Broken twigs. Twenty cents. Tiny black beads… Caviar scent?
There are more days to come when we will be on our own
Robert Heald, Wellington
February 11 – March 2, 2016
Broken twigs. Twenty cents. Tiny black beads… Caviar scent? Plastic bolts, resin washers, metallic screws, splattered hues. Joiners tools adhesives, vessels and holes; yet there are no anchors here. Linseed, sesame seed, pine nut well. Stem of wheat, cardamom pod, peanut half, pistachio shell. Acorn top, native leaf, seasoning, corn kernel. It is what the weather makes vulnerable. Scattered coins: the amounts of money required to protect all of the real estate on vulnerable coastlines seemed so enormous as to be irrational? Watch batteries: but in these fiscal times, hardly a sure thing. Nothing prioritised, piles made; momentary fractures perhaps more akin to touchstones. To put the old out to pasture, the scattering of seeds. Many balls, a sphere, a ring, all round, to renew ideas by turning them over and inside out. Not a thing, but a doing; a clot of activity.