Based in London

Water gathers in the darkening clouds arriving from the west. The stirrings of a flood – land sliding from trough to trough and water running a murky pink. Somewhere in the hills, nestled in a large rock: a succulent with flower spiralling on semi-translucent stalk. The clouds have something of the same whirling motion; parts consuming parts and generations of hungry air – one field, distorted and pinched into specificity. A form, an order (or many). If through change something persists, then what exactly does the persisting? If the tendency towards regeneration has a universal presence in the natural world, then it should also have an elemental presence within the artistic process. One might push as hard as one likes against an art (against creation) and come out generating something wise beyond one’s personal scope. What form might this thing take and what spirit could it have (if indeed it isn’t mine)?