I cut off a smallish piece from a section of fishing net I found on the beach. The diamond lattice is broken in places and the nylon threads are frayed and tired. I hold the piece in my hands and consider its flimsiness, then I take a long length of red cotton caulking and wrap it round and round the netting and keep going until the structure is covered and begins to plumpen. I select a couple of my children’s old t-shirts – they’re too worn to wear or pass on and I have held on to them wondering about how to extend their life. I cut them into strips and begin to bind them tightly around the caulking. It’s February and chilly in the studio and I sit hunched over at my desk. The cold makes my movements small and concentrated but I work quickly as I consider my next move. The colours of the fabrics clash with one another: All the better, I think – something to work against. I keep wrapping the strips of fabric until I have something of density to work into – something that enticingly feels as wrong as it does right.