“I sat on the old fence, that separated the tableaux of the valley from the flat landscape. The sheep were fenced in and I could just look at the world from my quite mountainside. The whole world was moving out there. I saw a small child in glimpses, I saw them…

It moves without line. Without time. Quietly running, expanding and transforming, spilling through space, nourished by what was there before. Fingers and tongues licking red brick and timber, man and his story. The spreading fire resists definition, resists language – an elemental force that cannot be easily bound or held.…