On the way home from work this evening, Tigger pointed out to me the above scene or tableau at the entrance to Liverpool Street station. A slightly startled sculpted face stares down at us, accompanied by three pigeons, one of whom, to the immediate left of the face, seems to be taking an interest in what we are doing.
Who is the owner of the face and why is he (or she?) surprised? All over the city, faces look down from buildings, some beautiful, some ugly, many mysterious, showing a variety of emotions. Some gaze into the distance while other stare straight into your eyes as though they have some important news to impart.
For their part, pigeons are everywhere. They add the movement of life to the motionless sculptures, the softness of flesh and feather to the rigidity of stone. They are often reviled and persecuted through no fault of their own and I love them.