When my boyfriend from Brazil came to England in the depths of winter he very nearly perished from the cold. He just is built differently. Also, he was surprised to see so many gloves on the floor. I guess for obvious reasons, you don’t see many gloves in Brazil. As I looked at my city with his eyes I saw the lost gloves, lone gloves, dropped gloves: the gloves on the floor. Since he noticed them, I have started to take their photos.

They seem symbolic of long-distance relationships. They are both complete and incomplete. And I’m not sure if they’re waving or drowning.

Until that is, I found AN OVEN GLOVE.

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