I stood once on a hill staring at an opposite hill that had thrust its face into mine. I gazed at it until dropping my eyes I saw with astonishment between me and it, a lake that I knew perfectly well was there. But it couldn’t be. There wasn’t room. I looked up again at the rocks shouldering forward, I could have leaned over and touched it. And when I looked down, the water was still there, it's serene depths - a well of blue, like music swirling inside my head.

The history of walking is an unwritten voyage whose fragments can be found in songs, stories, conversations, poems, books, and in almost everyone’s adventures. One’s imagination has shaped and been shaped by spaces it passes through on two feet. Most of the time walking is merely practical, to make walking into an exploration, a ritual, a meditation, is to infuse the subject of walking, in some sense, with how we invest universal acts with particular meanings, from the spiritual to the sensual, from the revolutionary to the artistic.

Working with graphite and charcoal, building up the drawing through erasure, a subtractive process, is as much about remembrance, as it is about distilling movement. Of creating a cadence by repetition, of making a mark that makes its own groove both on paper and imagination. It is an experience of awareness as it is of imaginative enlargement.