This is Ishmael. Not Ishmael ‘dressed to impress’, just Ishmael on an ordinary day. Tall, gaunt and serious, with a restless, searching mind and a love of mystery.

Talk with Ishmael, and he talks so fast you have to strain to keep up with him.
Walk with Ishmael, and he walks so fast you have to stride to keep up with him.

Ask him where he’s from: Africa? Australia? Egypt? London? He will look away, or shrug. Where is anybody really from?

Ishmael lives in a sombre place with his work all around him: re-claimed wood turned into pyramids, temples, tables, benches and boxes. His slender black cat watches from dark corners.

Ishmael makes nothing twice. How can you make anything twice when your mind wants a new thing, and your world is full of newly-found treasures?

Ancient Egypt and its symbols feature in Ishmael’s work, because they speak of renewal and rebirth. But ask him a direct question about his philosophy and he will look away, or shrug. How can you ask a direct question about mystery? How can a mystery explain himself?