Sunday, 1 October 2017

Checklist of care

Last year, as an outcome of my October residency at ARC in Switzerland (nearly a year ago! WOW!). I wrote myself a checklist of care - building on my own long-term artistic interest in care and prompted, no doubt, in a sideways way by the work of other artists such as Julie Vulcan speaking here and Clod Ensemble's Circle of Care developed for Health Professionals (NB - Also check out ALL of the excellent sounding talks/discussions/events on the area of care that took place at Buzzcut's Sideburns last year recounted to me by my Producer Sally Rose, and the work by Ria Hartley and Alice Tatton-Brown which I was alerted to recently by Jo Hellier.

I wanted to think about my practice in a more holistic/well-rounded way... I'm posting it here in case it's useful for others​​. I wouldn't say it's finished, or even right for everyone (it's something I wrote for me, with me and my own flaws in mind) but it's definitely making me stop and pause before I take on / make anything new nowadays - even if still so often I don't end up getting it right... There's nothing surprising in it - some might even read it and say 'but this is just common sense!' - and yet...  I so easily find myself in a less than ideal situation when making / facilitating, that for me there's something in it... Obviously, sometimes this is for reasons beyond mine and others control, but not always...  Sometimes I just haven't thought it through from the perspective of care.

I'm going to get it framed and hung up on my studio wall...
I'm going to keep adding to and amending it.

If anyone has any reflections or comments on it after having a read I'd be really interested to hear them...


Will engaging in this activity / event / performance / ‘act’ be nourishing and full of care towards:


Will I be looked after?

Will I get paid? 

If travelling where will I sleep? What will I eat? When will I eat?

Will I be fed or is it self-catering? Will I get per diems?

Will I feel safe?

Who will I be hanging out with? 

Can I bring someone with me?

If something goes wrong who do I contact and what is my exit strategy? 

Do I have any special health needs at the moment and will they be catered for?

Have I informed anyone connected to the activity about these needs?

Will there be any language barriers? How can these be overcome?

Am I insured - health, belongings, public liability

Have I got a contract?

What press / PR will I be expected to do and does this feel ok?

How does this activity / event / performance / ‘act’ align with my politics & beliefs?

Where is the funding coming from?

What’s the overall environmental cost?

What do I know about the location / area in terms of human rights / politics?

What do I know about the organisation?

After the event:

Has this activity had an impact on my politics & beliefs?

Do I feel ok about the parts of myself I've revealed during the course of the activity? And if not, what do I need to do to make this ok again?

Have I learnt anything new about the common themes of my practice (e.g. Visibility/Invisibility)


'Hybridity, Whiteness, Trade and Empire, Filthy lucre, The precarity of a world that’s tipped in favour of a few, Shaking hands / holding, Screens, Care, Plants and animals, Foliage, Certain landscapes, Thistledown, Glass, Kitschy Hearts, Time, Buried histories, Classification and Anatomies, Families, Movement, The choreography of objects, Cheap Theatrics / Magic, Intuitions, gifts and chemistry, Hosting audiences. You, And words carefully arranged in patterns and shapes. Listing. Looping. Over and over. Playfully.'

How does this align with my overall life?

Where am I 'at' at the moment?

Will this activity be helpful in terms of my overall life aims (whatever these happen to be at any given moment and if such 'aims' are actually achievable in the first place)?

Or will this be a distraction?


Who will my audience be?

Is what I’m doing accessible (in terms of language, non-arts audiences, for those who are visually impaired, are wheelchair users / have limited mobility, are D/deaf or hard of hearing)?  

If not, why not? And how can I overcome this.

How can I be a good guest (reciprocity)?

What will I be leaving behind afterwards, both literally and in terms of legacy?

Are those I’m working with being looked after too (pay, accommodation, per diems, well being).

Do they have any special needs?

Could I employ local people instead of bringing others with me?

Who should I try to make contact with whilst I am in the area and what’s the mutual benefit?

Flora & Fauna:

Are the materials I’m using good for the environment? 

What about after I’ve left? What will I be leaving behind?

What about the travel? Is the environmental cost worth it?

Society in General:

What is the long-term message of what I’m conveying?

Have I checked all of my language and actions to ensure I’m being inclusive?

Am I reaching outside of my everyday circle of peers/friends? If not, why not?

If conflict/debate is impossible to avoid, what is the best way to deal with this?

