Rowley Gallery Blog
This painting by David Hollington was for me the highlight of his recent exhibition, Apocalypse Of Love, at Lauderdale House. I suspect it is a self-portrait; he’s not drowning like Ophelia but enjoying a moment of rejuvenating hydrotherapy amongst his friends and familiars. The painting takes its title from a poem by Thomas Stanley, one of the English metaphysical poets; another, Andrew Marvell, is commemorated with a nearby plaque on the wall of Waterlow Park. Continue reading “The Magnet”
The forces of destruction and creation are harnessed in the paintings of David Hollington. Winter gives way to Spring in a new exhibition at Lauderdale House in Highgate, Apocalypse Of Love, from 29th May until 9th June. Join us for the private view, 7.30 – 10pm, Wednesday 29th May. More here.
Over the last few weeks David Hollington has regularly been bringing us new paintings. Sometimes he brings just one, other times he arrives with a couple, and each time they’re increasingly more seasonal, almost like an advent calendar counting down to Christmas. Continue reading “Winter’s Herald”
Our Christmas card this year has been designed by Mary Kuper. Each year we ask a different artist to transform our Rowley Gallery logo into a seasonal Yule Logo. Continue reading “Christmas Card”
David Hollington sent us this invitation to his friend’s exhibition: Continue reading “New Paintings”
The fox slowly and artfully began to materialise on the periphery of my conciousness and seep seamlessly into my paintings about five years ago. Today I class it as a major player in my lexicon of characters; those I call upon, or more likely those who call upon me. Continue reading “Fox Muse”
The enormous equestrian statue of George III looking down over Windsor Castle from the top of Snow Hill, pointing out incoming aeroplanes on their way to Heathrow. Continue reading “Windsor’s Great Park”
There is something addictive about the Dorset coastline, I just can’t get enough. It always surprises me with its twists and turns and steep promontories. Continue reading “To Old Harry”
In the time it takes to eat a bowl of porridge at the kitchen window this morning, I’ve seen a wren constantly on the hop amongst the solanum; a couple of blue tits pecking on the fence; a small flock of long-tailed tits swinging through the branches of the trees; a blackbird sounding the alarm; the fleeting shadow of a bird upside down on the eaves of the shed, gone too quick to tell, about the size of a robin but upside down? No sign of the ubiquitous magpies or pigeons. Maybe that’s why there was so much activity, and the bright sun melting the frost. So much energy. Continue reading “Breakfast Birds”