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Iron gate finials at Lichfield, Staffordshire.
"During times of crisis, artists become conveyors of emotions that go beyond what can be read in textbooks or newspapers."
— Patrick Moore, Director of The Andy Warhol Museum
You Don't Own Me
In the immediate aftermath of the Coventry Blitz, artist John Piper stood amongst the ruins of the medieval cathedral.
He noted, ‘a city stained, smoke-dried medieval church among burnt and blown-up warehouses. The church itself burnt out. Fifteenth-century windows sliced vertically in half. Plaster scored and scarified, disclosing flaked stone courses behind it. The bells, that had become red-hot before their supports gave way, lying on the ground by the west door. Tower standing – an enormous hollow chimney.’
Imagine it. All that absorbed memory. The generations that passed through it, of all faiths and none. The centuries of incense and footsteps, prayers and processions that had accumulated in those walls over time. The celebration and mourning. The whispered doubts. Each individual finding a pocket of space, a sculpture, or a snippet of conversation of value—perhaps even a stolen kiss behind a pew. The birds, the mice, the biota.
All of it absorbed into the fabric. When something so old is woven through generations, the structure becomes the least of it. As the building fell, so too did the culture, the meaning, the energy—the quivering spirit behind it all. It all came crashing down.
And there, amidst the smouldering city, the day after the bombs struck—flames still burning—stood Piper. A man with pencil and paper. An isolated figure. Amidst the acrid smack of cordite, the raw noise of war still echoing in the air, he simply began to make art.
The image itself —of a lone person sketching in the ashes—is elemental. It stirs something ancient within us. It is, at heart, a revolutionary act.
In drawing the ruined cathedral, he re-ignited something—not just in the paper, but in the fierce, unyielding belief that even in the face of obliteration, we can seize back our humanity—line by line, mark by mark.
He didn’t erase the destruction. He didn’t fix it. But he countered it.
And so it seems fitting—uncannily fitting—that the man standing in the rubble should bear the name he did.
Piper.
Pipe.
Conduit.
A vessel through which something older, wiser, more enduring might still be heard. He wasn’t merely an observer, but unwittingly part of a powerful thread of history—where certain human beings, in the depths of horror, have held up a candle in the dark. Countering destruction, discrimination, and hatred with the act of creation.
This is what art does, and always has done, in the bleakest of times. It is not escape, but return. A return to something deeper than the churn of war or the drone of the algorithm. A place where time is reclaimed, and attention becomes sacred again.
And I think this is why the image of the isolated artist—sketching, writing, weaving, building—feels so deeply symbolic. They are not merely documenting the world. They are standing in deliberate contrast to it. They say: This will not have the final word. I am still here. And I will make.
Today, this act might feel smaller. Less dramatic. But in many ways, it is more urgent than ever. Against the tide of modernity that seeks to harvest our time and attention for profit, the simple act of making becomes a refusal and a return to self.
Every time we make something—draw, photograph, paint, plant, sing, write, stitch, whittle, dance, build—we are claiming space. Like Piper amidst the ruins, we step outside the noise and begin again. In that gesture, however small, we refuse to be reduced to output or optimisation. We are not here only to absorb and scroll, but to respond—to shape, to create, to reconnect.
It is often said that art reveals what the world didn’t know it was missing. But it does more than that. It becomes an anchor. The very act of making tethers us—across division and isolation—to what it means to be human.
John Piper's act is a line thrown through the smouldering smoke and rubble of time, from the hands of one who dared to create, to all who are searching for meaning and light in today's complex world.
🎉 Introducing Member Powered Art 🎉
'All art can have the power of poetic revelation about the material world - it can reveal the ensoulment of the universe.' - Hugh Conway Morris
Member Powered Photography (MPP) has become one of the most rewarding aspects of the Genius Loci Digest—bringing the Digest to life with real impact. Funded by the monthly support of Tier Members, MPP makes it possible to carry out professional photography—at no cost—for historic places and skills. Each time we hit a funding milestone, I’m able to travel anywhere in the UK, stay overnight, and spend a day photographing a location that matters to its community—often where every penny needs to go towards urgent repair, conservation, or continued use. These shoots are then shared in the Digest, giving valuable exposure to often-overlooked gems.
From today, I’m introducing Member Powered Art (MPA). This new strand will allow me to visit a historic place and create an original artwork on site—then gift the finished piece, along with full reproduction rights, to the organisation or group that cares for it. I’ll also take photographs and document the process in the Digest, as always.
