There is a strange anarchic pleasure in grubbing around derelict buildings, especially old industrial ones. They have a sense of the foreign that your average familiar domestic building does not. These are places of exploration but also of play and much of my work revolves around this.
Your experiences as a child leave an imprint and I think my fascination was borne the day I was exploring the back yard of a recently acquired shop by my parents. In the far corner of the yard, there was a small shed and in it were the remnants of an old printing press with letter blocks scattered everywhere. It must have been here for years but there was still a very distinct smell of oil and black sticky ink. The letters were like little toy characters and I instantly loved them. I must have been about six. I still love the smell of machine oil.
I do document the places I visit as a way of recording these spaces in their transitional state but I also make work in response to my visits. This blog is a record of that.