Now the iron plinth is out of it's plaster prison, I've been trying out methods of accelerating the patination and appearance of metallic decay.

These wood chips are the leftovers from the mitre machines in the fine art workshop - I'm sure the guys down there don't mind me clearing out the waste.

There are a lot of different sizes and textures in these fragments- all to come into close contact with the iron surface. Soaked in water first, I added salt to give things a little chemical nudge and then finally introduced a lot of vinegar to bring up the acidity.

The soaked wooden fragments are then packed around the object and wrapped with a cloth - in this case a much beloved t-shirt from my brother that has sadly developed enough holes to provoke too many frowns from my girlfriend.

The idea is to leave it for several days. The moisture and the acidity promote rust but the fabric permits enough oxygen to facilitate the reaction. Since I did this, I've checked in the corners each morning to see how things are progressing and to slosh some more vinegar over the bag,

Of course, if this technique works, I'll be applying it to all of the larger pieces that have an iron surface. There are subtle differences in texture between them but so long as they have a slightly rough or porous surface, blooms of rust should appear.

Another downside of working in this messy, chemical manner is that this kind of work is best conducted in the courtyard of the sculpture workshops. It's a semi-outdoor area with big draughts and no heating. The idea of fine art being a precise, delicate and cerebral activity seems out of the window. Art is physical. Art is heavy, messy, uncomfortable, cold, smelly and tiring. This feels like working back in the MacRobert theatre dock - of which I have only good memories.

That so much of my work appeals to notions of physical interaction or utilitarian manifestation has pointed the studio work in a variety of different directions. The timing seemed right to reinvest some of that exploration in more traditional, wall-based images.

Before the paintings were complete, I was aware that they needed an excessive, overblown presentation. Like Hodgkin's chopping boards, the presence of the image had to be exceeded by the woody block of the medium. Sometimes this implies the use of the board or canvas. In this case, I overemphasized the frame.

The images themselves are small and life-sized. It seems now a little crass to focus on the purely, literally utilitarian; the handle and the doorknob, but there is a kind of hypnotic simplicity in the single feature. I eliminated all extraneous information and avoided heavy use of paint. No brush marks nor passionate gestures are visible.

Despite this precise rendering, I realised quickly that photo realism also belied the frames' formal intent. A gaseous veil of lemon or lime glazes coats and unifies each image, adding to their hypnotic allure and also preserving a painterly lack of finish. I have allowed fragments of drawing or the skeletons of a transfer grid to show through the fine layers of paint.

These three paintings feel like one unit of work, like one finished piece. I'm uncertain of them though. I'm not sure they address a sense of physical allure correctly.

Each of these three 'boxes' are cubes consisting of nine cuts of solid pine assembled precisely. I sanded and stained the wood and then sanded and stained again, repeatedly, until the wood took on the weathered or used finish of an antique item.

The facade of each unit was selected sequentially for the 'front' or presented surface of each piece. Again, these feel like paintings.

Then, with minute increments of the band saw (and a healthy respect for the flying blade that the scar on my left thumb will attest to) I gradually cut out a groove along three faces of the cube to create the impression of a seam. Maybe overly laboured, this seam suggests the utilitarian narrative of the object; that these are containers that the viewer is invited to open and close despite the situational impossibility.

Augmenting this feature in a decorative way are the copper corner pieces. I've had my eye on these kinds of things for awhile. Flight cases and containers for musical instruments often have them. I associate them with vessels for valuable goods that seem to be on the move a lot.

Ultimately, this work feels a little too decorative to feel wholly honest to me. Maybe this is because of the comparison to the decay and corruption of the iron finish. After all, I'm giving over the precision and control of finished surface of many pieces to random variables whereas these wooden boxes were selected, coloured and polished. Even the copper hue seems excessively ornamental.

The square format, though - the repetition and the geometry - these things seem correct and proper. The iron boards with the rose line drawings share something of the same format albeit on a far grander scale.

I drilled a hole in the kettle to make room for the plumbing. The first boil satisfyingly shot steam straight up into the paintings but also started melting the lower pipe. I had a quick rethink and went out to buy a sonic humidifier. It generates no excess heat and still produces a great deal of water vapour. Also, I can leave it for hours at a time as it pumps moisture into the sealed frames.

As I watched rust slowly appear, it became apparent that the process runs the risk of soaking and distorting the pine timbers that make up the box frame and structure of the board supporting the image. I made larger scale versions of the copper corner pieces, this time out of steel and drilled to allow fixture.

Knowing that these pieces all contribute to the presence of weathered, rusted matter is maddening because I am now well aware of the time and effort required to achieve the final physical presence of the oxidised surface.

Achieving that surface is one thing. Achieving it in a way that is structurally sound and can co-exist with a means of supporting it on a wall or what've context is another.

I know I am improving but in tiny increments.

In the case of this piece, the main challenge has been to attain the smooth transition from skin to solid black within varying size of workable skin. The size of needle, the position of the design, the type of skin, the settings of the power pack, the setting of the machine - all these variables are unmanageable on a conscious level. Like oil-painting, it is the repetition and ritual of continuous use of materials that lead to the bare bones of acceptable results.

