Glossy, lurid and bizarre is how J.G. Ballard described his imagined place - Vermilion Sands. A half-deserted holiday resort populated with artists, poets and film makers, Ballard wrote that this was the one place he had written about in which he would happily live. A place where the inhabitants lie on their backs, the reason being ‘not merely that no one has to work, but that work is the ultimate play, and play the ultimate work’. Echoing a kitsch souvenir chopping board these small collages on wood could each be a glimpse of Vermilion Sands.