Feeling our way through a process we don't understand, but learn to trust. Hands moving across dark walls, until under scrabbling fingers something lights up, giving us clues of where we are heading. I have been paining soft fabric walls, thinking about living in a tent, rolling surfaces which do not resist, and wondering where I am going. I bought paint from the dump, and brought it back to the studio. Often these tins are hard to open, encrusted from rain and forgetting. You don't really ever quite know what colour they will be. But hey, they're five bucks. When I finally pried this one open, the light shone between my fingers as I realised that this exact blue, this is the blue of Versaille. This blue, this gold... I am building a palace.

I wish to make you chandeliers.