Memories of an almost forgotten boy

I am not one for reminiscing, but every once in a while something strikes a chord which resonates back to my past. There is a piece in my current show that did just such a thing. So much so that I even found myself writing about it; the memory that is.

Memories of Frank’s Field

An eight year old boy
laying and playing
in a field of  tall grass
The purity of his joy
not yet a distant memory
held tight by the husks of grass
as tall as himself

Memories of Frank's Field

Memories of Frank's Field

This is a gelatin monoprint. I like the ghost image of the grass. I lived behind what I then called Frank’s Field. I now know that Frank didn’t own that field but one across the road. I used to suck the sugar out of the purple clover, yummy.

I am happy to announce that this piece sold opening night.



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