2014

In a cellar like space, earth floor, bottles, bits of bicycle, fragments of wine barrels, a torn book, sheet music for piano, rusted tools.

Bundles of cloth, tightly wrapped. Perhaps as props for barrels, to stuff into holes, heaps of rags for bicycle cleaning.

I unpick the rags, they are antique rags, to modern eyes a beautiful piece of old lace curtain, to their original owner discarded, damaged and everyday.

I unravel and wash them.

An archeological find, delicate and vulnerable, elevate a rag to treasure.