Water moves through this place.
A quill of water.
A momentary echo of light reflected.
Atavistic elements that have, and will, exist through time.
So This is Permanence.
A feeling that is right and good without having to prove itself.
A contemplative place. Calm. Composed.
Grounded in baked earth. A study in Staffordshire Blue.
The colour of bridges.
Forgive us Dora Carrington for we stole your colours.
Their pale and delicate opulence whispers of the reverence of skin.
The room as accidental geometry interrupted, only, by necessary objects.
Less a place designed than a future site unearthed.
Creeping greenery stakes claim.
Understated but enduring benches and coat hooks are punctuation marks.
Their presence makes it a place to stay in.
The gentle flow of water through the graceful copper shelving.
Its skeletal grace, framing the lilting gurgle.
The sound would delight the spirit of William Lambe.
It may invoke the interest of Alfred Stanley Foord.
A quiet reverence for water, as a material. As the material.
The catalyst of Aesop products. The heart of the street since 1577.
After all, it was the flow of water that connected Lambe and Conduit.
Reclaim that history.
A place where the past converges with the future to make the present a sacred offering.
The springs of London still flourish.