Little finger scattered over mountain
The cast of my little finger never made it to the mountain. I put a bottle holding the powdered remains in my bag and the stopper fell off within seconds. I sifted through the bag, took out the other contents, and threw the finger out the studio window instead.
Insect Memory
Object Body
Phoenix Plants
Each plant has its own booklet of documentation.
The only thing they have in common is that they were found in a nursery, gardening shop, or department store (and have been marked down because they are dying).
For example: Here is some lavender - with no colour left.
The plant is photographed with each attempt to bring it back to life. Each plant is given a season of care.
The only thing they have in common is that they were found in a nursery, gardening shop, or department store (and have been marked down because they are dying).
For example: Here is some lavender - with no colour left.
The plant is photographed with each attempt to bring it back to life. Each plant is given a season of care.
View of the Studio (imagined from the outside)
If you could see the walls you'd notice no pictures (the pictures have fallen). You would notice the light, the way it slips over the wall like a glove. Inside it is still, quiet, the air heavily hung (like an ocean). Wave after wave of light foam warmed by windows trapping the sun. Small clusters of dust glow like filaments freed from lamps. A bulb, the glass tuber on top of a marble stand is slowly cultivating cobwebs on the sill. Accidents abound. Work has been left. Cups of tea abandoned mid-sip. Dried ghosts of liquid growing in circular roots.
Dream Titles for Future Drawings
The army of clones
carry scythes
You don't deserve folds
Your voice is
left in the walls
We don't do lunch here
You're in the ice
I'm on the plane
There are wolves
and fish at the door
My blue brooch broke
we talk architecture
The cliff
has split in half
The others steal our
potatoes
A flock of horses
some gazelles
clothes they mistake
for skin
We say goodbye
you leave in a canoe
The blue bird
with teeth
Drawing for a bird
carry scythes
You don't deserve folds
Your voice is
left in the walls
We don't do lunch here
You're in the ice
I'm on the plane
There are wolves
and fish at the door
My blue brooch broke
we talk architecture
The cliff
has split in half
The others steal our
potatoes
A flock of horses
some gazelles
clothes they mistake
for skin
We say goodbye
you leave in a canoe
The blue bird
with teeth
Drawing for a bird
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