But it isn’t just about the art itself. There’s something unassumingly powerful in the act of going out into the world and making something by hand—responding to place with pencil, ink or paint. It’s human work. Slow, attentive, and filled with care. In uncertain times, that kind of making matters more than we realise.
Once we reach 170 members, the first MPA slot will open. Just four new members to go.
Thank you to all Tier Members for making past MPP shoots possible. They continue to support and inspire, long after the shutter clicks. I hope MPA will add another layer of meaning and generosity to that work.
Becoming a Member makes a real difference - thank you.
I put my heart and soul into the Genius Loci Digest and it takes a day a week to produce. With your support, I’m able to keep this digest free and public facing - and provide free photography and art. 📸🏛🚐🎨
Henley on Thames
I'm in Henley and I'm keen to visit a bookshop that I've heard of.
Inside, I pick up a book called Piper's Places: John Piper in England and Wales.
'He lived nearby you know?' The bookseller says. 'Over in Fawley Bottom'.
The next day I walk into Henley at first light with Piper on my mind.
The weather is quite lovely and the buildings shine.
I walk up to a cafe on the high street for breakfast and think that I'll sit outside and take in the view. I order a coffee and a croissant - a lovely warm- buttered croissant.
I take my croissant to the steps of the Town Hall. Here, I'm distracted by the most delightful pair of Art Nouveau handles. Their profiles outlined in the shadows, copper burnished with time, whiplash decoration - all the lines and squiggles.
'I would have lined those screws up with the incised lines' I think nonchalantly as I turn around to face the view and take a bite out of my croissant.
Then whumpf - I take a bite out of thin air. Something scrapes the front of my face, my croissant disappears, flakes fall to the floor.
I look to my right side and see a Red Kite hurtling off with its claws curled around the raised fluting of my croissant.
I first think on how miraculous it feels to have a Red Kite brush your face with its feathered wing.
Then, more practically, I head back to get another croissant and find shelter.
I find shelter in the churchyard at St. Mary's and eat my new croissant, and then with the spirit of Piper, I choose to shun the glittering pull of riverside Henley and focus on sketching a series of almshouses set upon the boundary of the churchyard.
I sit for two hours in absolute bliss. People come and go and say hello as I ink it in.
Whilst there, I notice an oft visited gravestone and take a look. It's the resting place of Dusty Springfield.
I sit for a while longer and sketch her grave surrounded by a profusion of flowers, into the scene.
Dusty Springfield. I think of her voice—velvet and defiant—and scroll through a few of her songs on my device. I come across her version of You Don’t Own Me and let it play. It's not her song but, there's a quiet fury in her voice, a refusal to be shaped by expectation.
And here I am, in the hush of the churchyard, my drawing on my lap, Piper on my mind, listening to Dusty Springfield. Pure heaven.
Perhaps Piper felt it too, standing in Coventry, drawing all that detritus. It’s what art gives us—a way to stand apart, yet still feel part of something. A way to quietly claim space, to shape what the world so often overlooks. A way to say: this is mine—my voice, my view, my becoming—in a world that so often forgets to acknowledge or ask; one that may be slow to see us, but is not strong enough to silence a pencil and paper.
I love staying at Henley CAMC
It's a short walk from the centre of Henley and also is a great base for walking the Thames Path.
I did notice a new sign on the information board warning of swooping Red Kites, but—whilst reading my John Piper book—it wasn’t the wings of a Kite that stole my attention, but the quack of a brace of ducks. Very pleasant.
Andy Marshall
OC
Tim StokesBBC News
There’s a quote by Pablo Neruda that illustrates how I feel: “There is another reality, the genuine one, which we lose sight of. This other reality is always sending us hints, which without art, we can’t receive.”
Andy Marshall
As I walk along Hills road towards Cambridge, a purple box crashes down from above the Tesco Express in front of me.
It’s a box of Kellogg’s Fruit and Fibre. It’s landed face down with a strapline that says: “So long misery guts, hello happy guts!”
“It’s a message from the other side” I think.
Andy Marshall
Andy Marshall
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Andy Marshall
I received some lovely and beautifully unique things for my birthday - I'm so grateful. One of them is enabling me to go to Paris in July on the Eurostar to see Hockney's exhibition at Fondation Louis Vuitton.
I will, of course, be sharing my experience via the Digest.
I'm looking for advice on where to stay - a reasonably priced hotel etc? Any ideas or recommendations ?
Thank you in advance!
If you have any ideas please contact me from here.
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Photographs and words by Andy Marshall (unless otherwise stated). Most photographs are taken with Iphone 14 Pro and DJI Mini 3 Pro.
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