As o'er the stormy sea of human Life We sail, until our anchor'd spirits rest In the far haven of Eternity.
Robert MontgomeryAre there not hours of an immortal birth,โ Bright visitations from a purer sphere, That cannot live in language? Is there not A mood of glory, when the mind attuned To heaven, can out of dreams create her worlds?โ
Robert MontgomeryObviously my own work comes from a conceptual art tradition, but I love the graffiti artists, and I feel spiritually closer to them than to most contemporary art; they make the city a free space of diverse voices and we shouldn't get all cynical about them just because Banksy made some money. I collaborate sometimes with Krae, who is an old school east London graffiti writer.
Robert MontgomeryThe people you love become ghosts inside of you, and like this you keep them alive.
Robert MontgomerySay, care-worn man, Whom Duty chains within the city walls, Amid the toiling crowd, how grateful plays The fresh wind oยer thy sickly brow, when free To tread the springy turf,โ to hear the trees Communing with the gales,โto catch the voice Of waters, gushing from their rocky womb, And singing as they wander... Spring-hours will come again, and feelings rise With dewy freshness oยer thy witherยd heart.
Robert Montgomery...but when The Spirit speaks,โor beauty from the sky Descends into my being,โwhen I hear The storm-hymns of the mighty ocean roll, Or thunder sound,โthe champion of the storm!โ Then I feel envy for immortal words, The rush of living thought; oh! then I long To dash my feelings into deathless verse, That may administer to unborn time, And tell some lofty soul how I have lived A worshipper of Nature and of Thee!
Robert Montgomery