Sometimes its small details that make me feel connected with where I am. This road outside our house, the trees as they change with the seasons, the cherries and the walnuts, the hills and shadows.
On seeing a fragment of floor tile on the way back from a dog walk, I suddenly remembered an exhibition I had seen in London when I was very young. It must have made a well-embedded memory as I have recalled it often in the past. It was several works by the Boyle family. The series where they pinpointed through a series of stages a tiny fragment of the earth's surface, and then copied its minute detail through resin and paint. The one I recall strongly was a rectangle of pathway from somewhere in London. The cracked surface of black and cream tile, the earth and weeds, the very essence of so many the city's front gardens.