Recently whilst traipsing about a museum garden we came upon a fairly isolated outdoor fountain. It was constructed from large blocks of stone and was artfully encroached upon by varied foliage — with water trickling disinterestedly into a deep algae-filled pool. It gave the impression of a ruinous and flooded entrance to an ancient tomb. However the effect was conditional. The sound of a nearby highway was quite audible. And the occasional, dusty and torpid conversations of other visitors couldn’t be avoided. Not to mention our noisy interior monologue. But still on occasion we could turn to the illusion and complete the fantastical implication. It reminded us of that wonderful notion: beauty is a play with distances. Beauty (or whatever you want to call it) can neither be come upon nor trapped.