Boat Bottom Canvas

Every time I look, my hungry eyes see more. A line of Galloping surf at dusk or dawn. Spray-flecked lighthouse, defiant in brilliant white. Darting seabirds thumping down to chase silver glimmerings- or scudding clouds swirling far out to see. In need of a lick of paint? No. Anything but. Here there is the intensity…


  There’s a place where all the shavings go, Where it is I do not know; At night when we all sleep and dream, They write the things that should have been.   Copyright Tom Tide 2017


A beautiful print of many, many birds in flight hangs by my bedside. It is a perfect circle of airborne seabirds. A maelstrom of wings that swoop and soar. Countless, delicately drawn souls. The canvas is crowded and difficult to take in all at once, and yet it brings me a deep sense of calm….


A curved canvas. Full of waves and clouds. Tide-shifted sands, spun by the elements. Horizons meet beneath the tide-line. An ironic composition, when paint rubs off to reveal beauty. Love- lacquered layers of paint incited, As praiseworthy as a Ruskin landscape or John Nash painting.   Yet brought to life without hands. No, rather The…

Joyful Hue

Feathered wings against the grain, Inky blue flies home again; Ashen-black hoods swoop to nest, Superstitions put to rest.   Copyright Tom Tide 2017  

Draw what you see

Splodges. Squiggles. Paint blots. A lady in a headscarf? An elephant! Thus my mind went a swooping when I saw this ‘Draw what you see’ canvas outside an art shop in Bristol. It was proudly displayed on a trestle table on the pavement, and attracted a great many amateur artists. My son gravitated towards it,…

Mischeif and longing

An expression to turn┬áMona Lisa green with envy! A labyrinthine riddle of a face. What maelstrom of thoughts created such a moment So briefly set in time? What comment or happenstance drew such mischief? Or longing? Those eyes that glow with intense recognition. I know you. I know your thoughts. Those eyes that make me…


One for Cobalt, Two-Sea Green; Three for Copper, Four for Cream. Five? Cerulean. Six for Jet- Seven for all, flashing bright at Sunset.   Copyright Tom Tide 2017


A rare hue scarce seen, save in dreams or on canvas. As rare and precious of that finest of spices. Lizzie Sidall, yet more vibrant. Potent. Hair of a Goddess. So potent and lingering, my eyes are still suffused . Such were my thoughts, presented with auburn haze. Then she turned, and her glowing blossomed,…

An innate sense of place

I live in the city of Bath, in the South West of England. It is a very beautiful place, and I love it for many, many reasons. I love the tall Georgian buildings that reveal their cavernous interiors through large, frame-like windows. I love the history of the place, that seems to seep out of…