Abstract
A watery, vertiginous landscape. No horizon line, other than the edge of the canvas, to delineate an upper boundary or localize the purview of the gaze. Our feet all but capable of walking upon and through this constructed sea-edge. Transient intellectual lichens—twenty-five sheets of paper coloured by word and image—languishing for a time on the rocks and on the skin of the water, yet even now being absorbed back into nature. An insistent colouring by nature of these human pages already underway; and a tentative colouring of nature by the papery tools of hand and mind. Yellow flowers—long-stemmed freesias—perch like little feet on the surface of the pages. Each rectangular leaf a raft of fleeting information. And enveloping all this, seeping through the scene before us, is the materiality of paint that has ushered these things into existence. Small hatch marks that fashion and open up a site of distance and definition. The gallery's lighting reflected in narrow shards off the individual bristle strokes of the brush.
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