Memory has modified these landscapes. Many are of Essex, where I come from. Others are of places I’ve lived in. None of them are an attempt to reproduce a physical reality. They are all, in retrospect, above all in retrospect I think, an attempt to capture the consolations offered by looking and becoming part of a place. Trees are important. They have roots. Paths too, it seems, are important. They are a way in…
“The heavy sun pressed down; heat smote upward from the shimmering road. A warm breeze stifled in the solid trees. A fume of summer coiled upon the fields.” J.A.Baker. The Hill of Summer (1969)
“The tall grass on the slope of the sea-wall is hissing in the wind and bending away to the west. It has a dry smell, like a distant fire. It feathers the blue light of the sky.” J.A. Baker. The Hill of Summer (1969)
