I found a book today that was in appalling condition, covered in enough mould to cure a TB epidemic. It was beyond repair, but luckily I was able to salvage the contents for scanning purposes.
Some of these illustrations by Reynolds Stone are barely larger than a postage stamp, but each one is as complete and satisfying as a full canvas.
Many of Stone's illustrations have a sense of quiet desolation about them. If people appear, they are always alone and the landscapes they inhabit seem to have come from the collective imagination of songs, poems and stories.
Here is a representative selection: