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Mike Pearce  > Other > Fine Art
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Mike Pearce > Carving One of the oldest forms of expression, carvings, have been created by artists for centuries. From finely carved intricate statues to chunky offerings such as this. Hewn from the stump of an old tree, it offers a vision of the past.
Mike Pearce > Sepia Field Eyensford is an idyllic village in the heart of Kent. Only a few minutes from the motorway it seems like it's much further away. Quaint cottages and rows of old, beautiful terraced houses line the thing cobbled streets. Country cricket and summer afternoons sitting by the river eating cucumber sandwiches are all the more reason to visit.
Mike Pearce > Comic Book Paul Standing tall in the early afternoon sun, this incredible specimin of a young, virile homosapien stares across the acres of countryside. Outlined by the sun and defined by his existence, he worries not a jot.
Mike Pearce > Get a handle on this Shade or Sun? Where to stand? What's underneath? What if I fall? Where does it go? Where has it been?
Mike Pearce > Sky over Woburn The clouds move coldly through the afternoon sky as the imposing front view of one of the many external buildings frowns down upon my lens.
Mike Pearce > Spooky Treat Trees are old. Old trees are spooky. Light them right and they're even spookier. Clawing from the early evening light, grabbing for my camera and making a mockery of my calm.
Mike Pearce > Gnarly tree dude This old dead tree is gnarly as hell. It pokes and juts in all sorts of sordid ways. But it's dead. It'll never sprout leaves, never lay down fresh roots. It'll always entertain though. Plus, the deer have somewhere to scratch their backs and file their horns.
Mike Pearce > Monotone Landscape Early morning, the sun bursts through the grey clouds shrouding the dawn like a damp blanket. The deer and other park wildlife have been awake and foraging for some time. I'm here at the crack of dawn to see them before the sun burns away the motivation and the holiday makers smear the landscape.
Mike Pearce > TunnelLight &quot;The Light at the End of the Tunnel&quot; is an oft used phrase. However, you may trip over lost souls on the way, wouldn't lights at regular intervals along the tunnel also be useful?
Mike Pearce > Abbey or Bust It's not like anyone knows who these people are. They have no plaque, no description, no inscription, nothing. I suspect there might be some old curator who knows which head belongs which body embodied in the various paintings strewn around. Not me though. No siree.
Mike Pearce > A little bit of Christmas As I get older, Christmas seems to come sooner and be over quicker. Christmas became just another day in the year. Now I have a son and now it's all changed.
Mike Pearce > 2000 On the side of a small train. On a small trainline, in a small village, in a large town on an island. Feel like a giant as you sit astride it's tiny form laughing at the plebians walking around the garden centre...
Mike Pearce > Head Burn Fire. One of the four elements. The most exciting, the most revered. Dangerous, scary and all men love to stand around one staring into its depths.
Mike Pearce > Guitar He stands in the rain, in the garden, in monotone. He's a mountain, a monster, a martyr. He's wet.
Mike Pearce > Wheel The wheel spins almost constantly. Perpetual motion (for daylight hours). Inch by inch it moves slowly ferrying people up, up, up and at the apex, sharp breaths are drawn, oohs and ahhs and then the long, slow downside. An eternal wait until the souvenir shop and an icecream.
Abbey or Bust
It's not like anyone knows who these people are. They have no plaque, no description, no inscription, nothing. I suspect there might be some old curator who knows which head belongs which body embodied in the various paintings strewn around. Not me though. No siree.
Mike Pearce > Abbey or Bust It's not like anyone knows who these people are. They have no plaque, no description, no inscription, nothing. I suspect there might be some old curator who knows which head belongs which body embodied in the various paintings strewn around. Not me though. No siree.
Abbey or Bust
It's not like anyone knows who these people are. They have no plaque, no description, no inscription, nothing. I suspect there might be some old curator who knows which head belongs which body embodied in the various paintings strewn around. Not me though. No siree.
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