He bought me a rose today.
I've never been given a flower by a boy before.

A single red rose.

-I think it's much more beautiful on it's own.

Textile Archives at the V&A

Image used on this blog : http://www.arhv.lhivic.org/index.php/2006/12/01/259-le-va-renonce-aux-droits-pour-lespublications-academiques

Had I searched the whole entire length of the beach for one
- I'd never have found it.

Small, pale, pink
A tiny hole at the top,
Perfect.

And yet here it is,
Laying in the sand
Shining up at me.

The sun has started to shine now.
But there is still a breeze.
It strengthens.
And I can feel the sand whipping the back of my legs.

Looking back across the beach,
It looks mystical.
As the sand rushes along.
Like a mist,
Being called back by its powerful sourcerer.

Nottingham Trent Degree Show

The Scientists Project Exhibition at The Surface Gallery- Nottingham

Just as I walked past,
The wooden gate started to open.
Wide open it revealed a staircase,
A dark area behind.
I slowed down to peer in.

It was inviting me into this little world,
Inviting me to explore.

I looked around wondering whether I dare embark on this adventure.
Seeing other people close by I decide against it.

I walk on knowing I cannot fool myself.
Had there been no people I would have made the same decision.

Looking up at the ceiling,
There is a long crack in it.

I wonder what it would be like if I could slide through it.
-Squeeze through it,
Become 2D - Like Flat Stannley (remember him?)

I wonder where it will take me.
Would it be dark in there?
Or would it bring me stright out to the sky?
To the sun?

Yesterday I saw a tiny little bird.
A Bluetit – I think it was.
It stopped on the grey wall beside me.
Its blue breast shone.
It sang a little song.
Just for me.
I stopped to listen.
And when it was finished.
It just flew off.
Perhaps to sing a song for someone else.

- Thank you for brightening up my day. -

Today will be a good day.
That’s what I’ve told myself.
It has to be.
The sun is shinning.
It’s so warm outside.
We walked in through the arboretum.
It was green and colourful.
The flowers are in bloom.
It’s so nice and pretty.

-I forget my worries for a moment –

Sitting on the train,
Looking out of the window,
I-pod on,
Headphones in my ears.
Ben Harper comes on:

‘Walk Away…’

(and I can't stop thinking of him)

I’m sitting on the bench by the Cross.
On the phone to Rachel while I’m waiting for my cousin.
A little boy is running around.
He sees the pigeons
And runs straight towards them.
Chasing them in my direction.
I scream a little:
"Agh Pigeon!"
Just as I do a young guy walks by.
He sees my fear
And smiles at me.
I giggle at my foolishness
And he, seeing it’s okay,
Lets out a little laugh.

We said goodbye,
Fingers slid apart,
And hands dropped to our sides.
We parted in different directions,
Both turning back for one last glimpse,
Last glimpse before I let my happiness walk away.
He turns the corner,
I start to walk up the steps.
At the top, I stop,
Lean on the rail and watch.
I watch as time slows down,
And he strolls further away,
Then disappears out of sight.
I remain for a few moments longer,
Letting it sink in.
Then I too walk away…

Question from a tipsy boy to a very drunk girl:

"Are you okay?
Do you need help to get down the stairs?"

"No its okay –
- I’m fine
– just everything looks kind of wrong – you know?"


The boy smiled,
Took her by the arm
And they wobbled down the stars together.

“Are you being bitten …
… by a baby?”


- Imagine that -

It has been years since I have sat at this desk.
I normally just use it to dump things on.

The last time I remember sitting here,
I was still a school kid,
Spending most evenings studying late into the night,
- Candle burning -

I can watch the street from up here,
Yet I am invisible to them.
I see the man from across the road
Get into his white van and drive away.
I see Tom in a world of his own,
Headphones on.
Next door has visitors,
I don’t recognise them.

And as always I can see the TV flickering in number 31.
I can see the shapes on the screen,
I used to always try and guess what they were watching.

