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Cycle I

The Chosen Ones

99 plates from the first hanging — musicians, workers, sleepers, keepers of small lights. Walk the whole wall, or step into a room.

99 plates

A giant of the shallows, gold-eyed, as if the sea had sent an envoy to sit for a portrait.

From deep below

The Visitor

A gilt clock, a floral corset, the press of lenses. Theatre that forgot it was a lobby.

The costume catwalk

Velvet Hotel

Wind in the hair, a bow across the strings, lanterns for a crowd that has not yet arrived.

Secret violin, street dance

Come a Little Closer

A cobbled street, a brass clock, two bodies that have decided the night is enough.

The secret street dance

Night Square

A creature that carries its own weather. The canticle of the deep, held still.

Illuminated in black water

Lantern Fish

She sits the cello as if it were a second spine. Spotlights, burgundy boots, a vow to the wood.

The orchestra waits

The Cellist

A cracked tower, a stair into the spray, a lamp that will not go out.

The keeper’s weather

Black Storm Light

A child balanced on a single stone, arms open to a desert that has become a stage.

Danced for a pebble

River of Laughter

A wet roof, a grey coat, a city that has agreed to be the floor.

On his hands, in the weather

Rooftop Rain

Dust of another century on a marble floor. She has not yet decided which year this is.

Suitcase, modern lobby

The Arrival

A boy at the front of the section, as if the century had asked him to begin.

An orchestra of violins

The Young Concertmaster

A blonde head, pearls, a tweed coat used as a pillow. Rest as luxury and surrender.

On the way to sleep

I’ll Sleep in the Car

Accordion, fiddle, a cello the size of a life. They play as if the pavement were a stage.

Street band, shopping hour

The Three Graces

Trumpet, sax, a cream corset in the sun. Smoke and spit-valve gold.

The street band, midday

Brass Weather

Buckets, a battered drum, a violin held like a secret. Music from whatever was at hand.

Self-made instruments

Found Orchestra

A musician asleep beside his instrument. The street keeps his place.

Les Meuniers, autumn

Dreamscape Lane

Waves climb the stone as if they had been invited. The light still answers.

The sea takes the steps

White Tower

Moon, mercury, seahorse. Time poured until it learned to swim.

A clock the tide can keep

Liquid Moonlight I

Moon, mercury, seahorse. Time poured until it learned to swim.

A clock the tide can keep

Liquid Moonlight II

Attic light, racks of white, a pink froth of tulle. She is not shopping. She is becoming.

Choosing the new dress

The Dressing Room I

Attic light, racks of white, a pink froth of tulle. She is not shopping. She is becoming.

Choosing the new dress

The Dressing Room II

Attic light, racks of white, a pink froth of tulle. She is not shopping. She is becoming.

Choosing the new dress

The Dressing Room III

Goggles, a wrench, a wheel that will ride again. The shop is a chapel of grease.

Repair as devotion

The Bicycle Shop I

Goggles, a wrench, a wheel that will ride again. The shop is a chapel of grease.

Repair as devotion

The Bicycle Shop II

Needle, last, a boot that has already walked a century. He mends what the street wears out.

A stitch against time

The Cobbler I

Needle, last, a boot that has already walked a century. He mends what the street wears out.

A stitch against time

The Cobbler II

The catwalk is over. The silk has not yet learned it is clothes again.

The new dress, still warm

After the Showing

A kitchen task given the gravity of a still life. Earth on the hands, gold in the window.

Dinner, full shot

Peeling Potatoes

A table, a plate, a will. One of the Chosen refuses the ordinary.

Supper as a standoff

The Uncooperative Boy I

A table, a plate, a will. One of the Chosen refuses the ordinary.

Supper as a standoff

The Uncooperative Boy II

Not a concert. A man and a violin agreeing to continue.

A little light on the strings

His Tunes

A hound in stirrups and leather. Sport as costume, loyalty as the game.

In full baseball kit

The Catcher

A silver rider, a rusted frame. The joke is old. The dignity is new.

The improbable commute

Fish on a Bicycle

Smoke, iron, a man who feeds a street. Labour with theatre in it.

A very creative fire

The Grill Truck

Bodies in a square that has forgotten work. The street is the instrument.

We take the joy out dancing

Joy in the Streets I

Bodies in a square that has forgotten work. The street is the instrument.

We take the joy out dancing

Joy in the Streets II

Bodies in a square that has forgotten work. The street is the instrument.

We take the joy out dancing

Joy in the Streets III

Leather chair, red boots, a child who has not learned to look away. Inheritance as a stare.

A baby and a rich man

The Lesson

Peonies and roses past their first morning. Beauty that has already begun to remember.

The most magnificent showing

The Bouquet

Ties as streamers, a dance that should not fit in an office and does.

The cubicles remember they have legs

Flashmob

Dust, accordion, a line of bodies that have earned the right to turn.

Workers’ polka

Shoulder to Shoulder

Two faces that have not yet agreed to the day. Steam, rags, a borrowed bench.

Coffee on the last train

Early Morning Pain

Mud on the palms, a small galaxy of petals. A gift with no wrapping.

