Thursday, 7 January 2010


A collage made from family photographs found rustling through wicker baskets whilst perusing a flea market in Brighton.

Friendships - Lovers - Solitude
It is only when the latter begins to ask introverted questions that we query not any one in particular, but only ourselves. With this in mind, evidence for a purpose in 'doing' anything at all proves to become quarrelsome.

Perhaps at this conjuncture we begin searching for the lost ones we chose to forget in the process of constructing a monumental 'self'. With our hands dipped in the words of Others, pick up the paints and dress our face in masks, rub traditions into skin, moisturize our filaments in a radioactive sunburn and compound our sparks into a bulb of one, never to be lost in the pond of a swan mourning over their lost love, shot in the early hours of the morning by a drunkard out to prove the power of man, for the love of his Other.

1 comment:

  1. i think i know that woman... didn't she used to be the editor of scientific american?