With texts by John Holten and Sophie Kaplan

'I went walking in a slow season. Metaphorically speaking. Slow season is late summer for me, the time of low sunlight and glowing evenings. One such evening of autumn dusk I went to the artists’ studio and sat and talked a while. Nothing really happened, the talk desultory, amiable. Off the point. During the course of the chat I was reminded of the story of a soldier on his way home by the most circuitous of routes. Later as I left the studio and walked down a stairwell this story suddenly broke up into events spread across time and space, an interrupted itinerary of an episodic trip. I saw sunlight sink lower over a steamboat on the Amazon. A memory of a market hall in Spain from when I was homeless and not in love. Coffins draped in flags being ushered into a plane out in an overcast desert. Rumours written and distorted by blind poets. I wondered about the possibility of chance in all these thoughts passing through my mind: the repetition of events over time and space culminating in a friendly chat in the artists’ studio one evening. Or rather one story rendered in multiple images, objects, events in the long return home of a tired old man. The challenge I had as I stepped out of the stairs into the evening light was to find an order to it all, not only to remember a conversation but to start a new one, to start many new conversations.' - from the text by John Holten