It's a great big Victorian house consisting of two- and a-bit floors. Fifteen trees hunch over it - (I counted), birch, chestnut, pine, oak, ash, and a great big yew that almost swallows it whole. Between the two lies a sizeable garden, the type that fits a greenhouse and a woodshed. Not much has changed in the last forty years or so. The rooms where my mum and her siblings grew up remain untouched and the interior hasn't been decorated because my grandpa had been a hoarder. But now he's gone, and feels like there's just this big clump of mass left in his wake. 

 

I've began to see home not only as a placeholder for my formative memories but also as a base from which to embark on a journey. What I hope to find is a common thread of humanity, faith and freedom. The Moon and the Yew Tree is as much about origin as it is return; it seeks to bind powerful symbolism from my family home together with the people, places and things I have gone on to encounter. Ultimately this is a work about growth and discovery but equally it's reflective of my roots.