Flowers in both hands

Offered

Fur over peeling paint. Sleep as a complete occupation.

The cat who keeps the desk

Ghosty Sleeper

One flower, fully decided, in soil that has only just remembered rain.

A garden from a bulb

The First Bloom

In a motorcycle shop, a man plays a horn that used to be a machine.

A brass made of engines

Exhaust Horn

A body in flowers, as if the path had been planted for this exact speed.

Running, uncut

Through the Garden I

Lamp, thread, a woman who treats cloth as a second weather.

The atelier at work

At the Machine

Colour, dust, a square that has decided against silence.

A street that will not sit down

Joy in Peru

Porcelain as ceremony. The smallest request, given a throne.

Please

Just a Cup of Tea

A sandwich, a stack, a sky. Rest measured in bricks.

The break that builds the wall

Lunch on Bricks

Hats, china, a lawn that has dressed for company.

A garden in full service

The Master’s Tea

Silver, linen, a hand that knows the next cup.

The garden continues

Pass the Teapot

A pageant for pictures. The winner is whoever the light chooses.

Elections at the stage

Miss Artwork

Bodies arranged as if a conductor had written the street.

The dance has a score

Orchestrated

Porcelain stacked until it became architecture.

Kitchen, after the party

The Mountain of Cups

A mountain of cups. Hospitality as a second job.

The aftermath of china

Ready to Be Washed

A European square remembered harder than it was lived.

Picturesque, and then some

Old City Centre

Tiles, chimneys, a weather that belongs only to the roofs.

The city from above itself

Rooftops I

Tiles, chimneys, a weather that belongs only to the roofs.

The city from above itself

Rooftops II

Shears, stems, a woman who harvests colour before noon.

She helps the gardener

Cutting Flowers

Purple as a climate. She wears the room as much as the dress.

Looking her finest

Violet Living

Petals in the wake. The garden was always a corridor.

She does not slow

Through the Garden II

A second flight through the same planted weather.

The garden keeps her

Through the Garden III

An old woman, a needle, dried roses becoming cloth again.

The stitch is the stem

Flowers to Silk I

An old woman, a needle, dried roses becoming cloth again.

The stitch is the stem

Flowers to Silk II

Boots that have finished their shift and are waiting for the feet to remember.

Work, set down

Shoes on the Curb

A voice that does not ask permission of the square.

Singing in the streets

We Shout

A body given back to the dark. The salon keeps watch.

The quiet hanging

Sleep Softly

Dream and street occupying the same shoes.

They dance without waking

Sleepwalking the Square

They rest where the day left them. Dignity in the unguarded.

The city as a bed

Public Sleep I

They rest where the day left them. Dignity in the unguarded.

The city as a bed

Public Sleep II

No permit. No pause. The cobbles keep time.

Street dancers, full occupation

The Square, Taken I

No permit. No pause. The cobbles keep time.

Street dancers, full occupation

The Square, Taken II

The last of the taking. The square belongs to the dance now.

A flood of feet

The Square, Taken III

A lawn of porcelain. Ceremony stretched until it became a landscape.

Tea for a crowd of hats

Palace Tables

A body walking a weather that does not want to be walked.

And still you move through

The Air Is Heavy

An instrument that should not work, and does, because he asked it to.

A boy and a homemade string

Rubber-Band Fiddle

Boxes, shoulders, a dock that has always been this painting.

Cargo from the ship

The Crew

A tray, a smile earned, men who will go back to the dust.

Tea at the edge of labour

She Serves the Workers I

A tray, a smile earned, men who will go back to the dust.

Tea at the edge of labour

She Serves the Workers II

Plus-fours and a look that could found a club. Sport as theatre.

Old-school costume

The Master, Golfing

He plays what he built. The shop is the concert hall.

A young man, a homemade brass

Scrap Horn

Another crate, another crossing. Labour as a procession.

The dock continues

From the Ship

A bird in a helmet, as serious as any knight. Wonder in full kit.

Armour for a small general

Helmeted Bird I

A bird in a helmet, as serious as any knight. Wonder in full kit.

Armour for a small general

Helmeted Bird II

Water through an old city, gold in the current.

The town turned to watch

Best View of the River

A woman putting colour back into the ground. The garden begins again.

Hands in the bed

She Plants

A voice, a tin, a street. The instrument is the courage.

She sings into what she made

Homemade Microphone I

A voice, a tin, a street. The instrument is the courage.

She sings into what she made

Homemade Microphone II

Each petal a sentence. She already knows the language.

A coded bouquet

What the Colours Mean

Nothing but white, and still it is not simple.

A monochrome garden

White, and Lots

A hat that grew. Scarlet flowers where a milliner would have put silk.

Roots for a crown

Scarlet Hat

The count at the end of the week. Faces that know the arithmetic.

One worker, mere coins

Pay Day

A line of boots. The men have gone; the work has not.

The shift, set down

Boots by Six

The same job, a later face. Time is the other foreman.

Labour as a portrait

Getting Older

A road that is always being made. Sweat as weather.

The crew, the dust

On the Road

A face that has not been excused from the day.

Close on the work

Sweat and Tears

The first light, the first row. The land does not wait.

Morning already at work

Early Fields