One summer in the early sixties, three children travelled approximately 1,400 miles in the back of a mini to visit an artist.
In the grove the artist was installing a sculpture exhibition.
The children and their parents had come, with another family, to say hello. Three fathers; three artists: a potter/playwright, a sculptor and a painter. And that young artist, yet to wield the disappointing bristle brush, nurturing a talent with the 2HB.
The loveliness of the grove, the magnificence of the sculpture, the epic journey, the shady courtyards, the seeping conversations about art.
Art that sustained families, paid bills, decorated the house and illustrated the family to visitors.
The epic journey home , returning to the ebb and flow of the family, summer lawns, school beginnings and a baby sister;
and the young artist’s growing realisation that art lives in the world regardless of currency and commerce; art travels 1,400 miles in a mini and never leaves the house.
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