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The nature of reductive monotype is one of erasure and creation, a contradictory occurrence. I see erasure and creation while I walk the tide lines of Broulee Island, following limpet directions and mollusc highways. I collect anchorless kelp holdfasts dried up on the beach and take them home to float around my studio. I get lost in the tiny details. Little goose barnacles, broken shells and tiny mollucs caught up in the heads of dried seaweed, like stars in a cloudy constellation. They have come unstuck, tossed about in high seas and washed ashore, a metaphor for the relationship most of us have with own environment, untethered, disconnected. In disrupting the surface of the perfectly rolled up layer of ink there is the annihilation of absence. A truth perhaps, that we choose not to see.

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