Am I self-censoring my own practice to fit in? And if so, why? Is this the right thing to do in the particular context I'm working in? If not, what should I do?

Thursday, 18 May 2017

An itinerant independent / Sulphur

A year later and Sulphur has been made! Well, shown twice at least. Here's a little blog I did about it for The Red Line:

Since writing that blog, I have decided the piece does need a bit more work, not much, but a bit... So, I'm hoping I can make that happen - something that largely depends on the funds I can raise to pay people...

And just like that I'm reminded again of the attraction of being a LONG TERM Associate of a space or well-established organisation or part of a company linked to something BIGGER, more machine-like.

Somewhere that actually has your back and nurtures your practice and helps you along and gives you some validation simply by being associated with their name. Or gives you an energy through it's structure, having people standing right beside you whatever the weather...

And it's around about the time that I have that thought that I invariably wish I'd been playing the game more. Engaging more with the hustle, doing my own collecting up of people and a tiny bit of empire building myself (just a bit)... Because although the words 'empire' and 'company' make me really shiver (take the British Empire and the East India Company just for starters), there's no denying it, it's exhausting approaching everyone from project to project and starting from zero each time. And I have v strong links with a few key organisations... And a brilliant part-time Producer. Well anyway, cough cough... Something else to aim for kidz! Put it on the list (oh if only I had time to get to the list).

Another sort of main refrain I've noticed going round in my head over the past few years is LET ME IN:

To your building, to your festival, to your scheme, to your funding, to your big big space, to your warmth, to your meetings, to your canteen, to your drinks, to your 5 year plans, to your trust, to your trust, to your trust (fund), to your TRUST...

Because it doesn't seem to get any easier.

I've been doing this for a very long time now. Yet, somehow I know it's still going to be like you've never seen my work, never supported it before, are never willing to acknowledge the inherent possibility that what we're imagining together on this flimsy bit of paper might not work. NOT because neither of us are any good at what we do (you at picking a winner, me at trying to win), but because that's the risk of making something new.  It just might bellyflop...

All this doubting, convincing and pitching wastes a LOT of hours.
Think of what we could all be doing with that time...
Art-making for one.

(also, the idea of doing a bellyflop in public just made me smile...).

ANYWAY, yes, I wonder what the answer is... I suppose it's just my usual post-project existential crisis: Do I keep noodling along as an itinerant independent or do I aim for something larger so as to be finally invited 'in' to some of those weightier spaces / funds / conversations...

Oh and lest we forget, there's that other option too:

S h o u l d  I  d o  i t  n o w  t h e n ?  S h o u l d  I  j u s t  g i v e - u p.

Flip Flop. Flip Flop.

Flail. Flail. Flip Flop.

Ok. Enough of that, better get on with those two small ideas I'm supposed to manifest by the end of this month i.e. two weeks away (true story).


Put it on the list.

Image from Sulphur Photo credit: Lens and Pixel

Tuesday, 28 June 2016

On Writing

Am currently in the v early stages of writing my new performance work Sulphur. Feel like this is always the 

D i f f i c u l t 


Anne Carson in this brilliant interview with Sam Anderson said this 'on writing':

we’re talking about the struggle to drag a thought over from the mush of the unconscious into some kind of grammar, syntax, human sense; every attempt means starting over with language. starting over with accuracy. i mean, every thought starts over, so every expression of a thought has to do the same. every accuracy has to be invented. . . . i feel i am blundering in concepts too fine for me.


Sounds about right...

Friday, 3 June 2016

A restorative

Here's the talk I gave on May 13th at Residence's event: I'm Still Standing - How to Keep Surviving As an Artist...


Some Background:

  • My collaborative practice is about 20 years old 
  • My solo practice is about 14 years old 
  • This talk was originally given as part of Side Burns at Buzzcut in Govan in Glasgow on Weds 6th April 2016 organised by Phoebe Patey-Ferguson with the generous support of Stephen Greer and Deirdre Heddon of The University of Glasgow. The question asked there was ‘How Can an Event Strengthen a Community’ so my talk refers to that location of Govan a fair bit. But where that happens I’ve since briefly linked it to Bristol too. The section I was speaking in that day was right at the end and called ‘Tipping into Precarity’.
  • Residence were speaking at that event and it was there that we discovered that there were lots of resonances between what we were each talking about (which is why I’m here today in Bristol).

