A misted back garden with its coiled yellow hose, and an elderly figure keeping the house’s slow time.

An almost empty whiteness holding one small grey block — the image reduced to its last stone.

A dark workshop burnt like a hole into the middle of a white field, its figures moving inside the scar.

Deep within a room built of static, a small aircraft crosses a remembered green field.

A wedding preserved in red, sealed inside the whorls of an enormous fingerprint.

A horse and rider cross a pale shore inside a tightening vignette, faded to the blue of old ink.

A man crouches among stones in sepia, an archaeologist becoming part of his own excavation.

An ocean of static, and at its centre a tiny golden window where three figures wade into the sea.

Horizontal interference sweeps the frame while a face waits patiently behind the noise.

In a warm parlour of paintings and a piano, a man in a white shirt passes through like a guest of the past.