All

They took my deer and they rolled him down the sandbank. They kicked him as he shuffled on sediment. His hooves couldn’t grip but their boots could. They stripped my deer of his fatherhood and hide. Thinning out is so literal. Pushing out is so littoral. Bloated like the buoys to my left, he is on his side. He is in a grave made of sunrise and salt but he is not cured. The dogs are hooked on the lead as walkers approach. They aren’t sure what they are looking at but the Re

There are pieces of us still in that night sky. I’ve lost all my fingerprints; the swirls and loops are making galaxies. I now slip past everything I touch. There is no grip between me and anything. I want the heat made by friction and the clamminess made by pressure. ***** Press my finger into ink and see a perfect black square. I mourn my pink ovals. I am a suprematist in all my dead weight. Where is my figure and where is my allegory? My hands hang in the corner of the roo

What would have collapsed onto the showertray earlier had remained amongst the living hairs. Loose threads gripped and crawled over and under what stayed strong, greased and beating. It hugged its brothers and sisters.

Last year, I had the opportunity to work alongside the residents of Surface’s East Midlands Graduate Project (EM25). Surface is an established, volunteer-run gallery based near Nottingham’s Sneinton Market with exhibition, studio and workshop spaces. The annual graduate project is characteristic of their commitment to supporting emerging artists. Eight artists were selected to work onsite for four weeks to create work for an end-of-project show. Throughout the month, I sat do

I went to London Art Fair and I was overstimulated. I now look back at what I saw.