Whenever I hear ‘The Carnival Is Over’ by Dead Can Dance, I find myself somewhere on the edge of a small town. I’m standing, somewhat hidden, in the shadow of an old delivery van, watching the last light fade. The shadows of an old tree, heavy with leaves, rustle softly across the road. Behind me a row of silent houses, their former grandeur slowly peeling away. It isn’t raining, but it feels as though it is. And I watch the last of them disappear towards the horizon.

This place I see in does not exist, so I built it on our kitchen table. The tree is actually a dried hydrangea bloom, the village on the horizon nothing more than a few small vases… Everything in itself is quite ordinary. But when put together, with a bit of imagination and my camera, they became the place I had been seeing in my head.