We should consider the physical reality of ‘Animal Earth’ before becoming caught up in the poetics of the rippling surfaces. Like dry dusty pools, both one thing and countless millions of tiny particles. They lack the cold certainties common to so much sculpture, displaying instead a sort of indeterminate, transient, impermanent quality – not quite there, never the same twice, dependent on and altered by the warmth and humidity of their architectural surroundings, a simple piece but one it’s easy to become lost in, absorbed by the decaying and regenerating landscape. Dust is the debris of humanity - decay in the form of dust, the stuff of human passage. We add to each little white grave with our skin flakes as we pass. Once, not long ago, dust constituted the smallest thing the human eye could see, now each one is a tiny calcium carbonate planet, which would reveal it’s own eroding, energetic little landscape under the electron microscope.