This is a flinty and enigmatic work by sound artist, writer and performer Melanie Wilson which interweaves the lives of three women, separated by time and circumstance. The landscape of Exmoor and the narrator’s camera are the lenses through which we observe these lives as they slowly emerge from the shadows and take shape. Melanie is Vivien, a photojournalist. She had a friend in Mina, a Muslim women who has been killed, and a great grandmother, Beatrice, whose presence seems to haunt the cottage in which Vivien is staying and whose letters set her off on a trail of self-discovery.

Melanie controls the film and sound from her console desk, in a subtle light (designer Ben Paley). The film projections (by Will Duke) mix close-ups with distant shots of moorland, and some bold mysterious flashes designed to startle. As the story progressed, I longed for a change of voice, for something a little more demonstrative. There was such a coolness to the presentation and delivery that I was prevented from connecting to the characters, despite some pretty harrowing events.

The language was poetic and there were some lovely phrases… something about ‘being aware of the fist of it without being afraid of the bruise’. Generally though I found it rather overwritten, and would have liked a bit more economy, humour and personality to make the women come alive. They didn’t seem properly rooted in their time – the 19th Century language in particular.

The soundscape was strong and effective, bringing texture and atmosphere to the fore. Landscape 11 was a bold mixture of meta-theatrical form with traditional storytelling. It grew stealthily towards a suitably ambiguous end, but, despite love being a central theme, it didn’t pack a tough enough emotional punch.