WITH HEY, HO
Any great art work … revives and readapts time and space, and the measure of its success is the extent to which it makes you an inhabitant of that world – the extent to which it invites you in and lets you breathe its strange, special air.
I have long held that Twelfth Night is one of the plays the world could least well do without. To mark this particular Twelfth Night and the start of the 400th year since Shakespeare’s death, a short film:
As it also Epiphany, here is another photo of the small unseasonable epiphany of the daffodils in our Sussex garden, taken in the sunshine of the last day of 2015, before the wind and rain returned.
And a reprise of my reading to camera of T. S. Eliot’s ‘Journey of the Magi’, a poem I first read publicly as a lad of seventeen in West Bowling, Bradford.