In 2016, I became interested in Oceanic art. This led me to the Easter Island statue (Moai) in the British Museum

 

But, despite its imposing presence it was alone, hemmed in, out of place 

 

I wanted to experience these statues in the place where they belonged

 

So I travelled to the island (Rapa Nui, they call it) and took my sketchbook

 

Drawing quickly in pen and ink, sometimes dusting with charcoal, I made rapid, instinctive  marks, one step ahead of conscious thought

​

I found the same sadness. Was it for the island's terrible history, or was it for lost belief?