The thing about being able to sit and read in Kettle's Yard, to look and read simultaneously, seemed to me completely correct actually, that actually it was not the sanctified space of art where one valorised object sits beautifully lit and that you pay homage to it and that everything else is aligned as if there's nothing there but you and the art object. But it seemed to me utterly so wonderful to be able to sit in an armchair with a David Jones book of poetry and have a Gaudier-Brzeska sculpture in front of you or the pebbles or whatever. It seemed to me that's actually how life is. What made sense was both the domesticity of it, you know, the house-ness of it. The fact that it had all the different kinds of spaces in which you could be and you could move between them and have different moods, to sit or be in different kinds of spaces and still look at things, but then it was also the encounter between the objects and the house so that again those hierarchies seem to be broached.