A 19th Century spiralling staircase, the fragment of a coil. Removed from context & re-imagined. It is no longer a means to go somewhere, it has become the somewhere. Once held up by four walls, it is now self-supporting. Leavened by gravity and steel, heavy as the shadows. The oak and pine is pitted with a century and a half of daily rituals. A discrete addition – a cushioned seat in place of steps, is an encouragement to pause. An old thoroughfare is now a place to stop, and read. In solitary contemplation, or intimate recital.