It’s darker now –
The street lamp outside my window has come on.
I see the street differently from up here.

I wonder if he isn’t allowed inside her house,
For years he has pulled up outside in his little blue car,
Either to pick her up,
Or drop her off.
But never once in so many years have I seen him go inside.

He’s been waiting there for ages now,
I heard him beep a while ago,
But there is still no sign of her.

I have never even seen him get out of the car,
Why does he never go to the door?
Is she hiding something inside,
That she doesn’t want him to venture inside?

Ah - here she comes now,
Ready at last,
Wearing red shoes and a maroon skirt.

- I wonder where it is they go -

I haven’t walked this way home in a long time.
But then I suppose I am never coming from this direction.
It’s early evening, and although it’s still light, there is a grey cloud overhead. It’s raining and there is a bit of wind.

As I turn the corner I quicken my step and turn off my music.
While I don’t mind it in the daytime, I’m a little wary of this bit as its darkening.
I am mostly out of eyesight and ear shot.
But it’s only a short walk.

I look left onto the racecourse.
Through the small gaps in the fence and hedges.
There is one guy flying a kite,
And a few lads playing football, shouting and laughing to each other.

I can see them, but I don’t think they can see me.

I near the end of the walkway.
It is clearer then it used to be.
They have cut down most of the trees to make way for the new riverside path.
Poor trees.
- Dead and gone.

I walk up the wooden steps.
I surprised they are still standing strong.
They look the same but don’t feel as weak and creaky as they used to be.

I walk along the wooden bridge path, next to the railway line.
The rain seems to be lightening up a bit.
I look down at the wooden slates as I walk,
Watching for it…

Although I know I am not near it yet.
I think perhaps I may not be able to see it in the rain.
I slow down as I start to near where I think it is –
- I stop
- I look down
And there it is.
The letters carved into the wood


F . . . . i . . . . t . . . . z


What was it we would talk about…?

I love to collect words, phrases, sayings, lines, quotes, conversations.

This morning,
I woke up wanting to share the beauty of the world with you.

The sun beamed through my window,
Warming my skin,
Gently waking me to this new day.

The song of birds eased me into the morning.

I opened the window and breathed in the spring.
I felt the fresh air circulate around my body.
Leaving me feeling new.

The world feels beautiful today.
The only thing missing was someone to share this with.
The only thing missing was you.

Time moves on,
People pass you by,
Things are forgiven
And in time forgotten.

What seems important now,
Will mean nothing then.

I can see them.
They could see me too…
…if they looked up.

But no one ever does when they are down there.
I’m in my own little world,
- Sound blocked out.
-they too are in theirs.

Yawning,
Looking around to check no one saw.
He thinks no one did,
- But I saw him
He’ll never know
- None of them will.

I wouldn’t feel comfortable if I knew,
- own time to think,
To reflect,

- No one else should disturb that.

I keep ignoring you-

-I'm sorry.

Sometimes you just seem like too much effort.

This sound –
I keep getting lost in it.
Feelings following sounds –
- Copying -
Maybe it’s because of the setting.
I’ve never really been bothered about sound art before,
But sitting in the dark,
In cinema seats –
It’s different.
I am lost in my own space,
Unaware of the others around me.
I wish I was here alone,
Just me and the sound.

He says he hasn’t got very good English, but its okay. It may not be that easy to follow but that might just be because I’m not particularly interested in most of the work.

You can tell he is struggling to get his words out though.

Makes me miss French.
I wish I had kept it up.
I wish I had kept my exercise books.
I’m quite annoyed with myself for throwing them away.
Maybe that should be on my list
- To relearn French.

*I feel bad that I haven’t been listening to anything he’s been saying.*

I’m not sure how or where to start.
The first line is always the hardest.
I'm past that now.

I suppose I should really start by explaining my work and where I am up to know. I know everyone has seen my cards – I have shown them before. But I’m not sure if they know what I’m doing now.
It’s all about the text,
The writings,
The accounts,
-oh and the odd (bad) doodle.
But this is what I feel comfortable doing.

