My younger brother said that it looked as though all the feathers had been pulled from the skin of a bird, leaving nothing but demarcated veins. He went on to say, ‘That’s not exactly how it looked. I can’t say, really, how it looked.’ At the time we spoke about this, I was trying out images. I thought I’d stumble across something that could capture it. Asking him to recount the experience of seeing our brother, J, and the fire, I was looking to capture a feeling more than anything. The feeling of seeing your brother’s arms burn, of seeing his clothes dropping away like singed leaves …