I left soon after 9 to walk to the estuary. After several stormy days and nights, I had caught a glimpse of the sun, calling me out. Water was running fast down the steep track, washing away mud, exposing stones and rubble laid by previous generations to support their cart wheels. Nearing the river, I was shocked to come across a crater right across the pathway. A big tree had collapsed and fallen down on to the beach. I climbed down and made work there to mark the occasion.
I wanted to make a sign to mark the passing of the tree. I gathered together small fragments of pottery, earthenware, pipes, bricks, flower pots and best white china – all strewn across the little bay and almost indistinguishable from the stones – residue from the past that had been pounded by the sea for many many years.
Oh no, not another circle… I would have liked to have marked out something different – a tree shape perhaps. But this was what I felt required to make.
Afterwards I took photos, then left. But before leaving, I removed the circle and the seaworn fragments, leaving the beach as I found it. When a piece of work is done, it is done.