The stones tear like flesh, rather than breaking. Although what happens is violent, it is a violence that is in stone. A tear is more unnerving than a break.

It's frightening and unnerving to watch a stone melt.

I have six acres in front of my own house, which I very rarely work on. Most of the work occurs on farmers' fields around me. And I like the discipline of working on other people's land.

Time gives growth, it gives continuity and it gives change. And in the case of some sculptures, time gives a patina to them.

I'm an artist living in a small, Scottish village. So one would expect to be treated with some sort of caution. And the village and the farmers have shown enormous tolerance of me and interest in what I do. I mean, they don't necessarily understand what I'm doing all the time. But they, you know, I think they respect what I do and that there is a connection between what they do with the land and what I do, you know, that we're both dependent on weather and respond to that.

I can't edit the materials I work with. My remit is to work with nature as a whole.

The difference between a theatre with and without an audience is enormous. There is a palpable, critical energy created by the presence of the audience.