The Tate Britain…

L.S.Lowry was on show at the Tate Britain on the other side of the river.


When I was at college I hadn’t liked him; too minimalistic for me.

Funny how I look at some works and think,

“I could do that!”

Lowry was one of those.

Full of matchstick figures blustering around in the northern landscape.


In America there was primitive art.  I didn’t like that either.

Today I understand it to be a particular form of expression.  Rather like describing scenes and emotions with words, the simpler the more complex!

When I read about a Lowry exhibit while I was here my heart lurched at the familiar stick-like figures bracing themselves in the cold winds of winter in their drab, depressing, Manchester.


I had to go and see it.

I loved it!

My favourite picture was of the beach,


no trodden earth fields instead an expanse of shimmering sea fondling a soft and welcoming sandy beach.

On the way out of the several rooms of Lowry artwork I couldn’t resist taking a photo of these school children in their red jumpers.


Dotting the floor like scattered cherries in the the barrow man’s wake.

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