Quoit

chun quoit
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OK, what do you do?
You don’t live in London any more.

So, what’s on my doorstep, round the corner, on the horizon?
It’s Romantic, New Age, holiday snap, tourist tat but it’s also quotidian, natural and normal, it’s my world, what’s real.
Unemployed, working in a shop or a school, this is the walk home from the bus. Embedded in this deep history, forgotten culture — indus­trial ruins and iron age homesteads, stone age monuments and microwave masts, hard farmed fields and high rough ground.

The Modern is made in cities and factories but so was this computer and my high tech bike, so was the tractor that just roared past and the helicopter that roared overhead … but we don’t all live there … we just use this shit to make our lives.
Are we as exotic to Shoreditch hipsters or city bankers as an African “witch doctor” was to Picasso or Breton?

I guess all you can do is just use the tools to hand (and mind) to share what it feels like being alive.

Oh … it’s Chûn Quoit. You trip over these things every day here — like a school gym in the 60’s.
The funny thing is I was thinking about Patrick Caulfield’s Parish Church and I was sure it was set in a purple field — it was one of the first paintings I fell in love with — but it’s actually all turquoisey greys … ach, to not be colour blind.

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