Books Do Furnish A Room: Moore mist opportunities

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Wednesday, 26 December 2007

Moore mist opportunities

I hope you had a wonderful Christmas Day, and are enjoying the feast of St Stephen. These pictures seemed an appropriate offering.

Just before Christmas, to Kew Gardens in a thick mist. I will let these images speak for themselves, except to say that Kew, for all the winter weather, is always beautiful - and that however well you know it, you would have got lost as I did in these conditions! Fantastic views of trees and the Moore sculptures, which have a primal, absolute quality in these conditions, utterly dissociated from the world yet hugely of it. I hope to capture them under snow as well. The leaf at the end is a sculpture, too, I think.

Posted at 10:00 AM in London, Miscellanea, Trees and wildlife | Permalink

Comments

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Posted by: AP US History Essay | Saturday, 02 October 2010 at 11:13 AM

I like very much that humble and tender hand.
Speaking of hands, is the black sculpture with the face-to-face pikes an industrial version of Michelangelo's Sixtin Chapel ceiling (finger contact between God and Adam)?

Posted by: Glo | Sunday, 13 January 2008 at 11:07 PM

How different from our visit in September, and what stunning pictures.

Posted by: Cornflower | Friday, 04 January 2008 at 03:32 PM

I love these photos.

Posted by: Lisa W | Saturday, 29 December 2007 at 01:30 PM

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Quotidian

Nothing is of greater consolation to the author of a novel than the disovery of readings he had not conceived but which are then prompted by his readers. (Umberto Eco, Reflections on The Name of the Rose)
... relatively few persons in London ... can afford the luxury of one or more servants. No fewer than 3,700,000 have no servants at all, and of the half million that have servants 227,000 have only one. (The Times, 6 June 1895)
Standing among savage scenery, the hotel offers stupendous revelations. There is a French widow in every bedroom, affording delightful prospects. (Tyrolean inn brochure, according to Gerard Hoffnung)
(A doctor is at an elderly relative's deathbed) "The old sawbones, eh?" he bellowed ... "Just in the nick, perhaps. Haul the old girl back by the short hairs, if you ask me. Devilish smart at his work ... Always take a fence with more confidence when I know he's out with us."
Too often, when a man of Monty Godkin's mental powers is plunged in thought, nothing happens at all. The machinery just whirs for a while, and that is the end of it. (P G Wodehouse, Heavy Weather)
...the breed that take their pleasures as Saint Laurence took his grid (Kipling, The Five nations)