People die, but money never does.

I've always been fascinated by the operation of memory - the way in which it is not linear but fragmented, and its ambivalence.

History unravels; circumstances, following their natural inclination, prefer to remain ravelled.

The day is refracted, and the next and the one after that, all of them broken up into a hundred juggled segments, each brilliant and self-contained so that the hours are no longer linear but assorted like bright sweets in a jar.

I'm now an agnostic but I grew up on the King James version, which I'm eternally grateful for.

I have long been interested in landscape history, and when younger and more robust I used to do much tramping of the English landscape in search of ancient field systems, drove roads, indications of prehistoric settlement. Towns and cities, too, which always retain the ghost of their earlier incarnations beneath today's concrete and glass.

The Photograph is concerned with the power that the past has to interfere with the present: the time bomb in the cupboard.