rememberyouweremadetobeused

WE’LL NEVER WALK ALONE. 2020 black ink on silver paper embedded between found scratched Perspex + discarded aluminium. Screwed in place, embossed with logo + signed. 1/1 Exhibited at @eternity8movement group show, 2020. ~ thinking of those lives lost at Hillsborough, 34 years ago today.

—————————- 7 MINUTES IN HEAVEN (disrupted vision + echoes of thoughts I can’t remember) —- I spent the month of July in Lake Como, at Fondazione Antonio Ratti @fondazioneantonioratti - selected as one of 15 artists to take part in their Artist’s Lab residency program. Artist Hilary Lloyd ran this year’s XXVII edition, under the theme : è ora di alzarsi [time to wake up] It was a place + time to experiment, to pull apart our normal processes, to fall into a group, villa, lake... It was a complete month, the fullest I’ve had in a very long time. + much of it was more about the input rather than producing something that remains outside of ourselves... I am still collecting my thoughts, as much as the fragments of work I made here... DISRUPTED VISION AND ECHOES OF THOUGHTS I CAN’T REMEMBER (7 minutes in heaven) is a dual screen video piece, presented on the final day of the residency. All footage was shot during my time at Lake Como. 2 videos (7m45s each) in visual conversation with each other. The videos themselves are silent, with the windows open to have the audio from outside of the surroundings - crickets, cars - the white noise of Lake Como - our daily soundtrack. + I intentionally chose a physical display that was hard to document (the TV screens flicker if you record, and the light from out the window - the view from the lake - is blown out, assuming you’re holding your phone in front of your face) - a desire to get people to just stand and watch, + jump in the lake. — consequently I have very little decent documentation of the installation in full action - but this work is something that ultimately has to be viewed in person again... IRL, recurated, reremembered #rememberyouweremadetobeoffline . + that’s all for now.

DON’T HATE PAIN : an accidental lesson about BREAD. at the end of last year —- *that* fuckin year, I had the deep joy of making a video essay for @fondazioneprada as part of their #FINITERANTS project curated by @niccolo_gravina + @screen_modernism. What’s the film about? Still not sure. It changes. A place for memories I didn’t make up, documents of reality. Nothing staged, nothing predicted. Just the way I like it. This excerpt, which in post was short handed “BREAD IS PAIN”, possesses a conversation I had with a stranger in the building of my studio who was trying to help me as I was locked out. Maybe that’s irrelevant. Maybe it’s the spirit of the Situationists International. Full film in bio if you want to make up your mind and change it again too. Love to all the strangers unknowingly involved, always. Their impact remains treasured for eternity. #çanemangepasdepain #getthatbread #REMEMBERIVESEENTHISBEFORE

take some more time. we still got it. - last page of a notebook I’ve been writing in for the last 6 months, ready n anxious for a new one as we all seem to be as this year turns in on itself too. having a harder time putting all the thoughts n all the ideas to paper these days. but this sentence was uttered by a stranger next to me, a reminder of the fucking obvious, the intrinsically simple, unavoidable beauty of another day. go slowly, go softly. it will come. - don’t let the blank page pass you by

we dreaming?

a fragment of something to come, or something that never was. - a composition of mixed earth broken in transit. fired + glazed + fired again. - over last year I’ve been making as much as I can with my hands, for myself + away from the digital non existence. call it returning to nature or oneself, call it fucked off with being online + the chokehold the algae in rhythm has on creation. ultimately, I still wanna make things to be used. - image published in @xpan.earth ATLAS 001

Mathilda in @ralphlauren for HOLIDAY MAGAZINE No.394 dedicated to NEW YORK.

raise yr hand

this ain’t really it this a way of saying (n seeing) things don’t concern us like they used to not like they’re supposed to not the same things anyway public consumption of thoughts you haven’t finished yet that’s what it’s really about always has been ain’t reel be real nothing else to be, remember? - I dunno baby, maybe it’s cold inside too (where’s the climax what we waiting for)

are you the most responsible guy at home? - fragments of a couple pages I put together of archival works, thoughts in progress images in transit minds spiralling for @xpan.earth ATLAS 001

a triptych of nothingness : mother, daughter, holy ghost. yesterday morning I was looking for my preferred pen. everyone’s got a pen that they feel they make better notes with, right? Like the ink flow matches the thought process more fluidly. I could not find the pen. I did my laundry. and made some notes while I waited for it all to stop spinning. I opted for pacing around the laundrette speaking into my phone to dictate my words if it could keep up n on track (I’d cut my strong thumb and it was plastered up unable to type as rapid as my mind was racing) Machine done. I took a white shirt out, of a mostly black load n found I’d left that favourite pen in a trouser pocket. this isn’t an interesting anecdote, nor loaded with a moral. I just quite like the marks left on the fabric. Fortunately I didn’t like the shirt too much. + thus the ink did greater work on the subconscious of my mind. ______ some call it rorschach, some call it casablancas.

a still from video piece for @holidaymagazine No.394 dedicated to New York.