Art books/ex lovers

A Book Fair unlike any other. The opportunity to talk/read/listen to stories/ observe strangely  beautiful faces in a white space. The chance to question motives/look closer/ delve deeper/ blush. Flashback faces from seven years pin me still. The memory of your way and you've stayed the same, only happier. Flattery gets you everywhere and I miss you a bit. Half a cider and away away.

fatiguE

A few days of printing preparation took me to a road less travelled, a long drawn out bicycle ride to collect letterpress plates, a train ride to Cheshire where a spaniel slept as the Heidelberg sang. One hundred and fifty  beer mat boards, seventeen measurement checks, two cups of strong tea and a walnut whip  later I was satisfied. This takes me over, the pull + my push, the necessity + my determination, the fear + my infatuation. An equation akin to unrequited love. My happiness rests in the hands of an untrustworthy lover, my future teeters on a see saw. 

Provence light planning

There's nothing quite like  hatching a plan in the late afternoon light on a September Friday en Provence. The sun pulled me to the garden where I lay with concentrated imagination. With a hot tea, a faded neon swim cap, a leather pencil case, a polka dot bathing suit, a refusal for compromise and the wind behind me I planned the first step of my journey (the one I've long dreamed of, soon to be my truth). I've been given the space to see the cinema screen before me, the unfolding white pages beyond the realms of regulation. Here, in this light I have the courage.

Window Pains

Three meters of typed text rising from the baby blue Imperial 200 is installed at 'Odd', George Street, Hastings for the duration of the Coastal Currents festival. The Bibliotherapy Artist's Book Library was in residence at' Odd', providing prescriptions and micro loans to the curious. The window text forms the narration of 4 weeks of solitude in Scalloway, Shetland, unedited, uninhibited, unapologetic, hung for the reading.

Boxing in the rain

The rain beats beats on the skylight bindery, the boxes whisper take time. A heart skip when I think of thunder, a melting pot of tea soaked precision. My legs dangle from the high seat overview, I spy autonomy but I can still see the sea. Box dust settles on my cow-lashes, and I walk out to rinse them clean. x