Two watercolours of beach stones. They existed in wet places long before they were gathered on my table, and will, no doubt, be here long after I'm gone. There's something spiritual? about using water to re-create them.
"What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, You cannot say, or guess, for you know only A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water." Lines 19-22 of 'The Wasteland by TS Eliot, 1922
Further paintings of stones: march-03rd-2021.html ; holding-a-stone-like-a-heart-in-the-hand.html
Further paintings of stones: march-03rd-2021.html ; holding-a-stone-like-a-heart-in-the-hand.html