05/06/21.

It was a bright and sunny day, so naturally I found myself in a cemetery.

Being from the countryside, I find it hard, sometimes, to be so surrounded by people. Cities are full of people, teeming with them out of every corner and crack in the pavement. There are times that I miss the peace of knowing how few people are within a mile of you at any given moment.

The cemetery itself was largely deserted. The sun was high in the sky and the air uncharacteristically warm, so most sane people had passed the grounds for the beaches 10 minutes away. I spent hours sitting in the sun, sketching, and wondering around the solid stones.

I’m fascinated by the contrast of TV aerials and the chimneys and spires of old buildings. For me it’s not so much about demonising the encroach of technology, but about time. We build buildings to outlive us, but also to represent us and our needs at the time we are building it.

The house I grew up in was an old farmhouse, surrounded by field. In primary school a guest speaker took in a Victorian map of the area, and there, down the hill from the school, was my house. It would have been used by labourers who used to work the fields, she had told us. Nowadays it has a TV aerial, wi-fi, and a log-burning stove.

The previous owner had died in my childhood bedroom. A house is a ghost as much as it is present, layers of new on layers of old. Some places have a funny way of collapsing time.

.

A blackbird pulls a worm from cemetery ground,

There are certain things that lay buried, yet to die.

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