The sculptor Henry Moore was in his 80s in 1983. At four o'clock I was at his estate outside London, it started to snow. It was getting dark. I thought the snow might pile up gently over the night. I said to Todd Brewster, a writer who was with me, “Let's come back at dawn.” It was wonderful. Snow was still falling, and everything was pristine. Moore kept several statues in his fields. Neighbor’s sheep grazed about them and gave them scale.
This article is reserved for subscribed members only. If you are already a member, you can log in here below.
Subscribe for full access to The Eye of Photography archives!
That’s thousands of images and articles, documenting the history of the medium of photography and its evolution during the last decade, through a unique daily journal. Explore how photography, as an art and as a social phenomenon, continue to define our experience of the world. Two offers are available.
Subscribe either monthly for $5 or annually for $50 (2 months offered).
