Frame

Place and time

Time and place

Shade and light

Light and shade

Remember the experience

Store away the details

Give sufficient weight

To the ambiances

Of your surroundings

Of your heart

Of your mind

Of your temple in the sky

Be taken by the muse

Be offered up

To the lines of freedom

To the limitations of lovers

Tell them, that you have been there

Say that you were not alone

Yet you cannot say who you met there

For truly, they will never, ever know

Place And Time

Thankfully it is not a long walk

To Richard Long’s A Line in Norfolk

Indeed it is right outside the front door

I stride out the eighty or so metres

Of Norfolk Carrstone, whose orange clay

Contrasts markedly with Mr Cholmondeley’s

Sparkling green, well-manicured lawn

I wonder if the turf might in fact be laid

On a foundation of such well-weighted stone

Eventually I call this sculpture Number One

And think this is how a drone camera

Might picture it from the sky

After striding its length I meander

To all four corners, to gain some distance

To see another light, to gather another perspective

I remember Richard’s grey slate stones

Laid out onto the top floor of a city centre gallery

And cannot help but think; this is a much better place

Further along I see Full Moon Circle

It is made of a similar material to the one I saw in Leeds

Which I now think rather suited its cosmopolitan surroundings

Cast In

Stephen Cox’s Interior Space

Does not do it for me

Which is odd, for he has

That ability, that experience

To transport me around the world

But, at this moment in time

Egypt is not where

I would choose to be

Of course, to peer into the darkness

To find myself within the solid mass

In the perusal of nothingness

Well, yes that does enchant

And calms, and if I stayed long enough

I may feel more

I may grow into the recognition

I may even come on board

Favoured Words

I am left with the remnants

Of James Turrel’s Lightscape exhibition

But fortunately I am led

To a Youtube conversation

Between the lucid artist

And his enquiring patron for the season

They talk of going inside self

With your meditation

(Right up my street)

Light is not formed

Like clay, or wax

Nor sculpted like wood or stone

(Did I tell you I was an Electrical Engineer

Who specialised in lighting)

The rules are different

Paint and light

Do not merge in the same ways

Their resulting colours

Are not in anyway the same

(No, I did not know that)

Using light to create spaces

100 sky spaces are created

Across all the continents

We are made for twilight

Not the bright light of midday

(Really)

Just as in the way that Rothko

Has colour coming out of darkness

Twilight arrives before sunrise

Twilight arrives after sunset

(I always liked Rothko)

The love of how change happens

You, on your island

Have a maritime sky

The softness of which

Is truly beautiful

(I so so agree with his every word)

 

Believe It Or Not

I am more at home

With Richard Long’s

White Deer Circle

Which fronts an expanse

Of grass, bordered by oaks

Of many years standing

This is an emblem

Of one man’s idea

Fashioned against

Another man’s idea

Several generations apart

Or so one is led to believe

On first impressions

The huge, upturned

Rooted tree stumps

Are placed, more or less

Where the village of Houghton

Once stood, that is until

Sir Robert Walpole

Had it moved a little further away

From his imposing Palladian mansion

Apparently

Or so others say

It is an uncanny echo

Of Seahenge, discovered

On a nearby beach in 1998

However, today’s artist

Professes to have no such

Knowledge, so puts it down

To sheer coincidence