These empty whelk shells seem to hold the personality of their previous occupants through colour and texture; some are adorned with barnacles, others virtually smooth. The closer I look the more I fail to find the words to adequately express the fine detail and individualised styling on each of the shells I have before me.
Now I’ve looked up and away from my study I find myself lost in a daydream. I’m staring at a blue and cloudless sky watching little vapour trails from passing planes. These little unnatural streaks in the sky feel as peaceful and natural as the empty shells I’m holding.
There must be a way to imprint something on these shells that speaks of this harmony that I feel can exist between man and nature. There must be some visual way I can express this sense of balance and tranquillity. Right now though, I have nothing.