Martin Poppelwell
dear bicycle, i shall not call you bike, you were green, like so many of your generation. i don't know why. it is a pleasure to meet it again. to describe it at length would be a pleasure. it had a little red horn instead of a bell fashionable in your days. to blow this horn was a real pleasure, almost a vice. i will go further and declare that if i were obliged to record, in a roll of honour, those activities which in the course of my interminable existence have given me only a mild pain in the balls, the blowing of a rubber horn - toot! - would figure among the first. pp13, 2020
acrylic and pencil on paper
1000 x 700mm
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