I have lived in cities all my life. When I was a girl my parents owned a house in the mountains where my father, country-born, would take me for walks in the woods to teach me about trees, mushrooms, wild animals. As childhood gave way to adolescence I lost interest in these excursions and embarked on a trajectory of thrill seeking which would eventually lead to larger, brighter, faster cities far from home. But a few years ago trees – often solitary, looming – started appearing in my images and I felt compelled to seek out forests once more. The woodland of Selva Oscura is subjective and fleeting – a netherworld between reality, memory and dreams, where personal history and imagination collide and where a now adult gaze roams, looking for an epiphany or perhaps just clues, as it tries to find its way through the encroaching dark.