“Green Fuse” stag print

£45.00

Red and green striking large stag print with full moon and oak tree

In stock

Description

“The force that through the green fuse drives the flower”

This is a large limited-edition hand-screen printed work of a stag surrounded by an oak tree with a full moon in the background.

The stag was pencil-drawn and inked by brush before being prepared for printing.

There are two colours used, red and green, and where the green overlaps the red there is a very dark green, almost black background.

The print is numbered, named and signed in pencil – it is a strictly limited edition of twenty.

The print size is A3; the mount size is 40 x 50cm. The mount colour is black and the backing board (unseen) is grey.

Paper: The print is on thick 180gsm off-white heavily textured recycled paper made from elephant poo (I kid you not). Don’t worry – it doesn’t smell!

Mounting: The print comes mounted with black mount board as per the photo and wrapped in cellophane for protection. The mount size is a standard one, so getting an off-the-shelf frame for it should be simple.

Postage is free and at present I only post to the UK.

In case you’re curious, the name of the print comes from the Dylan Thomas poem below, which was stuck in my head as I printed it!

The force that through the green fuse drives the flower

The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.

The force that drives the water through the rocks
Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams
Turns mine to wax.
And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins
How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.

The hand that whirls the water in the pool
Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind
Hauls my shroud sail.
And I am dumb to tell the hanging man
How of my clay is made the hangman’s lime.

The lips of time leech to the fountain head;
Love drips and gathers, but the fallen blood
Shall calm her sores.
And I am dumb to tell a weather’s wind
How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.

And I am dumb to tell the lover’s tomb
How at my sheet goes the same crooked worm.

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