In his recent work Luke Elwes conjures up a particular space where land and water meet, where the shifting light radiates through a tree line or across coastal marshland and where the tides move back and forth through a delicate maze of creeks and channels. They reveal chance encounters with a myriad of visual stimuli: passing birds, rolling mist, scattered flora, wind blown leaves or drifting shapes, floating on, reflected in, the passing streams.
They are a fragile record of process and time, the uncertain result of a particular moment of elemental engagement, made without correction in one sitting. The location varies - sometimes close to home, sometimes in remote locations - and provides just a beginning, a way of collecting particles of colour and light, and a way of observing the play of prevailing conditions on a surface which, once it is scattered with incidental markings and stained with coloured pigment and organic matter, is then allowed to become saturated by the surrounding waters. And each time the resulting image belongs as much to the elements as to the artist who began it.