​This mortal coil. I've never understood the term (unless it was a precognitive reference to DNA, or the piled whorls of our intestines). Nor the occasional pronouncements about life imitating art. Life usually just turns up a poor imitation of itself. Art tends increasingly to the dull and fake. But ropes and coils, threads and strings - they're the stuff of which we're made, and they proved to be the means for making life, lives - imitated in art. The red thread runs through them all, furling and unfurling. Binding. They're not real. But very much alive...