Only here, visual play is through animation that recalls the cinematic adventures of childhood rather than direct play with fantastic plastic characters, more Sinbad the Sailor (Harryhausen, 1974) than My Little Pony.

But in this landscape, man, animals and indeed gruesome claymated creatures are stripped out of the frame – no hero’s or villains survive the artist’s deconstruction of the art form. Instead we are given the heaves and groans of pure earthy matter.

What does it mean when man, animal and even playthings are eliminated from the picture? We’re left with a vision of a scorched and tormented planet devoid of human/animal traces. Is this a post-apocalyptic climate change nightmare, or a neo-materialist triumph teaming with potentiality? Either way, it’s romanticism of the highest order. Casper David Fredrick would be proud.