Working in the winter is hard. Clients seem chilled to the bone and, despite their protestations, multiple halogen heaters end up aimed at them, if only to stop mild shivering. Adrenaline and cold is a bad combination.

The regimen of shop/art school/shop is getting to me. I knew it would become difficult but I'm well aware that I need the release of a change of scene, some kind of break from the harsh schedule of studio practice and trying to walk without occasionally staggering into a wall.

I wish the labyrinthitis would go away so much. It hangs around like a summer cold that spoils everything.

The gauntlets have succumbed to few changes from their first drawings to final realisation but they have taken a long time to make. Working the wood was tricky but not tedious. Measuring, cutting and sewing the upholstery was very dull indeed.

I'm having to deal with the same weariness with a few of the things I'm making. I'm denying myself the thrill of spontaneity. I see others scattering sand on the floor, throwing ink at a wall or allowing the unpredictable inefficiencies of the printing press to present the artwork's clarity unbidden to the artist.

This seems dishonest to me. Foolishly, I feel I should be suffering the coalface fatigue, responsible for every move I make and every physical facet of my products.

Finally, Milo died - suddenly although not entirely unexpectedly.

He wasn't my dog - but I have thrown many a tennis ball for him, toweled the mud from his legs many a time, arrived at his door to hear his happy excited bark so often.

Although discouraged as a puppy from 'jumping up', I always welcomed his uncomfortable claws digging into my torso as he jumped to 'kiss' me - greeting me with his dodgy dog-breath and a tail wagging so hard he swayed from side to side.

He was one of those few dogs that had a very communicable face. Tension showed in lines. His wide eyes betrayed everything. Like one other dog I've known, Milo was intelligent and receptive enough to mimic the human grin that so often greeted him. A strange twisted grimace crossed his face when he met me at the top of the landing - his body curled in anticipation of the hug and his hips quivering from the frantically wagging tail.

So here's to Milo - and to my dear friends, Rob, Wendy and little Bobby who doubtless feel his absence worse than I.

I've been having to watch my step as the labyrinthitis is still taking its sweet time to slowly wear off.

We're undergoing some kind of rare seasonal event due to a shift in the gulf stream which sounds eerily like the premise for The Day After Tomorrow. This recent satellite photo says it pretty well. Here in Dundee there'll be a lull. the skies will be beautifully clear and blue and the sun shines low on the horizon in the freezing air. However, if I look to the east, I'll see the next black slab of falling ice and the high towering clouds that are bringing the next dump of snow.

In about half an hour, I'm attempting to travel back to Glasgow for tomorrow's tattooing - I'm not confident of getting there without some serious road hassle and delays.

Anyway - I'm not complaining. Winter is too beautiful to miss. Culturally, we're a nation of complainers. Every time I look through the weather updates and news pages I see lines of stranded traffic and grounded aircraft. I take pleasure in not worrying about whether the country has lost billions due to lost man-hours.

Flying directly in the face of a traditional bronze bust is the rotting iron plinth that it will be sinking into.

I've had little experience with creating 3D objects with a view to casting but enough to know that planning ahead is everything. In the case of this head's plinth, making an armature came quickly and easily. The wooden framework and the chicken wire endoskeleton were measured for an excess layer of clay of half an inch.

I'm planning the form in my head as much as the sketchbook but the hands-on experience of making other objects is invaluable.

I thought it best to do things right - to make something as fit for the passage of time as the bronze head.

The entire form has been encased in about 40 kilos of plaster. I lost count of how many bowls of the dusty, splodgy, messy stuff I mixed after the first evening - but I was aware of the surprised look on Phong's face (sculpture technician and remarkable artist) when I asked for another bag to continue mixing.

The single seam that determines the resin-join of the finished piece had to remain exposed thus requiring a lot of precise digging simply because the application of lumps of plaster under the direction of gravity is way less precise than the supposed results would suggest.

Four steel pipes were joined onto the mould to support the total weight and prevent cracking. Standing vertically like this, the piece is 1.5 meters in height so there was a lot of stretching and scraping in thickening up the mould to approximately 2 inches in uniform coating. It was an exhausting day's work.

Once the form is liberated, resin casting (with added iron) can begin.

Although the arduous processes of sculpture are wearing me down, I expect to embark on the ambitious task of a full-size body cast next semester.

The form I'd like to realise would be suspended between two kinetic forms in the same manner as the stretch-piece. Technically, it presents major difficulties which is precisely the best reason for attempting it

Planning for this, I've started a series of life drawings with an understanding model arranged in cramped poses within the confines of this temporary structure. Two boards, suspended on rails, in turn suspended on four easels to allow for easy access and quick alteration of the pose.

I'm not finding it effortless to flit between drawing, molding, painting and casting. I'm still recovering from this balance / vertigo condition and I get tired more easily.

Still, keeping the discipline of drawing going on a regular basis feels important, particularly when there is absolutely no directed tuition in elemental skills.

Anyway - I'm on the mend and working again. However, I have doctor's orders to take things a little easier so I'm proceeding at a more leisurely pace. For now.

