It’s been a while since I posted any photos but that’s not due to lack of graft. It’s because my most recent work has been under wraps for a number of reasons. I’ve had to maintain radio silence on one large piece as it’s top secret until the product launch. More news on that soon.
I also have a kitchen nearing completion, which has been a large project. It’s made of the most fantastically beautiful figured sycamore that glows and shimmers as the light changes. I’ll post some photos soon but it’s only fair that the clients get to see it first, and they’re visiting the workshop this morning.
So instead of furniture, here’s a shot from the door of my workshop and some poetry from Robert Louis Stevenson to match it. It’s really a child’s poem but who cares about that?
The photo’s looking North East, past Traprain Law. Ultimately your line of sight would hit the coast somewhere between North Berwick and Dunbar.
Great is the sun, and wide he goes
Through empty heaven with repose;
And in the blue and glowing days
More thick than rain he showers his rays.
Though closer still the blinds we pull
To keep the shady parlour cool,
Yet he will find a chink or two
To slip his golden fingers through.
The dusty attic spider-clad
He, through the keyhole, maketh glad;
And through the broken edge of tiles
Into the laddered hay-loft smiles.
Meantime his golden face around
He bares to all the garden ground,
And sheds a warm and glittering look
Among the ivy’s inmost nook.
Above the hills, along the blue,
Round the bright air with footing true,
To please the child, to paint the rose,
The gardener of the World, he goes.