As the memory of its experience distilled through the week, I strived to consider my intellectual response in order to write a few words here.
Wednesday evening I was taking my son to his guitar lesson - the night sharp, cold and velvet dark; the road, high above the valley, hugging the moor edge. Suddenly, on rounding a corner, we found ourselves level with the black hanging sphere of a new moon - magnificent in its austerity, the finest sliver of silver white defining form. And I momentarily felt connected by its transitory presence to distant friends in a different time and place on the other side of the world.
But it was whilst running on Thursday and enthusing about the black on black subtlety of this moon, that I fully understood. It held exactly the same qualities that I had responded to whilst looking at the Nuno fabrics.
The ephemeral, the latent presence of what is not visible.
Pared down essentials, the exquisitely subtle. Minimal colour.
The visual sense of touch - the look of the feel.
What it could never offer and what was given so powerfully in this stunning textile exhibition - the gratification of physical touch. For it is here as sample after sensuous sample was made available for our hands that the raw information entered our bodies.