My childhood was in New Zealand, a country where the use of corrugated iron was prolific. I remember my parents talking to English friends who had also emigrated, about how they had come to live in a country of shacks, so ubiquitous was the use of wiggly tin as a building material. I now live in Wales, not dissimilar geographically to a lot of New Zealand, and also beautifully littered with corrugated iron buildings in various states or repair. The late James Ravilious, a superb photographer who documented life in North Devon, was fascinated by how the material was ingeniously adapted for use in the rural landscape. My admiration for his work and this substance is parallel. Each building is to me like a sculpture which improves with the ravages and patination of time. Some are drawn to gold and silver. I prefer my metal when it comes in waves.
