​I grew up in Gloucestershire in a world that reached back unbroken for ever. Objects spoke among themselves. Light and music were not separate. Air had weight and texture. Fields, streams, trees, walls and weather were ever-changing patterns that had to be, and I was part of it. We were illegible to what was gathering on the horizon.

 

​Then displacement. Literature was an escape from Victorian school, then armour, then weapons. Words pulled me into writing. I return to things. Materials are conduits and conductors. I love forms and cosmologies that entangle and involve in the sudden presence of the illegible.