I repeatedly walk the same walk in Devon, on the outskirts of the village I was raised in. Sometimes in the day, sometimes at night, sometimes with friends, sometimes with my dad, sometimes alone. Without stopping it takes about two and a half hours.


Walking this walk alone at night with no torch I find sublime: my senses become acute and I’m simultaneously terrified and rapturous.


Despite knowing this walk and its landscape so well, the night seemingly flattens the landscape and linear perspective is lost. A tree I know to be far away feels as though it could hit my face. Time leaves me and my body is in a liminal space, full of adrenalin anticipating being taken to another world. I never quite reach this unknown space.


Photographs are usually from when I walk this in the day, the drawings and writings are from the night. The neon green central dot is from a photo I took of the first piece of light I saw whilst returning home on a particular night walk: the village’s christmas star. Some areas are knitted in thin cotton, subtly revealing the inside of the jacquard knit. A space we don’t normally see.