May 16, 2017


on the veranda

the wind blusters and the air


         a pointed spire

         from some grim pastor’s church

         shadows the path

(far thrum of water

wind in birch trees

snatch of red


September 10, 2015

When you walk in it feels as if the walls are floating. They’re washed with some sort of pale colour in wide strips. Of course it’s not the walls themselves but a set of square paintings that sort of hover in films of light.


Agnes Martin’s work is ethereal. And I’m not...

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© Deb Catesby, 2020

Website designed by Sheila Farrell

Photography by Paul Lack