The living room at Monica Grove, which is about as full a picture of how I live with the work as any. A mirror ball and a cluster of etched mirror offcuts on one wall, a big oval mirror over the fireplace, framed prints in a row, a jungle of plants along the window, an old microscope, a patterned rug, everything catching the low winter sun.
A room like this is not staged, it is just accumulated: years of making and finding and keeping, all landed in one space and left to get on with it. The work does not live on a white wall somewhere else, it lives here, in among the plants and the light and the day-to-day, which is where I think it is happiest.