A fat black pen, found, my children’s scribbles, a 1960s bookstall ‘find’, the temporary sculpture I just walked past, a coat hanger, Futurism at Tate Modern – for me these things add up to nothing without the time and space to interpret them into ideas.
Cycling across London may not sound like the best place to think, but, believe it or not, this is when my mind has licence to wander, flicking through endless subconscious references without my permission
Of course, there are bendy buses, cabs and the ‘I think I’m on a tree-lined avenue in rural France’ cyclists to avoid, but that’s more down to your survival instincts than anything else.
Besides, it does not seem to interfere with thinking about the colour of that man’s jumper I saw at lunchtime and whether it would work with the existing brand palette.
There is also the bike itself; I love it. I love the fact it is more than 30 years old and everything still works like a dream. I love the fact that every piece is beautifully designed and engineered. Isn’t that sustainable design?