Foreword to Scope Creep

Scope Creep grows quietly, continually, almost without notice. It is more than can be held. The Scope Creek is green with gyrating, endlessly multiplying pond life. We, all of us, fit into the boat. We bring our nets and packed lunches from home and go on to a day on the water.

It has been a long year for growing. Microsoft Teams makes light enough to sustain the weather in a hundred halfway bedroom-garetts. Frogs crawl out sun-struck from the inlet with fine mullets on them, having been separate in the dark a long time, and with all the hairdressers being shut. They no longer recognise only one spring.

Scope Creep is a muddied extension of a studio, moving out into the world. It is an opportunity to gather together a dialogue from the territory that we each helped to vegetate (this is where the nets come in).

The ground we reap here is fertilised with many dead and famous men. Not least among these is John Ruskin himself, in the 150th anniversary year of the school that he founded.

Thank you, John, for all the flowers.