Lost In The Thought of You Lost In My Room, 2025

Let this be a quiet space for you to exist in. Swathed in cloth, soft, understanding, warm like the pit of my stomach. Maybe if you come a little closer, you can see my insides spilling over, pink, yellow, orange, red, and black. Maybe if you come a little closer, you can see me unfolding into you. Lost in my room, you find me. Through symbols I explore the parts of myself I keep hidden, the shadow self: fear, shame, desire. Together in my shadow, in my bed, we are undone by each other. Symbols read as a legend; they tell you who I am in a whisper. What do you see in my unravelling? When you see me, I become nothing. I become stars and matter, I become a bird, a dripping candle, an eye, a mouth with a voice, I am death, a sword, a needle and thread. Intimacy is my religion; I am haunted by devotion. I tell you who you are but only in a whisper. Like pulling a tarot card, spirit guides my hand as text and symbols manifest on the screen. The print paste smears the pigments as I pull it through, recording the memory in my body and in the fibre. Each print is different as the pigments break down, repetition yet never the same, a ritual. I stitch the prints together to find meaning, to draw connections. Fragmenting the self and then patching it back together.