Sitting back; away from the path, a shallow puddle of sand. One has knelt to touch the seeds of yellow, to trick the barren bead into flourishing, to grow a limb reaching to ‘the hostile emptiness of the sky 1’, a pillar upon which to stretch the writhing map, it’s four faces twisting, seeking a fissure between the stones, it’s body unwilling to be read, it’s paths leeched and branded into hide, it’s terrestrial form a medium through which to follow the high sky.

1 Dick, P. (1999). Do androids dream of electric sheep? 13th ed. London: Gollancz, p.16.

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An installation of yellow sand and grey slate stone, a strange pocket of a barren landscape speckled with unknown instruments of navigation...

Here the ritual of navigation has changed, the Stone inscribed is stowed away, a map of fabric is unraveled and pinned in place, its faces contorting, unappeased with its use, it wished to remain in the damp hollow earth, away from unyielding light.

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