Moon, sometimes hidden, ever present.

A constant, a source of nocturnal light, so different to the sun. Each time different, I can remember moons from childhood, looking out of the car window, looking for the man in the moon, seeing his face and how its mood would change sometimes sad, angry and sometimes smiling at me. The child believes in these things until the time for make believe seems to be over.

The moon on holidays, foreign travel, reflected on the lake and sea simultaneously in the Finnish archipelago, bathing in its light on the wooden verandah of a Turkish wooden farm house.

The moon and moon like forms recorded in photographs, my observations, in collages in the delicate tissue “Transition” pieces and in fine cotton organdies embroidered in a light honeycomb structure that traps and reflects the light.

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