Suspended in an undefined, formless space of misty grey, sits a tiny pig, barely the size of a fragile, porcelain (no pun) figurine, but quite alive …and awfully cute.

A light dusting of sparkling glitter – in the style of a china doll – adorns the inner surfaces of its ears, and sprouting from its back, a pair of diaphanous, shimmering wings of faintly veined gossamer.

Trembling on all fours, it strains forwards – the tender, perfectly formed snout, pulsing – as though, just beyond reach, the atmosphere were drenched in a subtle, welcoming fragrance.

Then, in the complement to that pose of such ardour – and careful not to crush its ornamental and elaborate adornments (their silken weight could never support real flight) – it reclines passively on its haunches, forelegs placed lightly in front, and wearing an expression of expectant rapture directed into the void, exposing playful, delicate half moons of white, cradling the enthralled and quivering gaze.

The pure unrestrained pleasure of being, seems almost unbearable ecstasy, its entire world one of piercing wonder and innocence, untroubled by hazard, and cleansed of responsibility.

But, strangest of all, is this.

Curling up and around on all sides, in a loose, impenetrable tangle, floats a plume of deadly, stinging tentacles – like the waving, poisonous fronds of a sea anemone, and the same deep, toxic colour.

The inclusion of such a troubling element momentarily turns the fantastical scene on its head –each whip-like quill radiates alarm – their hypnotic drifting tinged with menace.

The truth, however, is less disturbing.

To the little piglet, the perilous embraces of those lashing tentacles pose no threat.

For, while its own defenceless vulnerability remains as exposed and pristine as ever, to their paralyzing and fatal venom, it remains blissfully immune.

This fabric, of weaving sentinels are a harbour from the threat of intruders, a haven, and the guardian of safe and protective haven –

And this place, suspended timeless under a net of shadowless threads – sinister and weird as may be – is, simply …home.