A lot of children spent part or all of their childhood at the Dove. I’ve searched for them all on the world wide web, and sent out an invitation to them to respond to the following:
1) A memory from your time at the Dove
2) Where are you now?
I’ve had two answers so far: from Nick Beech and Robin Frood. Here is Nick at some kind of Private View in the studio
and here are his responses:
Damp feet from meadow dew, skin rash from grasses, bright flavour of fennel chew, sticky sweet plums, and running from field to room to garden to workshop with William and the Robins; as Joby and Tom—gods among us—talked of wondrous and important things, like how to fit up a moped.
In love and married to Ella, we have a son—Dylan—and live in London; I lecture at a university and write about the history of architecture, on how buildings have been made, and I think about the arts and crafts tradition and its strange and awkward legacies.
And here is Robin with her beloved chickens
Here is an etching I made of Robin and the chickens in 1983
and here are her responses:
Running along ditches, nettle stings, brambles, building dens, climbing trees, sitting on hay bales, dreaming…Venturing back indoors. Is it safe? Is there a “process”* happening? Why are adults so serious and why don’t they want to sit on hay bales and dream? Or run along ditches and build dens?
Now I live in Venice, city of dreams, I’m the adult and have three children. When I take myself too seriously and forget to play or dream, I look at them and remember what life’s about.