a vast dried seed head gone to silver filaments, pale, pushes up out of a dense low bloom field running to both edges and filling the lower third, the form standing in it in a near-black conifer forest, the frame four-fifths dark, tangled into a dense knot of cords, the cords crossing over and under each other and each one cabled like rope, its structure read in the lit edge alone. soft even dusk, the sky a narrow pale band at the top and the land below it dark, the light shadowless — and the filaments lit from behind, which is what keeps the frame's separation. The floor dense and unreadable, the form's lit face clean. one person alone in a white robe, walking away from the lens, tiny — about one fiftieth of the frame's height, too small to read a face, low and off centre. Hushed and a little funereal. full rich colour across the whole frame with every surface carrying its own real hue, but nothing pushed to maximum intensity and nothing neon or electric, colour deep and true rather than bright, highlights clean and small with no blown-out white areas, deep shadow present