last year

comet in mooninland tove janssen

lizard banana yoshimoto

a maze of death phillip k. dick

aha – the story so far tor marcussen

the phantom tollbooth norton juster

corker’s freedom john berger

me talk pretty one day david sedaris

cupid and psyche apuleius

dominic william stieg

the little prince antoine de saint-exupery

house of sugar rebecca kraatz

sexing the cherry jeanette winterson

voyage in the dark jean rhys

peter pan j.m. barrie

when you are engulfed in flames david sedaris

to the wedding john berger

alice in wonderland
through the looking glass lewis carroll

the dangerous journey tove janssen

clock without hands carson mccullers

other voices, other rooms truman capote

the bfg roald dahl

exploits of mooninpappa tove janssen

harry potter and the philospher’s stone
harry potter and the chamber of secrets
harry potter and the prisoner of azkaban
harry potter and the goblet of fire
harry potter and the order of the phoenix
harry potter and the half-blood prince
harry potter and the deathly hallows j.k. rowling

tales of hans christian andersen hans christian andersen

the great gatsby – a graphic novel nikki greenberg

brave new world aldous huxley

rebecca daphne du maurier

julie de carneillian collette

saughterhouse-five kurt vonnegut

the metamorphosis franz kafka

elective affinities goete

under milk wood dylan thomas

tender is the night f. scott fitzgerald

orlando virginia woolf

zoe’s zodiac mary jo stephens

monkey grip helen garner

hitchhiker’s guide the the galaxy
the restaurant at the end of the universe
life, the universe and everything
so long, and thanks for all the fish douglas adams

mary poppins p.l. travers

the iron man ted hughes

another way of telling john berger, jean mohr

seize the day saul bellow

taking things seriously joshua glenn, carol hayes

five children and it e. nesbit

the magic toyshop angela carter

so long, see you tomorrow william maxwell

double hitch o‘connor scout hall, ACT
an idea of things or the way things feel ccas manuka, ACT
wondershaper sawtooth gallery, TAS

i came into the new year failing.

 

goes down easy

everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt

breathing air

every night after i fall asleep, something happens that makes me wake up. i’m never sure what it is exactly, a dream or my body or something creeping in, but there’s a feeling that i have when this happens that is always the same. it might be something like fear or sadness, worry or despair, but really it’s the feeling of wanting to breathe air. crisp air that’s fresh and wet and so coldly sharp it cuts all the all the way down to your lungs. and outside it’s so cold, freezing, your toes and fingers and face hurt, you shiver and shiver, you feel like bed is so far away and you’ll never be able to get warm again but all you want to do is be breathing air all the way down.

often i wake up in the morning all i want to do is cry.

this is a picture of my bed after i have slept in it and woken up crying.

i wrote this for someone who was away from home, and who i missed:

the sky outside is really blue, so deep i have nothing to compare it to. it’s bright though; a luminous deep blue. there are clouds that are big and solid, white, with insides of furious greys that are turning black. it might rain, it might storm. i hope it does storm.

i feel strange in my new house. not quite at home yet. storms are good for that. a safe place from the maelstrom can always make you feel at home. though equally it can make you feel more lost and alone.

some of the trees have begun to turn. their leaves no longer swish but rustle, and my feet are crunching more and more. i like walking into this season. this morning i walked home at six-thirty, there were tendrils of mist and damp noises everywhere. when iwalked into school to write you this, i blocked out everything but the sound of my own footsteps.

“keep walking”. a friend said that to me once. it takes a lot of strength to carry yourself, sometimes more than we have

i don’t know how to be any more. being nothing and having nothing and wanting to be nowhere and that’a all there is. there isn’t any more.

i can’t breathe

promise for always

i think it is the feeling of having nothing or wanting to be nowhere.

jacking the world

a nice thing about living in euree street is finnegan.

sights are ever-present. that’s why eyes get tired. but voices – like everything to do with words – they come from far away.

sometimes, when something or nothing is wrong, the only way to feel better is to listen. to have someone you can listen to.

last night i felt like this. i was listening to someone speak and when i would close my eyes the voice felt far away. but more real, like it had a texture or a form that you could move about in. that you could touch or wrap around yourself and be safer.

i like this about voices. i like good voices. a good voice in the nighttime is one of the best things.

i think a lot about safety. it is a word that i have written down in my book to define within my practise. other words i have collected are; place, memories, comfort, influence and help (specifically art help). i love thinking and talking aloud about these things. another might be nothing.

   

these are two works that i have made this year. the first is a set of caves (cave could be another word, though i think it’s just important to know they are caves), and the other is a hive. i think of them as research for a show that is scheduled for september, but that might not happen. i have some ideas for the coming months but i feel very frightened.

it’s hard. it’s hard being alone.

it’s very hard for me to be alone at the moment.

i can change

at three-thirty in the afternoon, the sun shines through my window and rests on my bed like this:

it’s nice to lie down in this warmth, to sleep or read a book or think about things that are making you feel sad. finnegan also likes to play here, especially if you are knitting a diamond.

several months ago, while we were waiting for a tram, charlie sofo told me about a song that was just like me; “it says all the wrong things, but it’s so good”. he sung me the chorus and later we danced to it in his loungeroom.

felt grey

there’s a colour that exists that is called ‘felt grey’. to imagine it you just have to mix a very pale grey with a very pale brown together in your head.

i like this colour, maybe it’s even my favourite. i like it because the name is so tactile.

drawing with it makes a picture that looks like the texture of felt. it looks like when you touch it you will feel it’s greyness.

felt grey.

other colours i like are ‘soft violet’ and ‘potter’s pink’.

letters and numbers

i’m finding it hard to like myself at the moment.

process/progress

 

- barber’s scissors, yellow blanket, holographic plastic cut into scales
- dark brown coffee table, brown paper, brown velour, golden-brown scales
- brown card, barber’s scissors, hot glue, yellow tape
- drafting film, crystal glitter, scalpel blades, red-velvet pencil
- off-white lined paper with pencil on, white card, bone folder
- list of names on poison-green
- slept-in bed

it’s about how things are made.