Andrew Lacey
07503 191 407
Turning dials, twisting knobs, flicking switches, pawing for a button that can illuminate some real space. Dusting off a trusty trowel with which to excavate a nook. These dug out nooks become temporal destinations of desire, like a back seat dog speeding on down the road, eyes wide, tongue lolled out; he dreams his potential encounters as the scenery flits by, his eyes glaze over with the colours of free space; he whiffs the future on the wind.
