Posted: 17th May 2021
Moffat Peter LINDNER
b.1852 Birmingham – d.1949
The Flowing Tide c.1910
Oil on Canvas
Moffat Peter Lindner painted mainly maritime scenes and landscapes in France, Italy, London and Cornwall.
Lindner was well respected in St Ives and captured phases such as moonlight, dawn, and sunset.
Lindner’s style of painting in The Flowing Tide style of painting is similar to Monet’s treatment of light.
With its liquid pool of ultraviolet tones and rippling softness of surfacing waves, this atmospheric landscape is almost iridescent.
Samuel Courtauld, the founder of The Courtauld, wrote poetry about the artworks in his collection. Following in his footsteps many years later, young people aged 16-25 from The Warren Youth Project in Hull, were inspired to compose their own creative writing.
The Flowing Tides, 1910- A Haiku
The Ocean flows in
A Tide carries many waves
Until it goes out
By Andrew Gooch
Step into the Frame (based on The Flowing Tide c.1910)
On the edge of the shore,
these waves feel real, like you can
reach out and be there with them.
What adventures could be found?
Where might this be?
A favourite place or destination long dreamed of,
with memories gained or those still to come.
Reach out and take the journey to see,
where might you go next?
By Kelly Cartwright
Based on The Flowing Tide c.1910
Shushing static brushes in the colour of an end. Your fingertips are on the dial of an invisible radio. It tunes into the waves, clockwise through the stations.
Van Morrison sings you back to your youth where your flares are kicking mud because your legs are too short. Brown eyes flake into gold under meteor nights.
(That boy from Liverpool promised he’d call, but the ring never came.)
Political debates around the square kitchen table.
Crackly phone lines with bonfire words. You can never quite pick up what everyone is arguing about. (The host always douses out the argument of the day,
But the issue lingers between your parents like smoke.)
Bass as deep as ocean depths shallow lyrics that everyone knows
Good times good nights good drinks bright lights tight clothes loose wallet lose themselves in all of it. (This shade isn’t your scene, but you watch your maturing daughter handle indigo nights.)
Green, visible light,
Growing vegetables in your own garden Reeds of the pond hush
And listen to your whistle.
Sun-wrinkled skin, and Radio 4 Drama plays out from an old stereo you got when you were sixteen. (Those analogue days passed away, but they were yours.)
You twist the dial anticlockwise, and the stations stone-skip across into
Foamy silence. Lipping sand skin.
Shell to the ear,
Someone speaks to you
Through the final waves.
By Sarah Magaharan