She wanted to know if I was OK because there were reports of a fire near me. I scrambled out of bed and made my way to the balcony outside, onto my bathroom patio. I could not see the tower – just a thick column of foul billowing smoke, shifting slowly side to side. I went instead to the front room and opened the window. What I saw will stay with me forever. The tower – two blocks down from where I am situated on Lancaster Road – seemed to have leapt forwards: alive, burning and pungent – I felt like I could reach out my hand and touch it. The air was full of distant sirens and the chugging of helicopters. Everything had changed.
As time passes and the media attention waxes and wanes I am making images as questions or reminders, to mark time. The images are in response to the aftermath of this fire and the collective shock of the community who are frustrated and angry that such a preventable tragedy could happen. Now Grenfell Tower stands as a brutal symbol: highlighting the social divisions in one of the richest council boroughs in one of the richest countries in the world.