From the skin of the bird, the breast of the deer…..

my hand comes around to grasp, to hang on. Back in my studio it has been difficult to find my way. A head full of voices, all whispering different things… what am I doing? … is this any good?…..recent frenetic activity has left me confused, out of touch with the process in my studio. I think about floods, about ebbing and flowing, about little spheres which are cast off and which we might glimpse, or catch;  about feathers which are formed by the trace of a belly, and which might connect two people; about the birthing power of water, and of how we can float, or sink, or drift; about colour and how I long to return to its gloriousness.

New work, August 2013
New work, August 2013