Tim Norris Sculptures
A solid iron gate marks the start of the day, as its rusty hinges rally against being opened, a glimpse of tree lined path beckons me forward. As the gate relinquishes its stance I cross an unseen boundary, the sounds of the city give way to the sounds of the park. An early morning mist covers the ground and climbs the trees, yet I know my way, its a path I've walked before.
The work is cold, the tools seem to shake the warmth from the hands, yet its hugely satisfying seem forms appear as you remove and define the wood.