These two rose paintings are coming along. After playing with that balance between application and the stiffness of the paint, the focal range of the image is becoming more established without destroying the peripheral looser marks. I now know that I'm on the 'final' track for completing these - that is, I very much doubt I'm going to have to tackle any more major decisions in their execution. From this point, it should simply be time spent with a brush in hand and less analysis.

Despite knowing where they're going, I'm resigned to a long time-scale with these. There are many thin applications of heavily diluted pigment as well as time given for drying and then writing / drawing on the surface in gel pen. I'm given over to treating these canvases as sketchbooks as well. Both these images serve to keep half an eye on imagery while working in 3D as well as a constant reminder of the traditional roots of wall-based presentation.

The format and scale of these images is directly in keeping with previous rose paintings but the execution is utterly different. One of the painting tutors, Bob, often spoke of Whistler's description of paint being applied like breath on a pane of glass - that is what's happening here. There are no discernable brush-strokes and no surface textures other than the weave of canvas and the gloss of linseed oil.

I've settled into a rhythm of working with these and I can see them being finished by mid winter. Most of my other pieces involve working in the various workshops where the door locks at 5pm. At least with these paintings I have the option of working later after the place empties. I know I have almost felt dismissive of these images as an exercise in painting but they require an intangible effort. I don't feel the need to analyse this kind of work on a conscious level but the effort leaves me drained all the same.

My time-consuming, faux-bronze friend is also coming along. Finally, the two halves of glass-fibre resin have been united and the plaster's job is done.

It feels odd to have had this head cocooned in a transitory state - working toward a pre-ordained form even though one cannot directly observe it. Above all things I have to say that resin casting is time consuming. This is the price we pay for creating something that will literally last for a thousand years.

Disappointingly, the resin/bronze mix emerges from the dusty mold looking like cheap easter-egg chocolate. It has that waxy, plastic sheen that instantly reminds me of synthetic fabrication. As if enough time hasn't already been spent on the damn thing, it ended up soaking in a bucket for 8 days while I was ill, supposedly discharging the remains of the plaster that had managed to remain trapped in the deepest fissures.

Since then, I've been filing down the seam left visible from the casting process and working the last of the plaster out with dental tools. Scrubbing the surface with steel wool also helps the cleaning as well as provide a tantalising glimpse of the metallic patination I'll eventually achieve.

The bigger, more abstract, more visceral 3D forms are taking shape too.

I've attached chicken-wire to the armature made to ensure secure attachment to the wall. A temporary board has been place underneath the form to mimic the rigidity of the block-form that will eventually compliment the narrative within the piece. This allows me to model the plaster section without having to worry about what fits where afterwards.

So far so good - but this is a simple shape compared to its companion piece. The narrative of the form is amplified by suggesting a counterpart under similar material restrictions but a different kinetic dynamic.

This time around, I may not colour or texture the organic material to directly resemble flesh. The implied narrative of both these pieces rely on the viewer's instinctive reaction to the plastic material as somehow living or biological. It may be that the weight of gravity on human flesh is the mechanism that allows this resonance to occur but I feel obliged to remove overt mechanisms and allow subtler facets to take control of the piece.

The human quality is also reminiscent of wall-based art. Perhaps there's a classical ownership of the flesh that feels at home on the wall.

I know I'd like to take this human facet and amplify it under the same conditions - to take a human being and subject them to the confines of the block forms. The flesh is wieldy but the rigid forms of our architecture encourage manipulation whenever these two interact.

One little aside to this is that I sense the enormous temptation to continue to work with plaster, plastics and wood and other 'plastic' forms of construction. It is almost as if there is a loftiness in using these materials in the creation of art - they provide maximum flexibility. This feels like a danger; a casual assumption of material convenience.

With this in mind, I'm now on the lookout for ways of expressing this 'material/texture/touch/recoil' narrative manner of work that employs 'existing' materials or found objects. Perhaps I can arrive at simpler means of working with a richer description of the overall premise.

The flesh itself is also a medium for drawing.

In this case, one of four highly stylised leg pieces - each will have the same central premise, a backwards facing skull with a decorative elongated cranium.

I had feared that the labyrinthitis was going to keep me from detailed work. In truth it actually helps my recovery to keep my head still and concentrate on a precise and definite task. For a three-hour tattoo, perhaps I finished a little more tired than normal but I'm glad that this kind of work is still within my reach.

Each of these four leg pieces will be augmented with more thin lines to add texture and then shaded to imply the real depth that they need. They are placed in such a a way as to allow a space at the front of the shin and back of the calf for yet more pieces.

Still - one day at a time. Everything I'm working on at the moment seems to require a strong component of planning and precision. It might be good to get my teeth into something more reckless and immediately responsive - blow away some of the cobwebs.

One of the larger, more complex pieces involving the organic back shapes has commenced. I chose to get the first basic form directly from my own body. This was an uncomfortable pose to hold while the plaster took hold.

The finished cast needs to be smoothed and reinforced with more plaster. Eventually it will be cut in two to allow the shapes to be cast in an, as yet, undecided choice of material.