The ocean has always held a fascination for me. When things need putting into perspective I am drawn to the sea. Something so much vaster than me, older, perpetual, constant yet always changing. When I jump with giant waves it feels like flying, being lifted high in the swell. Then dropped back onto the stones in a shower of foam. The weight of the water, the feeling of being held, part of a mass. Looking out to the horizon across the water, never ending sky, uninterrupted. The sense of time is different, space, elements, light. Each visit is different, the landscape has shifted, reshaped. The sea has offered up new gifts, tiny treasures, lost and found, rediscovered. Tangles of fishing line with rusted weights torn away by the water. Fragments of metal, worn and sculpted, their identity eroded over time. Wood that once belonged, now abstracted by the elements. Shell particles and edges left behind, inner structures revealed. Brightly glowing rust, skeletal feathers, polished bones, ancient pebbles. Now when walking along the beach my family collect together, often handing me finds as gifts. Each object holds a story, a past life and a reminder of the day’s journey. All things pass, all things change, leaving only traces of evidence. Remnants of stories.
Creative Life in Suffolk 