I sometimes think there is an art fairy running around the house when I am sleeping, finding odd objects of different colors and stringing them along all of the windowsills in the house. This fairy – she might be an angel – zips back and forth through the house and carefully arranges lost and discarded objects – rocks, feathers, tiny bowls and pins – and arranges her own installation. She is the curator of her world, no one sees her come and go, arrange objects carefully, move them from room to room, take them off to secret storage bins, replace them with curious and bright new things that no one sees her find. Why does she choose the objects she chooses?

How does she decide where and how to place them? Why is she never seen by the other resident of the house? This morning, when I went to wash the dishes, I looked up and was surprised – enchanged – to see a brand new installation, an elaborate one stretching all across this small but sparkling gallery. There is no program in this gallery, no recorded messages on phones. You just have to look at it and hear the angels chuckle.