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An empty garden, the front of the house, a path and a hedge. A space that is in-between, photographed in such a way to emphasize unimportance. The images are black and white, square, large in presentation and very quiet. There is a hint at narrative, but what the story is remains uncertain. 

The domestic exterior, like a portrait of a face, could be seen as a statement about the lives lived inside. The English do not live in their front gardens. In suburbs or cul-de-sacs children may play, but the front garden in the city is more of a blank space. It is a presentation to the outside world and a privately owned piece of property. The time spent caring for this paces is something that varies from house to house, street to street and area to area. None of them are the same and yet all have a remarkable similarity. They are at once banal and of interest to the nosy and judgmental. They sometimes exhibit a sense of display and a desire to be noticed, but more often they are ignored by passerby. 

If an attempt was made to sum up the lives of the inhabitants of these places, what would we come up with? A short summary statement about their interest in presentation of their (or their landlord's) property but nothing about a life lived. It is an empty statement, a cursory glance. But gardens are more to the English than a statement about presentation. They are their pride and joy, their hobby and cultural achievement. Television programmes and books on the subject are popular and DIY and garden centres are busy during bank holidays and weekends with people eager to make their garden just the way they want it. However, most of this passion is invested in the private space: the back garden where children play and adults eat and drink; a space for many forms of private contemplation. The front garden suffers from the abuse of traffic and the public; rubbish and pollution affecting this space far more than the private space at the rear.

The front garden is like the beginning of the story, where the structure and the situation is indicated but not given away. The story needs time to unfold and these front gardens could be read as a testament to the domestic interior, but they don't give the game away. The front garden remains a simple yet divide space. Both private and public it's liminality is expressed in the quietness of these images where the subject is neither monumental or special. However, there is a possibility that the images will work on the imagination to make us speculate about the lives lived inside. Our responses to them are quiet too, with many uncertain beginnings. They are simple stories without end, a narrative with little content. 

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