A few years back I went to a studio sale for the artist Billie Bond, and on a shelf in the corner I saw a pair of feet that had somehow lost the rest of their body,  I was carried back to a brilliant teacher who, reading Ozymandias from a battered book of Victorian poetry, taught us of the cruelty of empires and how everything must fall, it’s amazing how a good teacher can light a fire that burns  throughout a life.   
 
One cold January day a month or so back I took the feet to Dunwich beach, the site of a lost Medieval city, and photographed the feet in the sand.
 
I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
                    P B Shelly 
 
Hand made photopolymer / gravure print, on Fabriano Rosaspina paper, unframed.
 
Image Size 21 x 15cm
Edition of 10

Please contact me for framing options.