Reintegration
Scattered, the many pieces of body and mind thought and action. First shattered, then collected up and reassembled. Fractured again, put...
I will try to thank you
Never give up - you taught me that; about how truth is scarier than fiction. When I was optimistic you taught me caution, in giving my...
The wasteland
Quaking and vibrating in this body, mine giving myself permission, and if I just had words to capture it; if words were my only...
When there is nothing left
When there is nothing left of you but fading memories and a velvet bowtie, I wonder who that person was with a charm which roused my...
Primal wounds
There aren’t words. There isn’t sense to be made. There are long stretches of emptiness interjected with heaving sobs. It’s such a...
Becoming sculptural
I've been experimenting in earthenware and porcelain clay with making more sculptural forms. I like the idea that a link in a chain can...
Finding lost words
When the the limbic system (the part of the brain that processes emotion) is overwhelmed, the part of the brain responsible for language...
New beginnings
I’ve been banging on to friends about starting a new blog for at least a year. It’s been at the top of all my to-do lists, rattling...
Fragments of a storm suspended in time
This is a little taster from my upcoming short story, published as part of Lazy Gramophone's Time anthology. It's an experimental piece...
TRACEY EMIN AT THE HAYWARD GALLERY
As a 26 year old in 2011, I have missed out on a whole lot of the meaning behind Tracey Emin's work the first time around. I remember her...
