Gainsborough’s Market

I catch a glimpse of Gainsborough’s knee. Brush and palette above it stand floating. Protruding. A man at war, with gun to kill – half-cocked – not ready. He hesitates a while – allows other men to do the job in hand. He watches, thinks, but feels unable to run. Feet frozen, tailcoat stuck. Committed.Continue reading “Gainsborough’s Market”