Goya's Giant (1818) turns his head as if disturbed from thought. He sits naked within a distant landscape since lost to catastrophic environmental change (The White Terraces, Blomfield 1884, NZ). The things that shape us, our childhood and the world in which we are born, they are fragile things that so often we fail to value until they are lost to us. This is a deeply personal work (I am Goya's giant) about loss and the world that I left behind.