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Still life with "Four Quartets"
2024
Oil on canvas
46 x 38 cm
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
Oil on canvas
46 x 38 cm
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
Burnt Norton I
2025
Oil on canvas
140 x 115 cm
Quick, said the bird, find them, find them, Round the corner. Through the first gate,
Into our first world, shall we follow
The deception of the thrush? Into our first world. There they were, dignified, invisible,
Moving without pressure, over the dead leaves, In the autumn heat, through the vibrant air,”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
Oil on canvas
140 x 115 cm
Quick, said the bird, find them, find them, Round the corner. Through the first gate,
Into our first world, shall we follow
The deception of the thrush? Into our first world. There they were, dignified, invisible,
Moving without pressure, over the dead leaves, In the autumn heat, through the vibrant air,”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
Burnt Norton II
2025
Oil on canvas
140 x 115 cm
“At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless; Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards, Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
Oil on canvas
140 x 115 cm
“At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless; Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards, Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
Burnt Norton III
2025
Oil on canvas
140 x 115 cm
“Eructation of unhealthy souls
Into the faded air, the torpid
Driven on the wind that sweeps the gloomy hills of London, Hampstead and Clerkenwell, Campden and Putney, Highgate, Primrose and Ludgate. Not here
Not here the darkness, in this twittering world.”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
Oil on canvas
140 x 115 cm
“Eructation of unhealthy souls
Into the faded air, the torpid
Driven on the wind that sweeps the gloomy hills of London, Hampstead and Clerkenwell, Campden and Putney, Highgate, Primrose and Ludgate. Not here
Not here the darkness, in this twittering world.”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
Burnt Norton IV
2025
Oil on canvas
140 x 115 cm
“Time and the bell have buried the day,
The black cloud carries the sun away.
Will the sunflower turn to us, will the clematis Stray down, bend to us; tendril and spray Clutch and cling?”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
Oil on canvas
140 x 115 cm
“Time and the bell have buried the day,
The black cloud carries the sun away.
Will the sunflower turn to us, will the clematis Stray down, bend to us; tendril and spray Clutch and cling?”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
Burnt Norton V
2025
Oil on canvas
140 x 115 cm
“Sudden in a shaft of sunlight Even while the dust moves There rises the hidden laughter Of children in the foliage Quick now, here, now, always – Ridiculous the waste sad time Stretching before and after.”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
Oil on canvas
140 x 115 cm
“Sudden in a shaft of sunlight Even while the dust moves There rises the hidden laughter Of children in the foliage Quick now, here, now, always – Ridiculous the waste sad time Stretching before and after.”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
East Coker I
2025
Oil on canvas
140 x 114 cm
“In my beginning is my end. Now the light falls Across the open field, leaving the deep lane Shuttered with branches, dark in the afternoon, Where you lean against a bank while a van passes, And the deep lane insists on the direction
Into the village, in the electric heat Hypnotised. In a warm haze the sultry light Is absorbed, not refracted, by grey stone.”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
Oil on canvas
140 x 114 cm
“In my beginning is my end. Now the light falls Across the open field, leaving the deep lane Shuttered with branches, dark in the afternoon, Where you lean against a bank while a van passes, And the deep lane insists on the direction
Into the village, in the electric heat Hypnotised. In a warm haze the sultry light Is absorbed, not refracted, by grey stone.”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
East Coker II
2025
Oil on canvas
140 x 114 cm
“In the middle, not only in the middle of the way
But all the way, in a dark wood, in a bramble,
On the edge of a grimpen, where is no secure foothold, And menaced by monsters, fancy lights,
Risking enchantment. Do not let me hear
Of the wisdom of old men, but rather of their folly,”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
Oil on canvas
140 x 114 cm
“In the middle, not only in the middle of the way
But all the way, in a dark wood, in a bramble,
On the edge of a grimpen, where is no secure foothold, And menaced by monsters, fancy lights,
Risking enchantment. Do not let me hear
Of the wisdom of old men, but rather of their folly,”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
East Coker III
2025
Oil on canvas
140 x 114 cm
“I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you
Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre,
The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed
With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness, And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama
And the bold imposing facade are all being rolled away –”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
Oil on canvas
140 x 114 cm
“I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you
Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre,
The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed
With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness, And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama
And the bold imposing facade are all being rolled away –”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
East Coker IV
2025
Oil on canvas
140 x 114 cm
“The dripping blood our only drink,
The bloody flesh our only food:
In spite of which we like to think
That we are sound, substantial flesh and blood – Again, in spite of that, we call this Friday good.”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
Oil on canvas
140 x 114 cm
“The dripping blood our only drink,
The bloody flesh our only food:
In spite of which we like to think
That we are sound, substantial flesh and blood – Again, in spite of that, we call this Friday good.”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
East Coker V
2025
Oil on canvas
140 x 114 cm
“Home is where one starts from. As we grow older
The world becomes stranger, the pattern more complicated Of dead and living. Not the intense moment
Isolated, with no before and after,
But a lifetime burning in every moment
And not the lifetime of one man only
