Original Painting : Sold
Before its phoenix-like revival, Battersea Power Station was something you mostly caught in passing—through train windows or glimpsed beyond barbed wire and concrete walls. It stood hollowed out and exposed, chimneys slowly crumbling, windows shattered in rusting frames, and great chunks of brickwork torn open where heavy machinery had once been hauled out. For nearly 25 years, its future felt uncertain—part ruin, part monument.
Then in 2006, it briefly opened its doors for an art exhibition, and I jumped at the chance to get inside and draw it. I can’t even remember the show itself—the thrill of finally being up close to a building I’d admired for so long completely took over.
Original Painting : Sold
Before its phoenix-like revival, Battersea Power Station was something you mostly caught in passing—through train windows or glimpsed beyond barbed wire and concrete walls. It stood hollowed out and exposed, chimneys slowly crumbling, windows shattered in rusting frames, and great chunks of brickwork torn open where heavy machinery had once been hauled out. For nearly 25 years, its future felt uncertain—part ruin, part monument.
Then in 2006, it briefly opened its doors for an art exhibition, and I jumped at the chance to get inside and draw it. I can’t even remember the show itself—the thrill of finally being up close to a building I’d admired for so long completely took over.
