Winston really pays tribute to the word ‘morph’, as his process involves printing images onto clay which he then shapes and photographs frame by frame to create a “sense of shifting, tactile movement”, turning into bizarre animations that sometimes look like the evolution of brand new life forms. Focusing on memory, found imagery and the “tension between analog imperfection and digital control”, his subjects bloom and curdle into lumpy clay creatures, some resembling people, others resembling plants in tendril-like movements. The tactile contrasts between polaroid lifts and image transfers with psychedelic mounds of clay is supposed to elicit equal measures of ickiness and fascination – in a way, they’re like Winston’s childhood wonder come to life.
Winston’s presence in these ‘tonermorphs’ is undeniable, with finger smudges that drag complexions into each other, creating wonderful spectrums of colour. His human smears shape the narrative arcs of the clay’s endlessly repeating growth cycles, which also lend the subjects an analog frumpiness, as opposed to the symmetrical perfection of digitally defined work. “For me, touching every frame of clay is a way to stay connected to the work. It’s a slow, hands-on process that feels playful and alive,” says Winston. “Each small movement leaves a trace of human energy in something that would otherwise be static. It reminds the viewer that what they’re seeing is handmade, an illusion grounded in craft rather than automation.”