Christine Finn

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Christine Finn

	When I was a child. in the late 60s and 70s. I used to go foraging for sea-borne treasures with my father at Deal; the fishing line wasn’t so brilliantly coloured in those days. It was only when I returned to living in the family house at Deal after my parents' deaths. that I found solace wandering the same shingle. and noticed how such knots of line - litter by another name - glowed out like paint splashes on the pebbles.
Already preparing to open my house to the public for Architecture Week. I became engrossed in the possibilities of the fishing rubbish. both as an art material. and as a tangible reminder of the harm plastics cause to the marine environment.
	Since March. I have begun to gather on a daily basis. coupling the joy of such brilliant line colours- turquoise. coral. green. pink - with a scrutiny of its composition which often reveals something less appealing. I photograph the findings in-situ as unique and discrete works of art.
But sometimes the line is wrapped tight around beer cans. plastic bags and worse. when all I can do is remove the rank assemblage. and place it in the closest bin.
	The mountain growing is my garden is making the neighbours curious. It is being turned into a beach-bothy for Architecture Week; Prospero's stand against the beach litterers.

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