A restorative 

(something that restores health, strength, or well-being, especially a medicine or drink)

I’ve bought a backdrop with me, to share with you, of a picture of an old sailing boat on a large canvas.  It was hand-painted to order, somewhere overseas, and originally bought several years ago (over the internet) for the final re-working of my show Rat Rose Bird (I did quite a few re-workings of that show)…

It’s a bit kitsch.

In the end it never got used, because, in classic last-minute ‘making’ fashion it didn't arrive until after the performance had taken place.  Far from ideal. And in the end if I’m honest the piece didn’t really miss it (already stuffed full of far too many objects). 

The intention for using it in the first place was to draw attention to many things sea related, not least Colonialism and Empire - something I was trying to work out my own personal relationship to… I’m of mixed heritage Indian/English, and its a relationship that feels complicated.

But anyway, it didn’t arrive…

And so, since then it’s been rolled up in a suitcase, hidden away from view, stored in a forgotten corner of my studio in Deptford. A gentle but constant reminder of…

mis-spent cash. 
an opportunity missed.
artistic folly. 

and also (just off to the side)

unknown hands 
hard at work
in far off places

Until now. 

Because I’d like to engage in what I’m going to describe as a restorative act, an attempt to shake off some of the backdrop’s past associations. By surrounding it with you.

We’ll unfurl it together. Maybe even admire it a little, because it’s actually weirdly magnificent I think. Also, no-one’s really seen it before, apart from at Buzzcut, which doesn’t feel right. 

Shall we do it now? 

Twitter pic by @search_party

So, now there’s a massive boat in the room. Also something liquid (which I’ll explain properly later) and some cups (also found in my studio btw).

This feels apt. 

Govan (where we were that day when I originally gave this talk) was once the centre of the Clydeside shipbuilding industry…and the building we were sat within (The Pierce Institute) was named after William Pearce - manager (amongst other things) of Fairfield’s Yard - a yard that in the 1870’s would eventually become the biggest in the world.

Of course, Bristol too (as I’m sure you will all no doubt know in much more detail than me) also has a strong history of boat building. Some quick research I did a couple of days ago, drew my attention to Hillhouse Shipbuilders (later known as Charles Hill and Sons) based initially in a dry docks near Hotwells and later also Albion Yard. That iteration of the company existed from 1845-1977. Also, William Paterson and Sons, established by a scotsman who after making his way to London to work as shipwright in Rotherhithe (where I currently live) had a short but v successful yard or two here in Bristol at East Wapping -  he most famously became involved in the construction of Brunel’s boat The Great Western (1837). 

Archives and online databases hold extraordinary detail about all of the boats built in both Govan and Bristol and I’ve got lost in them several times, attracted to sections on ‘Clyde-built Ghost-ships’ such as the SS Brier Rose and the SV Knight of St Michael.

Boats ‘Struck Down by Typhoons’ such as the SS Uganda (quite recently in the 1980’s)

and ‘Ships Declared a Total Loss’  - Orian, Gallant, Lurcher, Juno.

I also liked the sound of two ‘steam packets’, called Lady Charlotte and the Mountaineer and the East India-Man Fame.

It’s their names that have been drawing me in I’ve realised, beguiling in their own way, suggestive of characters, stories and feelings, but also, acting as a kind of screen against me thinking really deeply about more ‘unseen hands at work’ - those that did the building of the ships, manoeuvring in water and at times desperate swimming as their vessels crashed against rocks or capsized in bad weather. Also the actual purpose that some of the boats were in reality built for…We’re not just talking paddle steamers here, but ships built to carry loot, to defend and shoot. There’s actually nothing romantic about that. And that’s important to remember… Hilhouse for example built on the back of money made through the Slave Trade and ‘privateering’ (essentially legalised piracy) and Paterson and Sons made several gunboats incl. HMS Ernest and HMS Escort 

Nowadays most of those shipyards no longer exist, however Fairfield’s in Govan (according to what I could find out online) is still in use, and most interestingly of all (to me at least) now part of BAE Systems Maritime - Naval Ships a subsidiary company of BAE Systems PLC

BAE Systems PLCBritish multinational defence, security and aerospace company -providers of weaponry and warships to the Ministry of Defence… 

I’m sure that none of this is news to you, but, suddenly we’re in deep.

Just the tiniest bit more research reveals the names of 6 Type-45 Destroyer ships built in BAE Govan (the programme office of which I found in a random document online was  also in Filton, near Bristol - now what a programme office does I have no idea but it’s interesting to note that there is a link). Anyway, the names of these 6 Type-45 Destroyer ships I discovered were - Daring, Defender, Dragon, Diamond. Dauntless and Duncan.

