Downland Gloaming: In the crepuscular light, the closing of day, I walk into deep time and the South Downs myths. For those who fear what might be lurking in some shadowy combe, copse or on some nab, then the twilight and night is not for them. Darkness, like hyphae spreading, can enter the mind, heightening the senses from the feet up to its star clustered dome, freeing the imagination for those who walk at night. In the gloaming I stare with the eyes of Samuel Palmer, I wander into thoughts of Eric Ravilious, and the compositional beauty of Paul Nash; silently I reflect on an Edward Thomas poem as I follow bright chalk paths; the mind is never still, the imagination alive in the quiet dark landscape. This reverie precedes the camera; that cyclopic device that expands the view to an equivalent of place; a psychogeographical encounter that is fixed, that preserves the essence of the moment witnessed. I pull the dark slide from the magazine back and a single shutter action that extends time occurs, marking the film’s sensitized surface. This, while I continue to stare into the darkness, into the dark motif, into deep time.