Wintertime in the Derwent Valley, nocturnal katabatic winds roll over the hills and the cold, wet air gathers in the valley basin. A fog forms. This visiting body of aeriform water is known as the Bridgewater Jerry. Sensitive to changing weathers, these visits are rare and ever less certain.

Our own bodies remember that we were once fish. The alveolar fluid that lines our lungs seeps into the atmosphere with each breath we emit, and our bodies become spread with the wind.

The Bridgewater Jerry performs a slow-suspension, exhale-iteration, of the Derwent River’s flow. To breathe with(in) the Jerry is an act of embodied exchange – watery bodies taking turns to hold and be held within the other.