Duncan, like before, seems funny as a name for a Destroyer, until I read that the ship is equipped with something called the Sea Viper Missile System.

I start to look this up on the internet, but catch myself feeling uneasy. How did I get here? Typing Sea Viper Missile System into a search engine… What am I trying to understand? Ship-building has always been inextricably linked to war and trade no use pretending otherwise… 

Time to listen to that instinct and tack-off in another direction for a while. Purposefully even, towards a couple of new threads of thought also woven into the fabric of this image we’re gathered around, equally important to share with you, also in need of some unfolding.

Like the fact that rediscovering the backdrop wasn’t really by chance. 

Unfortunately, the building my studio is in, has rather stereotypically (especially for London!), been bought by a ‘developer’ - and so I’ve been going through a process of clearing it out. Discarding what I don’t need, preparing to move on. Attempting to downsize as next time I’ll be sharing a space with long-time collaborator Marty Langthorne - my own space (of course) being impossible to afford.

This process of sorting through what’s in my studio has felt particularly odd. Not only because soon my battered leaky workspace will be the kitchen of someone far more well-off than me, but because I’ve been forced to look face-on at the detritus and stuff collected around my art-work and think about what it all means (what pieces might I never show again? What exactly have I been spending my money on all these years? Why did I think I needed all of those glass ampoules, flower presses, broken hearts, umbrellas, types of glitter, nurses outfits, watches, fake hedging, that amp, those spices, knick knacks, tiny toys, precious stones - I could go on…). Whilst others have been out buying houses, I’ve been out buying slide-show viewers.

This oddness of looking through the traces of my own labour, has been exacerbated by a parallel clearing out I’ve been engaged in - this time of a domestic space - as I’ve unexpectedly over the last few weeks had to help my mum move my grandmother (her mum) into full-time care. 

We’ve had to empty her rented flat, talk to lawyers, go through her private papers, pack-up keepsakes, re-cycle, donate and watch once-prized furniture get broken up with an axe. It’s felt brutal, incredibly moving and exhausting in equal measure. Happily, Gran is now settled in her new space - a care home she herself was once the cook for when in her early 20’s, (offering some kind of comforting circularity about the vulnerability of her situation). 

Now 95, there’s a palpable sense that hers is a life at a very particular tipping point. She’s been alive for nearly a century. What an incredible robust lucky thing given all that’s happening in the world. Yet, so full of fragility despite her stately age. In a way it feels as though she’s already disappeared, just out of sight. Become submerged. Ghost-ship like. So dependent on the care of others.

I mention this because spending time with her and mum over the last few weeks has seeped into my bones, into my fingers and affected how I’ve sifted through my own studio ‘stuff’. Archiving fliers and reviews - evidence of a set of extraordinary experiences, and the contributions to practice I’ve played a small part in over the years - has felt anything but. Instead, alerted by gran’s slow drift elsewhere, I’ve followed her beneath the surface and found illuminated more starkly than ever all of those troublesome ‘conditions of artistic making’ just hanging there brazenly, out in the open - the lack of thought about longevity, of how to age well in relation to artistic output, the airplane and car fumes (so many vapour trails, so much pollution), the long hours and little money, the endless application-writing (how many hours have we all spent on those? What could we all have been doing with that time?), the lack of any real security - and any money that was floating about, now embodied in odd ephemera - in my studio at least - such as this backdrop.

Yes, these are precarious times, Yes I’m at an edge teetering… 

But it is relative… 

Right now compared to many artists I’m in a position of some privilege. I have a body of work behind me, I have some funding that will last me until Autumn.
I’m currently obsessed by Elements and elementals. Alert to the connectivity between everything on a material, economic and an environmental level.
And still full of the poetics of having spent the last two years staring into hedges with others… (how lucky is that?)

Probably I just need to get over myself.

And of course, these are the very moments that art can be best for… These fragile moments. To help process a tipped world that consistently favours a few, a way to respond to and cope with all of the good (& bad) decisions that get made daily. To make space for those people just out of sight (like gran), and ideas, and to reflect on and remember those histories that have been disappeared from view - sometimes by accident, sometimes purposefully. 

Unseen but still reverberating.
Like a colonial past. Not over and done with as yet…
Held in stories of boats. Waiting to be uncovered.

