Stone on stone

The reality of a symbol

Stone on stone

They couldn’t remember when they got here, or exactly how. They knew that they had once been together, inseparably one, somewhere far from where they were now. And that someone had given them this shape a while ago, at least that’s how they experienced it. Not that ‘time’ in itself meant much to them, after all, they were centuries old. Though since they had been given this shape and place, they had come to understand a little more about what people meant by ‘time’. There was at least one thing they knew for sure, and that was that they belonged together. But lately one was not so pleased. Grumpy, short-tempered too. The other began to be a little annoyed by that, by the exasperated moaning, the tortured silence.









Peter Randall-Page RA – Artworks and Sculptures in Cornwall – Sculpture Park and Gardens


“What’s wrong with you? I don’t understand what’s going on with you. This is the umpteenth time I’ve asked you this, and we know each other well enough that you can give me an answer.”

After a moment of silence came a grumpy reply: “Hm, well, I’m starting to get a little tired of lying here, in this position with you.”

“What? You lean on me, I support you! And we lie here nicely, sheltered and nice and warm when there is sun, and the rain washes us clean. We also have a beautiful view of the bay through the trees.” She really enjoyed the sound of the sea and the nurturing warmth of the sun, which was held for much of the night.

He sighed again. “Yes, I know you see things differently. But what’s the use of being here? And I also feel homesick for how it used to be before we got this shape.”

The other was silent for a moment. She also felt homesick, and she had heard visitors talk about it. But there was also a sense of something else, something essential in this form. He continued: “And all those stupid remarks from people about us, I’m starting to hate them too.”

“Stupid remarks?”

“Why we have this shape especially, and what it means, sometimes to the point of banal.” He sighed in exasperation.

“Ah, yes, once in a while that is the case, but otherwise it’s not too bad. And are you listening well? Most people observe very closely, and they almost always get talking when they’re standing with us, wondering about things way beyond our form and place here. They often make a comparison with their own lives.”

After a long silence, it sounded very softly: ‘”But nothing happens, at least I don’t notice any development. And they have to move on, right?”

“Well, if you ask me… All right, we’re here now, and it’s not without a reason. I think there’s a lot going on in people’s minds, even if they’ve been gone for a long time. In thoughts and dreams, I think, they continue to ask themselves questions about the why of their own form, function, uh purpose perhaps?”

“Yeah, and then, what’s in it for them? Does it take them any further?”

“We don’t know, but we’re here, and we’re doing our part. Something in me tells me that we are here in this form because whoever made us this way wanted to express something important. And that may come across in a very different way than what we can imagine.”


The two people had been through a long, difficult period. Loss of loved ones had left its mark. It showed in their attitude, in the grooves in their faces. One of the two started to walk again, but the other still hesitated, walking hesitantly around the group of statues. “Do you think it’s so special, this pair?” “Yeah, it assumes something I can’t name but it appeals to me.” “Well, I can’t do much with it.” “It touches me somewhere deep inside, and that intrigues me. That bowl shape, and all those rays that come together, as if they want to radiate further, as if a fountain wants to arise there. And then that receptive part that rests on it.” Another photo was taken, the umpteenth. “Well, it does you good, it’s the first time in ages that I’ve seen you smile.” “Yes, it makes me happy, that’s right, but how come…? Well, come on, shall we walk on?”



Peter Randall Slip of the lip, Tremenheere sculpture gardens, Penzance, Cornwall UK

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Date: March 21, 2022
Author: Winnie Geurtsen (Netherlands)
Photo: Winnie Geurtsen / Peter Randall

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