An extract from a recent review of Recovery by Gracia Haby
You could tell me I began in the foyer, moved to the vast former machine hall, proceeded to a small room where I sat beneath the stairs in an alcove before being gently ushered back to where I began, the same but different, but it was more than that. It rested on the skin before seeping in (perhaps for you it burrowed), and I feel very fortunate to have experienced this ceremonial dance of what was and what is. Time altered. Space altered. Perception altered. A balance held between the inward and outward gaze, the then and the now, moving from a place of mourning to one of celebration before ultimately pushing us out into the hum of the electric night. “Recovery,” to me, remains above all a balance few could pull off.