The Shelter Project

The Shelter

PROJECT

The Shelter begins as a print. But it does not remain one.

The Shelter is a large-scale linocut and an evolving, participatory work that exists between image and action.

It begins as a dense, hand-carved structure — a field of lines, branches, crossings and interruptions. At first glance, it can feel overwhelming. There is no clear entry point, no obvious path to follow. The image reflects a state that is both external and internal: the layered, shifting environments we move through, and the complexity we carry within them.

Rather than simplifying this complexity, the work stays with it.

Through the physical act of carving, the structure was built gradually, over time. What initially appeared chaotic began to reveal its own internal logic — not imposed, but discovered through repetition, attention, and continuous decision-making. The final print is fixed. It holds that process.

But The Shelter does not end there.

Creating The Shelter Lino Block

Embedded within the printed structure are small, almost invisible nails — anchor points. They are not immediately given. They require searching, attention, and a willingness to look closely.

These anchor points represent moments of grounding.
They can be read as people, relationships, decisions — or simply points of support that allow movement through complexity.

At the centre of the project is a simple intervention: the Red Line.

A thread introduced into the image.
A gesture.

It is small, direct, and physical — an action that requires no prior knowledge, only a decision to begin.

Details of The Shelter

Participants are invited to take the thread, find an anchor point, and start weaving. There is no single correct way of doing this. Some follow existing lines. Others cut across them. Some repeat the same connections, building density. Others search for less visible points, opening the structure in different directions.

Each gesture builds on the previous one.

Through this process, the work shifts from a static image into a shared space. The printed structure becomes something that can be entered, navigated, and extended. The red thread introduces direction, tension, and relationship. A new form begins to emerge — not designed, but constructed.

What forms is temporary.

Each version of The Shelter exists only for a moment, shaped by the people who take part in it. Patterns appear, intensify, dissolve, and re-form. Certain areas become dense, almost structural. Others remain open.

The work is continuously changing.

Control is not removed, but redistributed.

The Shelter is never finished — it exists through people.

What surprised me most was how naturally people engaged with it. Without instruction, they found their way into the structure. They made decisions, adjusted, repeated, or changed direction. When the thread slipped, they began again. When something felt complete, they stopped — each in their own way.

The process revealed different behaviours.

Some participants were drawn to the same anchor points, reinforcing them through repetition. Others deliberately sought out less used areas, introducing balance. Some hesitated before beginning, while others acted immediately. Even the idea of “finishing” varied — tying knots, wrapping the thread, or leaving it open.

In this way, The Shelter becomes less about representation and more about experience.

It proposes that within complexity — perhaps especially within it — there is the possibility of grounding. Not by removing chaos, but by engaging with it.

By choosing a point.
By making a connection.
By beginning, however small.

The Shelter is not a finished object.

It is a structure that holds the conditions for action.
A space that is built, line by line, through presence.

The Shelter - Printfest 2026