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My current collection finds the storm quietened. It expresses sadness at the world, the climate crisis and the mess my poor children are set to inherit, through no fault of their own. The images themselves look innocent enough: scenes of nature and weather cycles, a friendly sun and happy flowers, or crunching snow underfoot. The fact is, I am protecting my children from the truth of it all by hiding it away. A mist obscures the distant horizon: we can’t see what dwells there any more than we can see what the future holds.

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