Rosalind Gibb meets an artist whose bread and butter is bread without the butter. Burnt in fact. And made into pictures. To get into Adam Sheldon’s house you have to use the side door. The front of the terraced house in Caldewgate, Carlisle is inaccessible and it soon becomes clear why: TOAST. The word deserves capital letters because here in his front room is more toast than you’re ever likely to see in one place, laid out flat on boards and stacked high in piles.

Read the full story (pdf) jesustoast[1]