Walking to Little Beach across Thelston golf course there is a corregated hut, an out-post on the edge of the golf links always smelling of creosote, full of old bits of mowing kit. This hut has had many reincarnations since child-hood and as I get older seems to be each year located nearer the cliffs edge. In this woodcut, which is a half painting really, with each version in the edition subtly different, I found myself hovering above the scene looking down on the edge where water meets land with the hut sitting between the two. Whenever I go to the sea's edge I always think of the land slipping under the water. I hope in this picture it creates the feeling of that overlap that is in constant flux.
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