On a long walk, I wander into a solo show of the artist Pierette Bloch. 

The main room has a long wall text that I mostly skim ... something about the repetition and rhythm within her practice resembling time within music. 

Across the room, I see a piece covered in short marks of rich black ink. 

Votives, archives, storehouses, bric-a-brac shelves, the magnetic side of my boiler, mantlepieces, picture galleries, display cases, messy drawers, white IKEA Kallaxs and shelving units from Habitat, pinboards, Pinterest, the area of skin that starts under my right arm and goes down to my knees, Encyclopedia Madonnica, hard-drives with the orange rubber lifejackets, a jeweller’s well-worn fingers

There is a very particular shade of blue that is created by shadows left when sunlight reflects off snow. Luminous and cold, tinged with white light, it catches in drifts and at the base of trees.