Such are rivers at dusk. Profound serenity. A beauty rippled with sadness, as if Ophelia had just swept around the bend; Robes flowing underwater. Fading as the Sun. Copyright Tom Tide 2017
A crisp and cold morning. Cloudbanks looming like a wave. Rolling fields beckon. Copyright Tom Tide 2017
No more than Ivy winding around branches, Deep down a Somerset lane. Yet the glimpse of it took me to Paris: to flowing Guimard Ironwork. Arching stonework on Barcelona streets. Exotic, urban landscapes. © Tom Tide 2016
Folks in Bath must have looked upwards in days gone by. Look up today, in 2016, and you will see faded, flaking murals. Murals over murals. Adverts skillfully painted by hand on to the corners of buildings. Flowing fonts and delicate pigments. So precise, and yet in their decay somehow reminiscent of Titian. Crumbling frescoes….
Cradled highways and byways. Hedges reaching upward, to encompass all travellers. Peepholes at hill-brows. Showing paradise ahead. Glowing blue in the afternoon haze. Horizons, and the paths to them, so effortlessly laid out. Beckoning to be explored. © Tom Tide 2016
I searched frantically for you. Carving around bends and cutting across hills Suffused with evening shadow. Eyes peeled and neck staining; All for a glimpse. My night vision blurred by headlights I all but gave up: Then there you were. Just a glimmer, me playing peekaboo peering through thorny hedgerows to crest a hill…
Bath came out in its finest and most flamboyant last weekend. Or, as I should rather say, the world came to Bath in its finest and most flamboyant. I was celebrating a momentous birthday with my family on Saturday, and was delighted and perplexed to see several taffeta and silk-attired ladies sailing past me, all…