Dreams

I am walking up Hampstead High Street, where I grew up - at least, I walked along there to school every day. The whole arena is changed. The streetscape which used to house Rowland Hill, the William IV, the Coffee Cup, Knowles the jewellers, Mr Mitchell's Junk Shop, Woolworth, Gages Haberdashers - all that grand area has been widened and transformed into a new display space. A series of monuments is laid out in an elliptical pattern. Each holds a beautiful, delicate ceramic sculpture representing the dead. Ladies in elaborate crinolines lie recumbent, with lace or collars in fine porcelain. Everything is delicately painted. There are huge model moths, and birds. Music is carved out in dully gold and amber shapes. Pulsating hollow or translucent panels seem to sing. Troubadours are trapped in white glass boxes, their masks are weeping.