Miniatures

• The never-ending evidence of everyday life, A decimal point existence.

  Pretending to be the crumbs scraped off burnt toast, Jumping in and out of the work, no bigger than a flea.

  I fall in love with the speck of green beside me in a field of yellowed paper A bigger existence disguised as small.

  The intimacy of looking, Nothing is without an identity.

  The work is a reminder of my smallness.