Rarely is an idyll conceived of as a forest. We prefer them to be open, fragrant, and bountiful. The flower punctuated mass of grass that is the meadow is depilated for gentil consumption: this is our everyday Elysium. And here like in all myths it is burnished in gold.

At first glance a bourgeois sojourn from a century or more ago presents itself at medium distance. A pyramidical ring composition centres on a standing figure with a collected bouquet. Her three female companions appear informally on the ground. There is not much elevation to the terrain and the foliage at the horizon is indistinct. No one appears in a rush.

But this Impressionist homage has more to yield. The mustard monochrome is redolent of a photographic plate of the era portrayed. With such a restricted palette, the eye enhances in acuity, as in darkness, to recalibrate to the subtle variegation of yellow tones. The perforations of flower heads bring a release from such a strong block of colour like raindrops in the utmost of heat.

With the facial features and clothing scorched away the viewer is left with the task of interpolating relationships, emotions and mood. With the figures transparent in places the metaphysical status of the scene comes into question. These ghostly figures feel tangible yet untouchable - enveloped in a chromatic stasis - preserving them like encased butterflies.