Sunday, December 4, 2011


Hasty charcoal sketches of a cold, foggy December night walk.

Through the night, I had Walter de la Mare’s poem, ‘Silver’, playing in my head like some haunting chant, and so it runs through these drawings as well.

I realise how incongruous some of the images are with the words scribbled across them. If you try very hard, they make… sense. Or perhaps they lend a hand in binding it all together?
I don’t know; I just drew what I saw.


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