I’ve always been interested in such themes - in invisibility and race - my own mixed heritage apparently missing in plain sight. Also in care… I’ve long explored this theme through context and content, working in hospitals, care homes, schools, libraries, anywhere and everywhere.

My own current (very inexpert) interest in boats and ship-building stems from my own project Rambles with Nature a body of work begun in 2013 exploring the hedgerow. The project is now mostly complete, apart from one unruly ramble which refuses to end - a collaboration with artist Sue Palmer (who is speaking later)…

Early on in our research Sue and I stumbled across the story of a ‘Great Hedge’ planted across india to tax salt as part of the East India Company’s transnational business, it sounds an unlikely story, but is in fact true.

Two years on we’re still deep inside our research about the East India Company - the pre-cursor of the modern multi-national with a trading empire that once encircled the globe. Made possible by boats of course (and a lot of brutality). Our trail has now led Sue and I towards investigating 3 East India-men (ships) ship-wrecked of off the Dorset Coast - and recently we attended a conference on the Maritime Archaeology of the Company in Bournemouth.

That day we heard lots of surprising stories about various ship-types connecting coasts, countries and ports, about dives, treasure and how to identify cannons recovered from a sea-bed, but nowhere, not once was there even a hint of talking about what those cannons were made for, about the Indians strapped to such canons and literally shot through the body as ‘a lesson’ to others (a form of execution called ‘blowing from a gun’ most famously employed by the British Empire during the Sepoy Mutiny). Nor even the social and political impact of the Company itself. 

Events unseen but still reverberating.

It was so surprising…

And just like that I’m right back on course. I can feel the fire in my belly again. Myself turning away from the trickier parts of being an artist. Happy to be involved… Happy to be looking in the directions many of us don’t have time to. Grateful to be able to drop in and out of disciplines, be a cross pollinator of ideas.

There is a very real possibility that in a decade or so I might have become literally worn out   by practice - something else I can feel in my bones (from all the carrying of odd items on trains, the unbelievably boring task of packing up and moving my studio, the stomach churning risk of it all), but for now, sat around this backdrop, I’m still very much on board.

I’m reminded of a Kathy Acker quote that I’ve carried around in my notebooks for years. I’ve shared it before in public and it seems appropriate to share here. It’s from her essay Algeria published in the Semiotexte reader Hatred of Capitalism. Introducing the essay she writes…

“A series of invocations, because nothing else works”

So yes. I’m committed to keep on making despite the precarity, but also because of it. To address it. So there’s room to consider a life in its middle age, a life at its end.
So there’s the space to think about ships and all that they carry with them, and examine disappearances from view, spend time in rooms like this… because as Acker identifies sometimes ‘nothing else works’.

Which feels like an appropriate place stop and take in a second restorative…

At buzzcut I chose a Pale Ale (originally brewed by the East India Company for the people crewing their ships), this time I’ve got a Rose Water cordial bought from the re-invented  East India Company as it felt a bit early for beer… The new East India Company (owned by an Indian), knows about the darker parts of its history, but trades on the recognition of its name: 

“Deep within the world’s sub-consciousness is an awareness of The East India Company, powerful pictures of who we are. You’ll feel something for us; you’ll have a connection to us, even if you don’t know us. The East India Company made a wide range of elusive, exclusive and exotic ingredients familiar, affordable and available to the world; ingredients which today form part of our daily and national cuisines.” East India Company website, The Company Today.

Rose water also reminds of my other (Indian) gran Jaya Lakshmi, because she used to take me to the bottom of her garden to pick rose petals, which we’d then carry back to the kitchen to wash and eat…

Would anyone like to join me? 

We’re drinking to:

the unfurling of images in public with others… 
our ever-changing studio spaces (may they keep us warm and our ideas sharp), 
To art and to us (and the day ahead).

The unfolded backdrop



Thursday, 19 November 2015

Early hedgerow research (by Sheila aged 10)

Just as I was about to launch the Rambles with Nature pocket book, my mum gave me a large sack full of work I'd done when I was at primary school that she'd saved.  Turns out I've already done a hedgerow project before!  Back in the 80's!  Made me think again about how influential those formative years can be. 

I have no memory of doing this project, but it clearly made an impact on me. I would have been 10 years old.

Funnily enough, each of the final pocket books contains a pressed flower / leaf collected on a suburban walk I did with my mum around some of the old places I used to play and hang out in when I was small (how fitting). 

