Nature, for me is raw and dangerous and difficult and beautiful and unnerving.

A snowball is simple, direct and familiar to most of us. I use this simplicity as a container for feelings and ideas that function on many levels.

Winter makes a bridge between one year and another and, in this case, one century and the next.

Once the fired stone is out of the kiln, it is still possible to mentally reconstruct it in its original form.

I've laid down in dried up streambeds, leaving a shadow. And then, five minutes later, it's flash flooded, and where I once laid is now running water, which would've washed me away, you know? There's that power and danger often in places that look so calm and pastoral to begin with.

My art recognizes the human place, the human context - especially in Britain, which is a landscape so worked by people for thousands of years, written, deeply ingrained with the presence of people.

Art for me is a form of nourishment. I need the land. I need it.