The Artist's City

…of streets walked on still, taken in by looks and glances that create more than a memory - but a gallery revered for years to come. Of the skyline rising and falling like a heart monitor, painted passionately red and tinted orange from crushed autumn leaves; the city’s fluid backbone muddied and sludged and smudged by fingertips themselves crafted and carved from bark in Regent’s Park; a jewel, a diamond in a crown that sparkles in a frame held by proud hands and tall chimes that paint reminders of time across Victorian pebbles. Of that ‘implacable November weather’ so loved by Dickens. The cold air now water-coloured against New Year explosions of kaleidoscopic palates and clean canvases and annual additions to the portfolio of a capital. So, trace your hands back across each painting; turn each image to reveal another take and dash after brush after stroke after flick of War of the Roses paint and Industrial Revolution charcoal or the pencil of a Globe’s playwright with the oil of underground tracks below the Mache moulds of those streets walked upon still…