Using out-of-date film means Cass never can be sure what will come of his images – colours bleed, fade – and working with aged and damaged cameras means light leaks, lenses are scratched, mechanisms might prove unreliable at critical moments. These textures, artefacts, expected but unpredictable, anchor the scene (the seen) in the everyday, the ordinariness of life.

These new photographs on old film effect a curious folding of time. They have a quality of age, so that today looks like a postcard from years before. As [his] paintings enact an encounter of solid things, lodged in time and place, with endlessness and timelessness – the momentary glimpses of memory, the seascapes’ unending motion, represented on particular objects with particular histories – so the camera’s lens opens, and ‘now’ is captured on film that dates from ‘then’.

There is a motif of journeying and standing still, represented in a number of [his] photographs ... of the warm interior of the studio, objects slant-lit, gathered in their taxonomies, bundled, piled, and at rest.
— Ian Tromp