Travelling through Suffolk

The landscape transforms itself in front of you, from a near Dutch flatness and a Mondrian 2-dimensionality to long flowing sensual waves that you caress via the road you're driving on. Those roads are ancient, pre-roman. Expressions of needing to get from here to there, of movement and transformation.
You're communicating with the land, via that path, once begun by a few goats, perhaps. Or people, who didn't want to be where they were now. That's my definition of traffic: not wanting to be where you are now.
I am reminded of Mondrian's dunes, and that one drawing of a nude (Agaath Zathreus?), which was discovered only a few years ago. There's a tantalizing similarity between his dunes and the nude, frozen movement, yet forever dynamic the moment you behold them, expressions of love, pure desire, lust.
In the distance I hear echoes of Barbara Hepworth's words about her first experience of the Yorkshire landscape by car, which inspired her work as a sculptor:

"All my early memories are of forms and shapes and textures. Moving through and over the West Riding landscape with my father in his car, the hills were sculptures; the roads defined the form. Above all, there was the sensation of moving physically over the contours of fulnesses and concavities, through hollows and over peaks - feeling, touching, seeing, through mind and hand and eye. This sensation has never left me. I, the sculptor, am the landscape. I am the form and I am the hollow, the thrust and the contour."
(From: Extracts from Barbara Hepworth, A Pictorial Autobiography, Bath, 1971)

These words were written on the wall in the Hepworth Museum in St. Ives, and they gave me goose bumps when I first read them, many years ago.