No, not because I am officially the worst photographer in the world.
These are some bowls that I made for my exhibition. Although they are bowl-shaped, they are made, weirdly enough, out of fabric and fibres and thread all magically brought together to celebrate the essence of bowl.
Anyway, being made of fibre, they are effectively bowls that you can't put anything into, at least not your morning bran flakes or anything, and thus almost as redundant as the cup cosy. (Actually, no - nothing is as redundant as that). They are simply bowls that are nice to look at and meditate on the nature of bowliness.
You'd do better dropping into the gallery to look at them properly, because they definitely don't look very much like this photo suggests. You will also then be able to admire some of my flatter artwork, which will be hanging on the walls.
Incidentally, underneath the bowls is the very solid oak table which I am lucky enough to own, and around which the Shepherd side of the family (I'm told) has sat for a cuppa since the 1930s. It's served a lot of purposes over the years, and bowl-holding surface in a bad photo is perhaps not its most glorious moment.
Go down to Handmade House on Broadway to see the artwork; sit round the oak table for a cup of tea, is what I'm saying. It just works better that way.
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