Horn has also taken up a career as a poet, of sorts, to judge by the liberal quantities of rather portentous doggerel that the visitor encounters in the various spaces of the exhibition, either in the form of wall texts or as words projected in light. Brief quotation suffices to convey the general effect: “In the night words are wandering / Like shadows inside the head / Gliding across the marble water / A golden rod interrupts the flow / Writing in reverse upon black water / Redeems sentences through waves.” Perhaps surprisingly, given the customary health and safety implications of her work, there are relatively few cordons and barriers in evidence. But not many of the works require them. Perhaps this signals a certain softening of approach, on the artist’s part.