That Day, the Tree
And I watered it in fears. William Blake, ‘A Poison Tree’ Strange, they said. There she goes, whispering of smashed wood, split faces. Going to the oak again? Old Hannah, mad Hannah, who does not look us in the eye. “It
Icebergs
CLOSING SOON. Olafur Eliasson’s Ice Watch, Tate Modern, 2018 We had come for the melting icebergs. We came early, clutching phones and children, to our space before the Thames, where the artist had assembled those lumps of cold whiteness. A menagerie of endangered specimens of ice – it wanted so
