Hanna Sorrell

It can nestle in the palm of my hand, and looks like a part of a bigger whole. Lighter than you’d expect. Textured like sand, it feels like it could wear away if handled without care. It feels like it has chosen to be solid. It comes from a moment of change, of choice, of a decision taken and a commitment made. Its surface is grainy, its curves are smooth; it’s full of contradictions. It has the memory of the smell of salt, of sea, of suncream and hair warmed by the sun. If it were food it would taste of surprise and chance, of fate and fortune. The spike of lemon brightening chargrilled fish. A grain of sand in your teeth. It tastes like sunshine. It tastes like love.