When the ancestors sailed, they left us many signs to follow.

They left us dreams: of amber-strewn avenues fifty fathoms down; of elemental passion and heavenly foes;  heroes fashioned out of our fear and armed with our aspirations; bronze-age dragons whose teeth can birth skeletons; sorcerers and demons that endure into the modern world. 

Look.

In the blink of an eye and a turn of the page we write, and like our ancestors before us, we dream.

And like flames leaping from the pyre, we chase those dreams back into the immortal stars.

Just a theory, obviously.

I've faffed about for a lot of years imitating and learning from artists, historians, philosophers and latterly, scientists. And I've come to realise my authentic self was always to be found lurking somewhere among these weird little squiggles called written words.
Symbols of the ancestors.
And like all symbols, these strange wee beasties can carry our imaginations to any world we choose.
Come now. Let's explore.