Feb 2018
"...I WANT TO RAISE THE DEAD MYSELF..."
Here in Cookham
Stanley has become sunlight
his voice
become as leaves
that walk amongst
the breeze.
Here my hand
on his battered pram
pushing it along
stepping into the photograph
of him
that the camera catches.
His paintings chat with me
gossip about all they've seen
the comings and goings
in heaven.
I tell them about times
that have come
they talk about
time gone.
His resurrected voice
speaks to me in rain:
"Painting is
my way of saying '
Ta!' to God,"
Here in Cookham
Stanley has become sunlight
his voice
become as leaves
that walk amongst
the breeze.
Here my hand
on his battered pram
pushing it along
stepping into the photograph
of him
that the camera catches.
His paintings chat with me
gossip about all they've seen
the comings and goings
in heaven.
I tell them about times
that have come
they talk about
time gone.
His resurrected voice
speaks to me in rain:
"Painting is
my way of saying '
Ta!' to God,"
Always fascinated with Stanley Spencer so I was enthralled to find myself in his village of Cookham...see his encrusted pallette...the dried up paint waiting patiently to be made into paintings...the old battered pram he pushed his paints and canvases along. Here was Stanley everywhere and nowhere...in the wind and the rain...the sudden sunshine.
"When I see a man putting up a bivouac beautifully...I want to do it ;myself. When I read of Christ raising the dead...I want to raise the dead myself. What a glorious thing to be an artist...to perform miracles...I am on the side of the angels and dirt”
"When I see a man putting up a bivouac beautifully...I want to do it ;myself. When I read of Christ raising the dead...I want to raise the dead myself. What a glorious thing to be an artist...to perform miracles...I am on the side of the angels and dirt”
