future tense - Assemblage - Japan

The Japanese have a quiet love for small things.
A Korean architect once wrote about this in his essay The Beauty of the Poor. He noticed how, in Japan, beauty is shaped by the rhythm of the seasons—four distinct chapters, where change is constant. It’s a country marked by natural disasters—earthquakes, typhoons, fire—and from this, a quiet understanding has grown: nothing lasts forever.

From impermanence, tenderness arises.
There is beauty in the falling cherry blossom—petals drifting like snow on a spring breeze. Not just the bloom, but its fragile ending is what people cherish. The wrapping of things, too, carries this sensibility. Wrapping is an act of care. It adds beauty, but it is not meant to stay. Its temporariness is part of its charm.

In Japan, everything is wrapped.
Even the tiniest sweets are dressed in colourful, patterned plastic—soon to be discarded. Ready-made meals sit in delicate trays, garnished with little plastic leaves or flowers, mimicking nature in miniature. My mother kept all of these—from long ago. Forgotten in her quiet, empty house.

I gathered them. And from them, began to build.
Assemblages—born from the overlooked and thrown-away. Giving them new life.
This is where my practice began. A small gesture of care. A return.

In Australia, the atmosphere felt brash—open, bold, and unapologetically sun-drenched. There are roadside garbage days and vast op shops, filled with what’s no longer wanted. The climate suits their love of barbecues, and naturally, plastic wine glasses—once used, then discarded—were everywhere.

In those cavernous op shops, tucked away in neglected corners, I began to notice forgotten plastic things. Some felt almost antique—early relics of our synthetic age. At first, I made small assemblages, echoing those I'd begun in Japan: plastic cups, containers, bags. Glancing, responding.

But gradually, the materials changed. The discarded plastic wine glasses drew me in, translucent and strangely elegant. And then, one day, in their shapes and shadows—I began to see figures.

Back in the UK after my time in Australia, I began creating constellations of work—assemblages of individual pieces brought together to form larger, interconnected installations. This approach was also recognisable and I was deeply inspired by Heather Phillipson's solo Exhibition 'The Age of Love' at the BALTIC.  

Constellations may appear eclectic at first glance, but I see them as reflecting the layered and interconnected nature of our lives and society. Through my constellations, I present beauty and resonance—inviting others to sense the delicate threads that bind each part to the whole.