We live by Bushy park. Which contains deer, trees and occasional morning fog. One morning, whilst the deer were away searching for grass, I had a look at the trees and the fog with the aid of a trusty old film camera.
My mum has this memory of a train journey: of seeing a line of little grass hills beside the tracks somewhere between St. Petersburg and Moscow.
How often do you see yourself in your child? Leo looks just like me, so it's basically all the time. But then, he doesn't act like me. Not least because he's a two year old. But also because I'm prone to a random 'muse' whilst he prefers 'thinking-in-action'...
As a sculpture student, I used to visit the Cast Courts in the V&A museum. A massive den of monuments from all over the continent. Each one is made of plaster, because each one is a copy: a life-sized piece of Europe.
There is an apple in a Josef Koudelka photograph, laid out on a newspaper, laid out on a field, miles away. It’s cut in a way that I would never do, using a knife I’d never own. And it’s just kind of… different.
Everywhere is orange. The last time this happened was the summer of 2003. But I missed it. I spent that August in the green and white of the Alps. I took a photograph of a donkey, but I’m missing that now.
Deer come, from time to time, to our window. They do so unannounced and in silence. And these guys' silence is breathtaking. It's a kind of communal abundance. And very different from my own pointy, squinting sort.
My mum, thinks about her dad, Jack, not long gone. 100 years between him and Great Grandson Leo. They met each other briefly. And now, a kind of spark of love just dances around.