Monday, 23 January 2012

Bodmin Moor

There were twelve rocks in all. They had been used before and were fairly round. The smallest was hurled first,  and Uther pitched it one hundred feet. St Tue's knees shook. What if his faith should fail now? He cast his eyes upwards. Then, oh, blessed miracle the rock became a feather in his hands, and he hurled it with such precision that it capped number one as if it had grown there.

(The legend of the Cheesewring. J Henry Harris)

With Jackson there was quite solitude. Just to sit and look at the landscape. An inner quietness. After dinner to sit on the back porch and look at the light. No need for talking, for any kind of communication.

( Lee Krasner)

Thursday, 12 January 2012


I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travels sake. The great affair is to move.

(Robert Louis Stevenson)

The flavour of words is intensely anti-visual. Strictly speaking painting cannot be written about.

(Patrick Heron)

Tuesday, 3 January 2012


We passed an open door in Back Road West and through it saw some paintings of ships and houses on old pieces of paper and cardboard nailed up all over the wall...we knocked on the door and found Alfred Wallis.

(Ben Nicholson)

Anchor Chains coil around  the Gravestones in Barnoon cemetery. Mariners, master mariners, men lost at sea. At night the sea pounds Hellesover cliff and the noise is animal growling.

(Porthmeor Beach Helen Dunmore)