The Letter

The Letter, Maquette for Bronze Sculpture
36 x 53 x 33 centimetres (14 x 21 x 13 inches) Excluding the Base


In the eyes of many, history is what happened between postal deliveries. Sometimes, the only time the men had any consolation from their misery was when they received the news from their families, wives and sweethearts. In the isolation of the trenches these were more than letters; they were hope, warmth or quietness, stories of growing children, patient women waiting at home, mothers’ gossip.

We have inherited many of the letters that men wrote to loved ones back home, thanks to their caring families. Like delicately preserved time capsules they reveal only what each soldier wanted to share of their horrific experience. Yet we have few of the letters delivered to the front. All the mesmerising messages, the tales from home they most certainly read over and over, cherishing like precious treasures. Which of these letters kept a soldier alive one more day, and how many disappeared in a sea of blood and mud never to be read again?

When I made this piece, I wanted the soldier’s uniform to look a bit too large for the man within who had not had a decent meal or warm bath in many weeks. I wanted to depict a man whose interest in reading this letter over and over again made up for any misery he was going through, or at least made him forget about it for a brief hypnotising minute.
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The Letter

The Letter
Ref:
Date:
Location:
Photographer:
The Letter, Maquette for Bronze Sculpture
36 x 53 x 33 centimetres (14 x 21 x 13 inches) Excluding the Base


In the eyes of many, history is what happened between postal deliveries. Sometimes, the only time the men had any consolation from their misery was when they received the news from their families, wives and sweethearts. In the isolation of the trenches these were more than letters; they were hope, warmth or quietness, stories of growing children, patient women waiting at home, mothers’ gossip.

We have inherited many of the letters that men wrote to loved ones back home, thanks to their caring families. Like delicately preserved time capsules they reveal only what each soldier wanted to share of their horrific experience. Yet we have few of the letters delivered to the front. All the mesmerising messages, the tales from home they most certainly read over and over, cherishing like precious treasures. Which of these letters kept a soldier alive one more day, and how many disappeared in a sea of blood and mud never to be read again?

When I made this piece, I wanted the soldier’s uniform to look a bit too large for the man within who had not had a decent meal or warm bath in many weeks. I wanted to depict a man whose interest in reading this letter over and over again made up for any misery he was going through, or at least made him forget about it for a brief hypnotising minute.