Maybe a collage. Places. Placed. An A2 sheet of paper, finding bits and pieces to arrange on a page. Beginning, one piece, anything, a button, a golf tee, a pencil. a penny. Start from the one. Add another. A third. Something resonates. Re/arrange. Do something else. Walk around the block, vacuum a room, clean a window, dust a shelf. Come back. Ponder for a moment or two, breath, settle, see where you've got to, where you've come from. Tear a piece of paper, something thrown away, find an old stamp, little things that can be arranged on the big page. Maybe they eventually get pushed to one side. Collecting, gathering, fruits. A petal from the garden, a stone, a pip. This fragile world, where things happen, things move our feelings. Feel your way through. Opening up thoughts, avenues, paths, the commons, to ride a bike, something small, that signifies bike, a nut, bolt. Little things that represent something else, metaphors, moments, this journey through a day, on a piece of paper. Look away. Another little thing comes to mind, I wonder where it is. Look around. Can't find it. Something else comes to mind. I think I know where that is, oh, it's a book. Maybe place that on the edge of the paper, the page, this frame, just a hint of the book in the frame, the rest outside. Fragility. Presence. Tangible. Some thoughts snowball across the desert, this landscape of mine. This mind. From the mountains. I follow the way the streams swerve, the brooks babble, for a short while. Another little thing, a grain of sand, I use rice, maybe a few grains. A drizzle of something. I realise the journey is coming to an end. The day, the page, these entities. A story. A landscape of consciousness. And. As I went along the camera, from above, photographed the changes, this gathering of things, and I make a little movie, a minute or so, twenty photographs, a soundtrack, and maybe a little book, that day, a world, a life, being, alive.