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.


Uploaded on April 27th 2020.
Sound recording (spoken word with modulated vocals).
At Home in Quarantine. 

In the forest,

Under your feet,

In each cubic inch of soil there is 8 miles of mycelium.

The mushrooms you see are only the treasure hunt,

The mycelium is the map.

A vast web of Fungus,

Feeding the forest.

A part of the roots,

They transport water,

they provide nutrients,

they foster communication between the plants,

they boost the plant’s immune system.

They thrive together.

They are not the trees, but without them, the trees would die.

The forest is not the forest without them.

More than half of the cells that make up your body are non-human.

They are as vital as the organs they inhabit.

Bacteria. Viruses. Fungi. Archaea.

Most of them in your gut.

They aren’t you.

But you need them to survive,

You cannot be human without them

It’s a symbiotic relationship.

An ecosystem.

A forest in your body.

We contain multitudes.

No Man is an Island.

No person is a singular being.


The Powerhouse of the Cell.

They weren’t us.

Once, they were their own being,

and we engulfed them,

consumed them,

and they became our gut.


Serotonin modulates mood.

The pills I take to survive modulate the levels of serotonin in my body.

95 percent of the human body’s serotonin can be found in the gut.

Tryptophan is an essential amino acid and one of the building blocks of the neurotransmitter serotonin.

An essential amino acid is one that cannot be produced within the body, and therefore must be consumed.

We can never be happy on an empty stomach.

I am not me without my gut.

The fungus that feeds to forest also consumes.

Turns the autumn leaves to mud

so I did not let the fungus feed me.

Nothing could feed me.

To be fed was to be consumed.

Consumed by thoughts,

Consumed by my own gut.

I lie now, in my gut,

I am locked down.

My gut is my home now,

and I cannot bear to live in an empty house.

I need softness.

I need warmth.

I need the forest.

I need a home.

I need my body.

I am not me without my body.

I give in to the fungus.

I give to the fungus.

The fungus gives me my body.

A symbiotic relationship.