When I am outlining the skin of a lovely peach with soft touches of paint, or a sad old apple, I catch a glimpse in the reflections they exchange of the same mild shadow of renunciation, the same love of the sun, the same recollection of the dew.. .Why do we divide up the world? Does this reflects our egoism?.. .The prism is our first step towards God, our seven beatitudes.

Paul Cezanne  quoted by Joachim Gasquet, ‘What he told me – III. The Studio’


 No matter whether one is flying over Newfoundland or the sea of lights that stretches from Boston to Philadelphia after nightfall, over the Arabian deserts which gleam like mother-of-pearl, over the Ruhr or the city of Frankfurt, it is as though there were no people, only the things they have made and in which they are hiding.

W.G. Sebald, The Rings of Saturn.


I was resistant when first advised to read Sebold. I kept finding him referenced by artists and writers and each time his name was conjured it seemed to justify laziness. Now I am reading the ‘Rings Of Saturn’ and it is quite exciting. Memory, place memory, and a bubbling lava of history and unacknowledged creeping decrepitude…