When I was growing up I had a nagging feeling that there was ‘something behind’. I felt that I was in a room with a wonderful machine that was thinking away, feeling away, busying itself with lots of activity. Yet I sensed that there must be another place behind all this activity, where something else was going on. I had no idea what. I just knew it had to be there. This busy, machine-filled room could not be all there was.
From the age of five I attended Newbold Primary School, a bleak Victorian building in a northern English mill town. Surrounded by tall smokestacks, it had a tarmac playground that always seemed to be under leaden skies: a vision straight from a Lowry painting...
Read more
No hay comentarios:
Publicar un comentario