But of old stones that cannot be deciphered.”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
Oil on canvas
140 x 114 cm
“Home is where one starts from. As we grow older
The world becomes stranger, the pattern more complicated Of dead and living. Not the intense moment
Isolated, with no before and after,
But a lifetime burning in every moment
And not the lifetime of one man only
But of old stones that cannot be deciphered.”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
The Dry Salvages I
2025
Oil on canvas
140 x 115 cm
“Between midnight and dawn, when the past is all deception, The future futureless, before the morning watch
When time stops and time is never ending;
And the ground swell, that is and was from the beginning,
Clangs
The bell.”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
Oil on canvas
140 x 115 cm
“Between midnight and dawn, when the past is all deception, The future futureless, before the morning watch
When time stops and time is never ending;
And the ground swell, that is and was from the beginning,
Clangs
The bell.”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
The Dry Salvages II
2025
Oil on canvas
140 x 115 cm
“The bitter apple, and the bite in the apple. And the ragged rock in the restless waters, Waves wash over it, fogs conceal it;
On a halcyon day it is merely a monument, In navigable weather it is always a seamark To lay a course by: but in the sombre season Or the sudden fury, is what it always was.”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
Oil on canvas
140 x 115 cm
“The bitter apple, and the bite in the apple. And the ragged rock in the restless waters, Waves wash over it, fogs conceal it;
On a halcyon day it is merely a monument, In navigable weather it is always a seamark To lay a course by: but in the sombre season Or the sudden fury, is what it always was.”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
The Dry Salvages III
2025
Oil on canvas
140 x 115 cm
“I sometimes wonder if that is what Krishna meant –
Among other things – or one way of putting the same thing:
That the future is a faded song, a Royal Rose or a lavender spray
Of wistful regret for those who are not yet here to regret,
Pressed between yellow leaves of a book that has never been opened. And the way up is the way down, the way forward is the way back.”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
Oil on canvas
140 x 115 cm
“I sometimes wonder if that is what Krishna meant –
Among other things – or one way of putting the same thing:
That the future is a faded song, a Royal Rose or a lavender spray
Of wistful regret for those who are not yet here to regret,
Pressed between yellow leaves of a book that has never been opened. And the way up is the way down, the way forward is the way back.”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
The Dry Salvages IV
2025
Oil on canvas
140 x 115 cm
“Figlia del tuo figlio, Queen of Heaven.”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
Oil on canvas
140 x 115 cm
“Figlia del tuo figlio, Queen of Heaven.”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
The Dry Salvages V
2025
Oil on canvas
140 x 115 cm
“Here the impossible union
Of spheres of existence is actual,
Here the past and future
Are conquered, and reconciled,
Where action were otherwise movement Of that which is only moved
And has in it no source of movement –”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
Oil on canvas
140 x 115 cm
“Here the impossible union
Of spheres of existence is actual,
Here the past and future
Are conquered, and reconciled,
Where action were otherwise movement Of that which is only moved
And has in it no source of movement –”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
Little Gidding I
2025
Oil on canvas
140 x 115 cm
“If you came this way,
Taking any route, starting from anywhere,
At any time or at any season,
It would always be the same: you would have to put off Sense and notion. You are not here to verify,
Instruct yourself, or inform curiosity
Or carry report. You are here to kneel”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
Oil on canvas
140 x 115 cm
“If you came this way,
Taking any route, starting from anywhere,
At any time or at any season,
It would always be the same: you would have to put off Sense and notion. You are not here to verify,
Instruct yourself, or inform curiosity
Or carry report. You are here to kneel”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
Little Gidding II
2025
Oil on canvas
140 x 115 cm
“The day was breaking. In the disfigured street
He left me, with a kind of valediction,
And faded on the blowing of the horn.”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
Oil on canvas
140 x 115 cm
“The day was breaking. In the disfigured street
He left me, with a kind of valediction,
And faded on the blowing of the horn.”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
Little Gidding III
2025
Oil on canvas
140 x 115 cm
“Whatever we inherit from the fortunate We have taken from the defeated
What they had to leave us – a symbol:
A symbol perfected in death.
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well By the purification of the motive In the ground of our beseeching.”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
Oil on canvas
140 x 115 cm
“Whatever we inherit from the fortunate We have taken from the defeated
What they had to leave us – a symbol:
A symbol perfected in death.
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well By the purification of the motive In the ground of our beseeching.”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
Little Gidding IV
2025
Oil on canvas
140 x 115 cm
“The dove descending breaks the air With flame of incandescent terror
Of which the tongues declare
The one discharge from sin and error. The only hope, or else despair
Lies in the choice of pyre or pyre – To be redeemed from fire by fire.”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
Oil on canvas
140 x 115 cm
“The dove descending breaks the air With flame of incandescent terror
Of which the tongues declare
The one discharge from sin and error. The only hope, or else despair
Lies in the choice of pyre or pyre – To be redeemed from fire by fire.”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
Little Gidding V
2025
Oil on canvas
140 x 115 cm
“We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time. Through the unknown, unremembered gate When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
Oil on canvas
140 x 115 cm
“We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time. Through the unknown, unremembered gate When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;”
T.S. Eliot
Photo: ©Adrien Thibault
Download the Four Quartets list of works by clicking here.
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