Lace and Loss...

Its been one hundred and eighty three days; time moves now, fragile and grey like broken china.

Cold Soil, Cold Soul.

And those roots grow dark green and deep...

Oh March, that in-between month when the rain bounces off the windows like broken pearls, and the sunlight filters through with false gold... march is not to be trusted, it is as likely to break its promise of spring as it is to keep it; it is a month of frost and fresh greens, of flowers and rain storms... and by the middle of this month I will have handed in my proposal and started work on my final pieces of this degree...

I have a few ideas of what I want to do, but it all needs thought out logically- not my strong point. In the meantime I will keep working, making ideas expanding the narratives... These photographs were taken within two weeks of each other; they are jars with bone, paper and lace buried within them, moss growing on top. I had expected the paper to rot away but not so quickly, it disturbed me how fast it disappeared, in a matter of weeks right before my eyes and suddenly something so simple, something fragile and upsetting becomes the heart of the work...