The assemblages themselves may include magazine pages, family snapshots, bits of fabric, string, rods, plaster casts, and so on. Calder and Brancusi make their spirits felt, while the sense of suspended animation and randomness echo the films of her father. The fragile constructions seem to be no more than momentary constellations – at any second they might blow away like leaves in the autumn wind. Neither Mrs Washington’s Bedroom nor The Field-Glass has any more solidity than a dream. Despite photography’s desperate attempt to nail them down, these will always be works in progress.