Strangling the sublime

Enthusing about the sort of things that goes through an artist’s mind in responding to place is thought-provoking. I biked around Hindhead’s Devil’s Punch Bowl distilling what I felt were the most visceral parts for me – a sublime landscape partially reborn, a heinous murder and narratives of good versus evil. Conan Doyle couldn’t have planned better, and indeed his Hound of the Baskervilles was written at Undershaw, the house he built and lived in for a decade, less than a mile away.  Continue reading “Strangling the sublime”

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