This miniature tent (2.5cm tall) was internally lit and pitched on the floor of a white cube space.
Me and my mum often camped in Cornwall. It was only at 13 that I stopped sleeping on the same lilo. When I was smaller I sometimes had night terrors and in the tent on stormy nights I could not understand that the waves would not wash us off our peninsular. The only thing that made me feel safe was being curled up with mum with my face pressed into her. I do not think I have ever felt as protected as on those nights.
When I went away to an isolated welsh town for Art School I felt powerfully homesick but I knew that the place I missed did not exist anymore. I made a series of tent pieces where you could not enter the invitingly lit tent. Tents feel safe but are only made of flimsy fabric and are pitched in alien places; as such they described for me my longing to go somewhere ungo-able namely my childhood home.