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Angel


I found the angels I was looking for, post 9/11, in the Beauchamp chapel of St Mary's Collegiate church, Warwick. The whole wall behind the altar is covered with a carved heavenly host, inspiring illustrations for the mediaeval illiterate struggling to come to terms with the Black Death. Originally there was a beautiful Mary too, until Horrible Henry the Eighth nastily nicked her. What is left is either one of the largest collections of mediaeval carvings in Europe, or a wall full of very old dolls, depending on how you look at things. I spent so long drawing their eyebrows raised in wonder and praise, their elongated bodies and their tall wings, that I was asked if I'd like to work part time as a guide. I have engineered the joints of this 16 inch articulated porcelain doll so that he can strike Anglo-Saxon attitudes like contemporary woodcut figures in old books. He has removable clothes, violet acrylic eyes, eyelashes and quilted wings. He is supplied with a doll stand, not photographed; the metal arms grasping his hips would hold him securely but I like him best sitting, relaxed yet in awe and confident that good will win in the end.


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