The book was officially launched at the end of July 2015...

Thursday, 12 February 2015

Ramble 5 - A publication

It's hard to believe 5 months have passed and Rambles is still Rambling on!

I realise now of course it's probably a bit dangerous to call a project a name that encourages way-wardness and diversions - let that be a lesson all BEWARE.

But it's also because I've been doing some other things:

- I took a month off.
- I've been trying to find the money to complete Ramble 4 with Sue (we did such a beauteous, interesting work-in-progress in April it's hard to believe it's so tough to find the money to finish it AND we're still searching).
- I worked on another project with straybird - SOME PATTERNS OF CURRENT in Hampton Library (A Dance in Libraries commission).
- I did another sharing of INFINITY KNOT - this time for Maddy Costa and Jake Orr's DialogueFest
- I've done LOTS of Mentoring.
- I've done LOTS of teaching.
- I did some more Performing Medicine-ing.
- I went to Brussels and led a Rambling workshop at CIFAS.
- I did a LADA DIY with French & Mottershead.
- I made a grotto for an auction at my studios (for CoolTan Arts).
- I began another project with Mersey Care / Tate Liverpool.
- AND wait for it...I've been working on the Rambles with Nature publication. RAMBLE 5.

Oh yes, and it's pretty much ready.

It's been SUCH a luxury to look over the project from start to finish and process it in a different way. Through words in the main too... My cousin Divya Ghelani has edited it and John Hunter has designed it. And that at the top is a sneaky pic of its outer cover design.

So there we go...

Watch this space for details of the book launch.

Rambles with Nature (the ACE Funded part at least) has finally come to a bit of an end...

I say 'bit of' as now I need to get the work made out and about more - and I very much suspect there's a bit more rambling to come.

Monday, 25 August 2014

Ramble 1 OUT & ABOUT / some Crepuscular Activity

Since my last blog, Ramble 1 has been out and about twice more - at Cambridge Junction and Warwick Arts Centre...  And I also made a gentle walking piece as an offshoot of Ramble 1 for Cambridge Junction called Crepuscular Activity.

Crepuscular activity was a walk at dawn and dusk designed to slot into the Junction's 24 hour festival Nightwatch and offer a chance for attendees to escape the building and get some fresh air!  It was also a chance for me to explore whether I've been correct in resisting making a walking piece as part of Rambles with Nature and to be honest I think I have.  As I led those two walks I realised in the pit of my belly that the walking in Rambles with Nature is research - an ambulatory way to do some thinking, talking, observing - not necessarily where the art lies... in this project at least.  I still felt extremely lucky to get the chance to walk with a group of people at dawn and dusk though - I had some great conversations.  One of the meanings of the work Crepuscular is 'animals that are most active between dawn and dusk' - so in effect that was us - a group of animals engaging in the activity of walking at Crepuscular times. Conceptually I really liked this idea.  The route itself felt so different each time I did it (4 times as research in the daytime - Once at 9.30ish and Once at 3.48ish in the morning). It was utterly amazing how dark and unknown Clare Wood became at night and how deafening it was in the early hours of the morning because of the dawn chorus. It was also great to spot a small water deer in the early hours of the morning on a suburban road and hear some real owl hoots. Lots and lots of snails and slugs  were out and about during the nightwalk too...

In the end, because of research and a series of coincidences, the focus of the piece became The Owl - a bird that often hunts between dawn and dusk.  I was keen for the group to have a live encounter with an owl at the end of the walk (hired in of course :-) so, this in effect was what the "Walk in 3 Acts" was moving towards, but this just wasn't possible as we couldn't persuade anyone who owned one to come and stand in a field and wait for us at those particular times on a Saturday night.  Strange that! 

I did however still ask Lucy Cash to put together a short film of owl footage and photographs which I showed on an IPAD during it - again a link between our Ramble 1 together.

Crepuscular Activity feels unfinished to me as yet, I know where I want it to get to (and some other elements I want to include in it), but it's not quite there yet.  Great to get the chance to begin its making though! Thanks Cambridge Junction.  Also, supremely brilliant to realise that walking (even when informed/underscored by a tight idea/ thought) isn't quite enough as a finished work in the context of Rambles with Nature.  OR... perhaps I just haven't made the right walk yet...

Warwick Arts Centre - rambling hedge

One of the cinepoems at Cambridge Junction