The waters are dark and very still, bordered by riverbanks, rich traceries of ferns and vegetation, textured and colorful. They dissect the space with a false horizon, a barrier that separates us from the twilight forests beyond. With only this remote viewpoint from which to consider the land we are forced to occupy a place devoid of experience, an absence of landscape and a physical separation from it, adrift in the deep and murky waters.
Growing up in the New Forest in the south of England, I spent my childhood exploring and playing in the woods with my twin sister. In Half Light, I consider my relationship with these places, my ongoing attempt to reconnect with the wilder landscapes of my youth and to discover if those remembered and imagined places can be found and captured again, or if, like my childhood they too are out of reach.
This body of work explores the notion of landscape as constructed; imbued with symbolism and layers of meaning. We have no choice but to impose our own preconceptions onto the land, each of us bringing with us the personal experiences and understanding that inform and skew the way we view the world around us. Living out our lives in vast cities, we are alienated from that which is natural, unable to have a truly immersive relationship with it and at best, only able to view it remotely, seeing it as an idealization, constructed and distant.