That cow can’t walk. She’s all lame. I won’t touch her hooves.
‘a visual stream of consciousness where your imaginary and erratic thoughts come to life.’
the slow inflections of the wind
where rivers run like scars.
The moon hangs quietly
in the blackened air, halved and emptied, decaying since dusk
Here lie abandoned gyro crusts and Bundt cake crumbs.
Your fingers shine with olive oil grease
on the sand dunes
and the sky overhead
like a badly
scratched frying pan.
In an ideal world
the washing machine
is a portal to clean linen
dishes lean back like sun
loungers by the sink
I sway and I spin, I smile. Sometimes even in perfect moments, you begin to feel the cold creep in.
Through photography and sculpture, I question how the manipulation of behaviour and patterns dehumanises society.
Because of the pandemic, we didn’t have any Olympics this summer, so I decided to reproduce the Olympic coverage in July by printing (screen printing) over selected pictures from the Montreal Olympics of 1976
‘As I listened to music and wrote poems, the space came alive, became my balcony garden, and gave new life to me.’
‘where reality and subconsciousness overlap and everything blends.’
We return to find
the magnolia still
bruising itself into blossom.