‘There was a sense of metamorphosis in the ankle bone of a horse that looked for all the world like the torso of a man: the belly stretched and taut, the shoulders strong, the top of the thighs just visible. I could suddenly understand how an object made the overlapping connection between being human and being animal, between being dead and being alive. It was a perfect sculpture, small enough to hold and yet enormous in its presence, if you placed it somewhere you could stare at it and allow it to occupy your mind.’ Julia Blackburn, Time songs