PLOT
Art, place, and growing are entangled, like roots under the soil. You can’t really separate them without losing something. A place shapes you—its colours, its sounds, the way the air feels in the morning—and that seeps into the way you make things. Art is basically a conversation with your surroundings, even if you don’t notice it.
Growing is the slow part. The same plot, the same soil, the undergrowth, it changes insidiously, suddenly looking different because you’ve changed. The work becomes a record of those shifts, a map of abundance or desert, according to the weather and the ability to understand how to tend the land. Growth doesn’t always look impressive; sometimes it’s noticing that a weed is just a plant out of place, or the light is falling differently as the sun moves across the sky.