Watch a clock’s without the seconds hand and you’ll swear it’s still, even though you know it isn’t. Look away for a few minutes and it has clearly moved. The movement itself evades you. Only the gap between two moments is relevant.

Receptive Environments works on that same blind spot, at the scale of weather instead of a clock. For weeks before a show opens, sensors outside the gallery track temperature, humidity, light, particles in the air… continuously, minute by minute. Each 24-hour stretch becomes one image, grown by a system modelled on botanical branching, but engraved on birch wood so the shapes look less like data and more like something that actually grew from the weather.

By the time the doors open, days of invisible drift already exist as a sequence of fixed, readable shapes.

Between any two engravings, the shift feels sudden. It wasn’t. It happened in increments too small to register, until enough of them stacked up to finally cross into something you could actually see.

Laid side by side with real plant specimens collected from the same ground, the engravings don’t explain the climate that produced them. They just sit next to what that climate actually grew, two versions of the same experience.