Anthony Turner

Carving stone involves some repetitive and meditative rhythms. Working outside in the gently undulating folds of a green dartmoor 
valley there is time to appreciate the sheer
generosity of earth’s benign and mysterious gifts. All we know to be sensitive, living, rare and sustaining seems in fragile balance. Awed beyond words, I try to celebrate and make 
sacrosanct these simple fruits and humble 
vegetables, chipping them up into a new 
stubborn longevity in stone. Peas, acorns, 
mangoes, leaves, and beans all throb with 
an energy contained in superbly refined and evolved forms. I feel compelled to search out 
the potent essence of each, and to give them 
a renewed grandeur, so they become familiar 
household gods which speak of an infinite and regenerative source of life. Touching a stone can be grounding and can help you to feel 
present-centred. The oils from the palm of 
your hand, sinking in to the petrified skeletons of primordial creatures which lived here 
millions of years ago, may in aeons to come, mix with those of beings from future worlds 
that we cannot imagine.