x 53 cm. I hope you had a very merry Christmas (if you celebrate) or a happy holiday (if you don’t). Here’s to a happy, healthy, peaceful and prosperous…

As we come to the end of 2025 I thought I’d share some of the work I’ve been doing over the past couple of months. Here’s a (very) small selection. They contain my usual embellishments of symbols and code, from the Fibonacci sequence to Phi and Sacred Geometry. Bits of astrology and numerology, along with codes in Latin, Greek, French, Arabic, Japanese, ancient Runes and my own makey-uppy…

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. What Stories They Could Tell By David Milligan-Croft . I smoked a Gauloises, flakes of tobacco on my lips, irresistible not to chew. . In my recumbent pose, lounging on the banks of the Canal du Midi, something stirred in my pocket. . My loose change was sliding out. . When I sat up, I noticed a gold 50-cent piece had abided by the laws of gravity, and was now sparkling in the…

. The Persistence of Memory by David Milligan-Croft . I watched my daughter doing the dishes, whilst I tidied the detritus from the dining table. . I looked at her, standing there – a young woman now, and recalled a time when I used to sing to her in her mother’s womb. . I would lay my cheek against the taught skin of her Mum’s belly, and softly sing  You are my Sunshine. .  As she…

I thought I’d share with you some of my musings over the weekend. These days, I much prefer to paint a picture or compose a poem rather than paint the town red. Those days are (thankfully) far behind me. Saturday morning scribble Blood Moon Haiku 07/09/25 Father & Daughters. Mary

Here’s a poem I wrote after a little walk by the local river. . A Cry for Help by David Milligan-Croft. . By mid afternoon I had the urge to be near a body of water. I’m not sure why. Sometimes, it’s best not to question these things, and just go with whatever your instincts tell you. . I drove a few miles to where the rivers Tame and Goyt confluence into the Mersey. . It looked as…

I’ve always felt that if you need to explain what a poem is about, then it doesn’t work as a poem. However, I like the point of view that you, the reader, and I, the writer, are aware of the secret, but the recipient (in the poem) is not. Anyway, see what you think. . . Tsuchiya Koitsu, 1870 – 1949. Courtesy of JPN Studio.

I haven’t posted anything in quite a while. That doesn’t mean I haven’t been creating things. I practise some form of art every day. Even if it’s just a doodle. I’ve written a few poems and painted a few pictures. Here are three short poems. (And a couple of sketches.)

Trigger warning: The following poem contains graphic depiction of suicide. The Hanging Tree . How does the oak tree feel when a person hangs themselves from its boughs? . Does it wish it could wrap its branches around the victim, and comfort them with the rustling of its leaves? . Does it groan with the strain of carrying such a heavy burden? (Despite being able to carry 50…

Danger of Drowning by David Milligan-Croft . I sat on the wall of an old stone bridge, legs dangling over the side. Listening to the stream burbling over the fluorescent moss-covered rocks. . Iridescent dragonflies  skimmed the surface of the water  as Helios warmed my crown. . I heard a shrill bleat from further downstream, where I saw a lamb trembling in the river, staring right…

One of the art activities I do with patients on the acute mental health ward I work on is to populate a head template. Basically, patients are given an outline of a head and they have to fill it with whatever they want. It could be their interpretation of an actual face. Could be they use patterns or words. It really doesn’t matter. The point of the exercise is to put across how they are…