Letters

I've said it before. I will say it again.  There is nothing more delightful than a handwritten letter. Even better when you come home from a long week working away from home and it's sitting nestled in your bedclothes, waiting to be read, enjoyed and treasured.


Delicious.

Better?

 

 

 

Yes, better.

Twelve Short Walks

This time last year I travelled to The Baltic in Newcastle to see the Turner Prize nominees for 2011. Primarily to see Karla Black (after my flat mate Holly spent last summer working for her exhibition in the Venice Biennale).

That weekend I fell in love with Martin Boyce (both person and work). We were lucky enough to catch him giving a talk about his work... He loves trees. I love trees. It's a match made in heaven.  I didn't even realise he was the same person who's exhibition I had enjoyed previously in Dundee two years ago...

So

I was over joyed when he won the 2011 Turner Prize.

 

 

But I didn't being this post to talk about Martin Boyce. I wanted to speak about George Shaw.

He was also nominated for the Turner Prize in 2011. I found his exhibition at the Baltic really disappointing. And thought no more about it.  On a recent visit to London, I think, I stumbled across some beautiful etchings of trees by a man named George Shaw. I thought the name rang a bell so I noted it down.

Today I found that note and made that google expedition... It is the same George Shaw.

George, why did you put rubbish photos in your Turner patch?