Performer and improviser Laura Cannell wields her violin like the keys to an imagined ancestral land. One can see such a land, where here and there a powerful tension can be felt. Sounds pierce through, feverish and nomadic, over hills of haunting purity. Water is central. Water drives this land, a land that is also an island, powered by hydraulic phantoms and vaporous sonorities. In the melodies that ensue, a certain forcefulness ripples through the marshes: it clears the path to a cathedral rooted uneasily on black sands, where sparrows swoop into the woodlands from atop their solemn perch. In so doing, they hunt the unseen, diving sharply and unexpectedly, driving sonic ghosts up into a sky untuned.