The Only Child
The Only Child
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The Only Child

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Original on canvas

100x100cm unframed

I am intrigued how often people refer to home as the place they lived as a child, it’s as if the soil, water and air of that place helped form them. Years later they still think of that landscape as home.

The place I think of as my home I will never live in again.
I read this on a grey stone lying flat in a Belgian village called Mesen.
. "So the curtain fell over.
that tortured country
of unmarked graves.
and unburied fragments of men.
Murder and massacre.
the innocent slaughtered.
for the guilty,
the poor man.
for the sake of the greed.
of the already rich,
the man of no authority.
made the victim of the man
who had gathered importance.
and wished to keep it.".
— from a letter by David Starret. 9th Royal Irish Rifles

When I read this and looked at that landscape still full of Irishmen, I thought this too could be my home, my place.

All families slowly split and scatter with time and the landscape shows this, place becomes space once again, that is nature and though we think we command and control it, ultimately it is greater than us.