"Gleaming" Original
Layers of bright and energetic acrylic paints on a 9x12in stretched canvas.
This collection is woven together with inspiration from this “poem”
He has chosen, far nearer the end
than the beginning, to live
where, every day, he can watch the land
come and go, each time gleaming as if
it were new made. Sandbars shoulder
into the sun, their whereabouts too brief
to map, never drying out. Under
its pulsing skin the sea echoes
sunlight, shadows the clouds, goes undercover
in mist. What it is to be bodiless,
boneless, to reshape, to fill
with yourself the moulds of coves and bays,
take yourself back. He walks mile
after mile, blanking aches, stays up late
in the blue half-light, resists the pull
of sleep while he can, while his sight
still serves him, before that jerry-build,
his body, can no longer house a spirit
still nowhere near done with the world.
by Sheenagh Pugh from Short Days, Long Shadows
**Finished with a protective layer of varnish.
Layers of bright and energetic acrylic paints on a 9x12in stretched canvas.
This collection is woven together with inspiration from this “poem”
He has chosen, far nearer the end
than the beginning, to live
where, every day, he can watch the land
come and go, each time gleaming as if
it were new made. Sandbars shoulder
into the sun, their whereabouts too brief
to map, never drying out. Under
its pulsing skin the sea echoes
sunlight, shadows the clouds, goes undercover
in mist. What it is to be bodiless,
boneless, to reshape, to fill
with yourself the moulds of coves and bays,
take yourself back. He walks mile
after mile, blanking aches, stays up late
in the blue half-light, resists the pull
of sleep while he can, while his sight
still serves him, before that jerry-build,
his body, can no longer house a spirit
still nowhere near done with the world.
by Sheenagh Pugh from Short Days, Long Shadows
**Finished with a protective layer of varnish.
Layers of bright and energetic acrylic paints on a 9x12in stretched canvas.
This collection is woven together with inspiration from this “poem”
He has chosen, far nearer the end
than the beginning, to live
where, every day, he can watch the land
come and go, each time gleaming as if
it were new made. Sandbars shoulder
into the sun, their whereabouts too brief
to map, never drying out. Under
its pulsing skin the sea echoes
sunlight, shadows the clouds, goes undercover
in mist. What it is to be bodiless,
boneless, to reshape, to fill
with yourself the moulds of coves and bays,
take yourself back. He walks mile
after mile, blanking aches, stays up late
in the blue half-light, resists the pull
of sleep while he can, while his sight
still serves him, before that jerry-build,
his body, can no longer house a spirit
still nowhere near done with the world.
by Sheenagh Pugh from Short Days, Long Shadows
**Finished with a protective layer of varnish.
