‘In my dreams I am dying all the time’

‘In my dreams I am dying all the time’

porcelain chains, pig intestines, smoke machine, projector, clay, homemade yogurt, silk, pigment, aluminium, spirulina, bricks, 2019

Go back to a certain time when everything you had loved, felt something towards was suddenly taken away from you, that person you thought was someone different, lost control of themselves and hurt you.

how numb would you feel if you felt abandoned whilst you went though your darkest fears.

I set up an immersive installation to create a temporary system, a futurist environment and attempt to create a DIY virtual reality, in this place I hope you feel numb, or a sense of delirium.

The objects are in changing states, the world outside is a failure to be of anything important and just a shadow of an experiment,

the pond of vaginal yogurt, is evaporating into the atmosphere, allowing the clay to crack and fall a part, the instestines have been inflated and dried, slowing falling out of the over aesthetic jelly fish creature made from silk.

Play time is over.

In between states.



In my dreams I’m dying all the time
Then I wake it’s kaleidoscopic mind
I never meant to hurt you
I never meant to lie
So this is goodbye?
This is goodbye
Tell the truth, you’ve never wanted me
Tell me
In my dreams I’m jealous all the time
When I wake I’m going out of my mind
Going out of my mind
Porcelain by Moby
a gateway to another dimension
to be at peace
to feel death
to feel calm
to feel pain
to stand still
In search of the uncontrollable feeling, want to feel something
cant let go
clutch, fixated on constant thoughts that dive in and out of a conscious state of mind, laughter on the screen, wanting an edge to it, a drive, passion
excitement to fulfil.
In search of some pleasure.
Erotic fulfilment.
TO be feminine is actually a thing.
A opaque screen over looks a world made from products,  on stilts sitting in a pond of vaginal pungent bacteria, an architectural model of a city or living space.
the world is laid in-between two states, one which hovers above ground floating and breathing intestines, flesh, the other that filters through a transparent screen
“Each of us, in our own personal Factory, may believe we have stumbled down one corridor, and that our fate is sealed and certain (dream or nightmare, humdrum or bizarre, good or bad), but a word, a glance, a slip – anything can change that, alter it entirely, and our marble hall becomes a gutter, or our rat-maze a golden path. Our
destination is the same in the end, but our journey – part chosen, part determined- is
different for us all, and changes even as we live and grow. I thought one door had snicked shut behind me years ago; in fact I was still crawling about the face. Now the door closes, and my journey begins.”