Friday, 20 March 2009

And Death and Hell were Cast Into the Lake of Fire

My grandfather on my Dad's side (his stepdad) was an artist, Patrick Procktor, of whom I have only memories of sly swear-words at the dinner table, the stain of cigarette smoke, and a life-size cast sculpture of an African head that Patrick always treasured. The careless butt of a still-smoking cigarette cast all around him in flames as they ate up his home before his eyes. I saw the blaze from our window, then the painful rasping as we ran through the streets towards it, then the shrivelled watercolours and nudes rescued in the weeks to come.

These are shots taken in those weeks in the carcass of the house.

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