Light blows in at the door with the drifting sand, leaves and twigs. Stick writing of the human hand, plant whisperings – blowing through the doors of the house.
Birds, stones and shells and the utterings between these things and my hands are laid out in a sequence of works on shelves. The original works of nature are found and brought into the home and transubstantiate into clay presences through my hands, and then go back out to the world beyond as translations. They are light strong presences, both fragile and hopeful.