Email notification that they recognise my website. One day at a time...
Fields on Fire, ink and oil pastel on yellow paper. I don't have kids, I just teach. And it's a nightmare convincing them that certain things were once different in the past, especially to this generation brought up on mobiles and tablets.
Back in the day we'd see plumes of black smoke rising from the fields near the house and we'd go and investigate. I found the blaze fascinating. The harvester had already deposited piles of stalks between the dry stubble. It was these trails that were lit and became lines of bright orange beneath bright blue skies or the cloud of smoke arising.
But back then the ways to get into the art world were far more limited. I didn't go to Art School, my parents and Sixth Form were against it, for I was too clever in their eyes, singled out already for academe. Well, that worked.
Kimbolton mat have turned me into an intellectual, but my feet were ever made of clay. The ensuing fight with the world has lasted decades. But I am ready now. Watch me!
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