Then as I walked down the swale I tossed 20 or more sheets of 56 x 70 Arches into the wind. I wanted to push on further with this Aeolian School ' of drawing. I was trying to relinquish even more of my ego - in Calvino's words - to make a work'conceived from outside the self', and I let these sheets of paper blow free for days and days across the sandhill plains - lifted up and released by the changing winds and inscribed by the dense calligraphy of Hakea, Casuarina and Needlewood. I found them some weeks later- some had travelled a kilometre or more. They had all come to rest held in some way by the arms of trees or banks of sand. What was so unexpected was that having been made limp from dews and showers and then dried and tossed by the desert winds - their final shape usually had an uncanny rightness and strength to it. There was something classical yet also savage about these quiet monuments to wind and time. They encapsulated those two polar tendencies of art - a classical, formal approximation to Cone Cube and Circle and the random flux of undifferentiated matter. Heraclitus and Cezanne meet in the Sunset Country.

Now that a flock of them rest on the gallery wall I think of them as the aerial siblings of those drawings which previously I have buried for years and years in the silent earth. These aerial texts may have dipped their wings to the buried ones below as they inscribe their own stories deep in the ground.