I couldn't resist sharing this little bit of found art with you. As many of you know, my computer was recently converted from steam to diesel, and as a result hundreds of photographs I'd thought were consigned to the dustbin of history have miraculously re-appeared. I don't know why I stuck the camera into a little Rowney ceramic paint pallette, but something about it appealed. I usually use big dinner plates for squeezing out my gouache, which then get forgotten under a pile of old Radio Times and torn Penguin books. "Where have all your plates gone" is often heard in the Ashley Towers kitchen. What I like about this image, and one that I know anybody who does similar things will recognise, is that it tells a story of impatience. This is the back of the pallette, which means the front was chocker with dried-up paint already when I reached out for it. As were all the other pieces of crockery hurriedly pressed into service. Once a year they get gathered up and taken to the scullery where they lie in soak for a day, the water turning to an indeterminate grey blue. That's it really, I'll get on the blower to Nick Serota and ask if he wants it blown up to fifty feet across and nailed up at the end of the Turbine Hall at Bankside.
I am a writer and photographer who spends all his time looking at England, particularly buildings and the countryside. But I have a leaning towards the slightly odd and neglected, the unsung elements that make England such an interesting place to live in. I am the author and photographer of over 25 books, in particular Unmitigated England (Adelphi 2006), More from Unmitigated England (Adelphi 2007), Cross Country (Wiley 2011), The Cigarette Papers (Frances Lincoln 2012) and Preposterous Erections (Frances Lincoln 2012)