Angela Lane is a painter whose landscapes subtly shift between the real and the imagined. They are fragments of sightings and memories spliced together. Small stones on her table become megalithic henges and a prismatic reflection on the wall transforms into some kind of meteorological event. Working from her light-filled Berlin studio, she is reminded daily that the sky is a great paradox, ever changing but always the same. The quality of the light at dusk could be ripped from a Caspar David Friedrich painting. The unearthly red hue of a haze filtered sun could be the very same as mentioned in Das Wunderzeichenbuch from 1550. What does it mean? For over a decade she has focussed her attention toward the prophetic and portentous possibilities held within phenomena, both natural and unnatural, the intimate scale of her paintings forcing us to get close and step inside. Once there, we are met with impossible rainbows and multiple suns casting a singular reflection. These are all signs of something but Lane doesn’t pretend to have all the answers, not even some of them. She is a quasi-geologist and a pseudo-meteorologist, cramming massive events into tiny spaces and painting the things she doesn’t understand.