In the last few months I have been listening. Listening to the beautiful rhythm of the spoken word as it rises and falls with every breath and heartbeat. Poets. Poets, the very word. Poets, who have in the space of … Read More
And as well, there is the poetry that we shared, as well as the bristly paintbrush and the occasional art book, signed with love and metaphorically flung at my head. He read my poetry and I read his; he was … Read More
Visiting Artists: The Guest Room In my adolescence, I visited the artist in a London flat. There was a room designated for the studio; I could not smell turps or white spirit; I could not see a Francis Bacon tsunami … Read More
Visiting Artists Visiting Artists One day in about 1966 two artists visited the art supply shop below the Overgang at the harbourside in Brixham. The younger artist knew the king of art mediums is oil. With linseed oil, turps, … Read More
