BA Fine Art & English Literature Finalist. RSA, Reading, UK.

A coagulation of feminist science fact and fiction, queer magick-making, domestic labour, and living with chronic illness. 
In converstation with the works of Linda Stupart, Elizabeth A. Wilson, and Eva Hesse.
Producing soft sculptural works that evoke and examine their relationship to
the home, the natural world, the post-human body, death, disease and decay.

Read their ARTIST STATEMENT for more information.


Friday 1st May 2020.

My practice throughout the year has been a process of adding, editing, and reconfiguring the elements of the assemblages I exhibit.
I view my practice along the sculptural heritage of Eva Hesse, whose work was often modular, consisting of many objects assembled, or reconfigurable. Every element is reused, reabsorbed into the larger organism, as it grows over time.

I started the year by casting the intricate gills of funnel mushrooms I picked from around campus, which I exhibited as Laetiporus in our first exhibition in Week 5. They were presented on a desk, with a chair in the hopes that the viewer’s curiosity would inspire them sit, study, reach out and touch – the sense of touch being my primary inquisition at the time. (It is still a peripheral interest of mine, a pursuit of multisensory art viewing, but it’s no longer my sole focus).

At first, I was dissatisfied. The inclusion of myself as a sort of interpreter to the piece (Laetiporus II, exhibited in Maastricht, week 6) only dissatisfied me more. They were discrete artifacts, beautiful but dead, removed from their natural habitat. I had to build them a body.

I experimented with using sausage casings as a casting material. Their simple, linear forms providing neat contrast to the delicacy of the mushroom underbellies. They gave the form more of a body; in particular, some intestines.

They were exhibited in the Winter Cabaret, strung up high on the rafters in the expansive cavity of the finalist studio. Held up in an entangled mass with tendrils of thick, soft yarn, clinging to the beam; they had a body now, but it was still lifeless.

It needed a host. A symbiote.

I began to subconsciously digest the interplay between my mushrooms and my guts but did not ruminate on the relationship fully until just after Christmas.

After the Ecology Workshop at Kobani, I contemplated a post-human notion of mutual entanglement; Our place in the world, not as a paternalistic protector, with great power and great responsibility to save the planet, but just as simple creatures ourselves, that need a habitat with conditions to survive and thrive.

I started to notice the radical potential of care. Collectivised care, reproductive and domestic labour that nourishes our bodies, minds, and souls.

For months I had been obsessed with food, but I wasn’t eating. Paranoia about my body and its consumption consumed me. I couldn’t eat, until Kobani fed me mushrooms. A domestic milieu*, with a mutual goal towards collective survival and growth. We cared about each other, before we even knew each other. A symbiotic relationship.

I started hiding mushrooms in dumplings. I started making huge textile dumplings in my work too, pleating and gathering the fabric like the folds of the dumpling and the folds of the mushroom underbellies. I still eat those dumplings now, sitting amongst my work, as a healing ritual.

My writing, my ritual practice, the physical act of weaving this mycelial web has been an intensely reflective process, with aspirations towards recovering from our collective trauma from our current circumstances. My work is a combination of installation, soft sculpture, creative writing, sound, performance, and video, working to produce a reflective and meditative space in which I examine my relationship with the ecologies within and without my body.

Via a vast web of information, your gaze is transported to a home, in the midst of being devoured/transformed.

The living room, installation and garment resemble an organic fusion of the domestic milieu and a fungal organism. A living room. Alive. An infection that represents disease and decay, but also rebirth and growth.

Its fruiting bodies are formed of textile growths, exploding from the walls, engulfing my own body within the space. The soft forms are the colours of washed out, pallid skin, lightly stained with the remnants of tealeaves accumulated throughout my recently reconfigured, hermitical art practice. 

They are coated with thin layers of earthy green wax, glistening like mucus in globules on the surface, and cracking with the folds, webbing across the forms like mycelium, making new connections at points of blunt trauma.

You hear many voices speaking incantations of collective ritual healing. Here in these soundwaves they are one frequency, from the Serpentine Podcast ‘On General Ecology’ to the minded gut of Elizabeth Wilson’s Gut Feminism.  I call upon the living spirit of Linda Stupart to inspire my queer magick making now, as we contemplate various bodies as collectives of organisms. Your gut fauna as part of your self. You as part of the world.

*‘Milieu’ refers to the ‘social environment’, as explained by social anthropologist Germain Meulemans in The Serpentine Podcast ‘On General Ecology’ – Ep. 1 In Our bodies.
To my understanding, it’s the word that encapsulates the understanding that the subjectivity of you or other people exist as part of your surroundings, not just merely in them.