When you first enter the gallery space, you
come upon a structure resembling a deck or
an island. Or perhaps a shard,
a piece of pottery with stories to tell, sitting on a
pedestal carved by the swirling winds and the restless
running water.

So, with great physical strength and methodical
analytical intelligence, a grid is laid out to scour the
earth for bits and pieces of information in which an
image can be created. One might imagine a rural
environment: vessels filled with grain nestled amongst
the growing crops and the wild and domesticated
animals dotting the hillsides grazing on the

Or it could have been urban, like warehouses, filled
with containers of precious herbs and oils nestled
in among the cobblestone streets and the hillsides,
created by cathedral-like structures made of steel and
glass. And the bustling busy trade and commerce
interacts within their shadows.

Within these environments are individuals with
their own stories to tell. Perhaps a person of great
age, back humped, eyes dull, staring at wrinkled and
scarred hands soaked in the clay of mother earth,
appearing like small drainages filled with the essence
of life, flowing down into meandering rivers which
in turn erode the physical stories of life only to be
deposited in another place and time.

Gary Horinek