Signs

I love signs: shop, railway, municipal, pretty much anything with an impressive or unusual font. This particular acquisition was spotted rusting away on a formica table outside a nameless treasure trove on the Lillie Road in Fulham. The sign' s provenance is unknown, could have been salvaged from the car or cigarette factory, I have no idea if Bristol cars or cigarettes are even synonymous with one another. The beauty of a piece like this is that you invent the story. I see it glowing and flickering majestically outside a gentlemen's drinking salon circa 1960. I have since revived the unearthly green phosphorescence, looks wild yet quite lonely in a darkened room.