The composite photographs in the gallery stitch still images together in space.
Working on them with Crispin Hughes involved extended periods together in drained and waiting sea-caves, leaving quickly to take the equipment to safety each time the tide returned.
I wanted to know what happened once we were gone, to experience some of the forces forming and acting on these spaces over time. I realised that the seductive danger of the rising tide did not always have to be a limiting factor, it was actually my subject; and that surrendering control was part of the point. The camera and I were bodily taken by the water.
Timelapse photography and film, especially of landscapes, carries the expectation of a fixed or at least predictable camera position. Here the camera is taken by chaotic forces in a 12-hour tidal cycle, thrown about by the mass of advancing and retreating water. While the viewpoint feels subjective, the compositions are produced by the natural forces at work. Human beings are irrelevant, and yet the camera itself is our proxy in the cave.