I have eaten the blackberries along the river Lea. I have made photographs of the allotments and I have read the works of Iain Sinclair. I have seen the paintings of Julian Perry and I have admired the photographs of Stephen Gill. Though my photographs may only be a weak amalgamation of their work, my premise remains. My photographs are a pastiche of a time past, a paradise lost; they are a historic record. Olympic Park has been made into a sanitized, redefined village green, a transmuted athletic amusement park. The wildness has been sucked out and replaced with a gentrified version of it’s former self. I have tried to make its transformation into an artificial place clear in my photographs.