With the return of warmer days, vivid colours emerge, but are softened by the cool light. The Sun pushes against cold winds, and this reflects in all things. Sparks of lime, acid and ochre are bleached by the lingering grey; in these muted tones there are a million colours.

I think of old stone walls, speckled in lichen and fern. The sea on a windy day in Hastings under a herring sky. The whisper of colours and textures. Like a room in a Hammershoi painting: obscured vision through a muslin curtain.