Hardwick’s world closely resembles our own until we look close and see a retired Elvis gardening in suburbia, Charlie Chaplin weaving between the stalled cars on the M25, and dragons’ grandchildren whispering under the bed.
It’s a world where the ghosts of Bacchantes stir the sleep of cats, a mysterious woman struggles with her umbrella on every street corner, and flowers fall unexpectedly from a clear sky. Above all, it is a world of illumination, in which satori of sorts may be glimpsed in the most unlikely of places as you move almost imperceptibly across divides you didn’t notice, all the while watched over by the kaleidoscope eyes of The Ringmaster’s Apprentice.