# Exhibit (12)

## 3 March 2026

She had to walk up to each one and stand, a foot away, and squint, before they would resolve into anything. Landscapes, she thought. Jagged, broken landscapes. The same tilted up perspective with the horizon line (if that is what it was) almost at the top, as though she was looking down into them from a mountaintop.

In most of them she could, by looking closely enough, discern something that looked like a figure, which might be journeying towards something that looked like a landmark. A small boat headed for (or trying unsuccessfully to pull away from) the eye of a maelstrom. A pair of minuscule travellers casting minuscule shadows making their way to a structure across the plains. A bird flying across ruined towers to an open entrance in the earth. The artist made ten thousand of these?

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