H.G. Wells’ The Time Machine and more remind my mind of past and future eras: My eyes are heard lifting time listlessly with a lilt: Something’s are meant to age. I remember the tectonic shift when the (YBAs)Young British Artists- - emerged like new born embryo’s at work: Raging through England and other nations:
My feet have always been steeped in the ideal marriages of antiquity and the flow of visual ideas that perform in our modern days. I have witnessed the cosmopolitan mingle with street urchins’ like torrential transformative transfusions of captures. My main interests lied in other generations- -generations past.
We drove from London through English folklore: The Thames slightly seen between the trees around the M4 route: Hillsides and electric silences felt in every glance: Histories pointed ahead: The Royal Family omnipresence seemed near “Windsor Court is just past there”.
I felt I was at play like a child passenger- -amidst fairy tales and authorships not known: From London to Henley on the Thames- -Silence absorbed much of the unexpected: The dappled light through- - the Weeping Willows, Beech and legendary Oak hovered above: Imagine Miles Davis’ In A Silent Way courting my ideas as we traveled.
Mirage’s appear under different circumstances: Yet the black and brown silhouette of the Giant Cormorant moved without aid lording atop royal castles and unencumbering beauty: Nature is like a linguist fluent in the real and surreal: Beauty of the ordinary and sublime are equally worth living for.
We arrived in time for lunch: It seemed that a schedule of actions were arranged for me. An entire salmon poached and waiting: The Director of then famous Marlborough Gallery and Mr and Mrs John Piper treated me with a special delight: (It was John I was there to make photographs of: His wife Myfanwy, celebrated for her Librettos made with Benjamin Britten would have also made a nice partner in my session). The wine and get to know you chat was easy: Then time begged us to get a move on- -the schedule was predetermined. The bells heard was for each one of us to clear the table- -shooting time was limited.
John and I walked as adventuring partners into his barn/studio. I try and act sophisticated and knowledgeable when art poses: I was not prepared for the moment: My eyes softened: Twenty something and feeling so much younger:
At that time art to me was many things: Picasso’s Guernica at the MOMA: Whistlers at the Frick: Arts of Oceania at the Met. All of those museums were second homes to my photography routines: All of those institutions welcomed with “voila”.
I have photographed many famous and not so… in their studios. That day the very tangible surreal John Piper floored me: I would not elevate his significance but his presence is here inside me today: There were remnants of a man and his art as if he disappeared into his paintings everyday: The many ghosts of a man who mastered the acts of moving in and out of his art as if the canvas and the painter were one.
When we drove off I looked back at John and Myfanwy as lovers, friends, husband and wife: I saw them outside the barn chattering like two Myna Birds filled with excitement: They were another breed to my eyes:
It was an awakening that I fell in love with.
British Artist John Piper in his Studio: Henley on the Thames
Artist John Piper and his wife Myfanwy