Years ago I somehow and unwillingly ended up teaching art. “Line” was in the syllabus and I became a bit obsessed with learning what it meant before I fronted year 7 who were well aware of my limitations: “You're not an art teacher, are you miss?” Suddenly my world was resolved into edges, outlines, verges, rims, borders, margins, perimeters, peripheries, boundaries, margins. That's all I saw. Fine in the familiarity of my Broken Hill home, but a bit disconcerting when I flew into Sydney airport and found the same thing happening there. I needed my airports to possess a third dimension.

It's happening again. This time my world is deconstructing into triangles, and my photographic eye trawls my landscape seeking out the triangular, sometimes enclosed by a third side, sometimes a third side only hinted at by absence, and sometimes sharp angles and straight lines wobbling into a Dali-esque swerve.