Weak sunshine glints off the glass of the small porthole in the door of the studio. The wood burner is roaring now and I gaze around at the eclectic collection of prints and miscellanea covering the walls.
“I don’t think of myself as anything really, I’m just me. You know, steering my way through life and engaging with things I enjoy.”
I have just asked Simon Bradley how he sees himself. As an artist, a fisherman, an escapologist or a retired policeman. He didn’t really like the question. It would have meant pinning himself down, giving in to classification, interpretation. But he is, or was, all of those things. Continue reading