The dislocated arms of the trees fracture and shatter the coloured air.
My current practice involves a fascination with coloured air. It does not exist in this shared space we pragmatically call reality, yet in my reality or personal myth I seem to objectify this ephemerality.
How to resemble and represent wind's colour?
Or rather, create it?
With my new work, I want to almost jigsaw shards of coloured air and fix this broken mirror so that we can see.
Reflection (in all senses of the word) reverted and not inverted, inspired by my interpretation of the English romantic poet Percy Bysshe Shelly's avowal (equating the word beautiful with truth),
‘Poetry is a mirror which makes beautiful that which is distorted’ (Shelley, A Defence of Poetry, 1821)