Though I’m starting to feel really nervous now,
Just thinking about it.
About having to talk…

But I must carry on and get this done, leave the nerves till later – or at least until tomorrow. There is no reason for them to be here now, in my room, on my own- or so tell myself.

Presentation of the work – that's what I’m really struggling with.
How best to present the text. I wrote down lots of ideas but I’m not sure that I’m convinced by any of them yet.

I spent hours in the library yesterday.
Searching through books – a lot of it felt like a waste of time which was disappointing.
But I did find a page or two to treasure which I’m glad of.

I will show two Fiona Banner images.
One typed text,
One handwritten.
I have two books with slightly different images of the work I want.
I think I know which one I will use.
Eyes drawn to a word,
I read part of a line before my eyes scan
And are drawn away to another word,
A darker word.

See bad doodles -

Fragments as stand-alone pieces.
- I quite like that Idea, but then again I like a lot of ideas.
I’m just no good at making decisions. I hate them.
"Confused, bemused and I don’t know where I’m at." – That’s how Rich sums me up.

Anyway I’m getting off track.
Stephen Kaltenbach – I could talk about him.
But I’m worried I’m going to have trouble pronouncing his name which scares me. Silly, I know.
But his plaques – reminds me of all the benches and chairs I’ve been reading lately.
Small fragments of insight into someone else’s life.
Someone else’s interests and wishes.

I looked everywhere for the notes- but I can’t find them.
I’m annoyed at myself and the mess.
No wonder everything always goes missing.
I really wish I knew the name of the artist though.
Maybe one of the others will have it written down somewhere – ill ask them tomorrow…
…if I remember.

Interaction – not even sure if that’s the right word,
But it’s that thing I want in it somewhere
-that doesn’t even make sense.
I don’t make sense.

This idea – I want to do it,
But I don’t know if I will, if I can.
Scared.

I saw some daffodils this morning.
There is some hope

I like it up here
I know I’m probably not meant to stand up here

- Health and safety and all –
But I like it.

I can see out of the window
Onto the street below.
People passing by.
Mainly students.
To-ing and Fro-ing from uni.

I don’t know why,
I just had the urge to write on the brown paper,
I had only put it up to protect my work from the dust.
Actually I really wanted to draw or paint on it,
On the large brown paper,
But I can’t
I’m scared I’ll ruin it.

Running around like a headless chicken,
Busy, busy,
I feel slightly better now I’ve got some of it done.
This morning I went to the corner shop,
The sun was shining,
There was a strong wind,
But it felt nice-
Cold, but fresh.
It felt like spring was on its way at last.
I do hope it is.


*- Gemma says it’s going to snow this week (
Apparently winter is back! -*

Ill, ill, ill, ill, ill, ill, ill, ill, ill.

I hate feeling ill.

It’s been too long, and I still feel so rough.

I think you should invent some magic pills for me,
Because the ones I have taken today have done nothing!

And I don’t mean magic pills that make a beanstalk – although that might be cool, if there is no scary giant up there.

And yes of course they would have to be pink!

New York Library

New York

Lampshades on Lamposts!!!

Empire State Building

Ikea – Nottingham

My parents are visiting.
We decide to go to Ikea.

We try out every sofa.
Sit on every seat.
Lie on every bed.
Go into every show room.

Mum found some plastic flowers. She brings them over to me. We decide to put them in a show room.
I go into one.
Take out a glass
And put the flowers inside.
Then I take out a card
And leave it next to them.

We collect flowers as we go along and put them in different places. In one of the kitchens, I put three flowers sticking out of the sink plughole. And leave a card in the sink next to it.

I really want to put one in the toilet. So I find a show room where the toilet is slightly secluded. I go in. But the seat has been glued down.

Instead I settle for leaving the flowers and card in the bathroom sink. But I don’t wait to see if anyone notices in any of the rooms.

We come out of the last room and there is a spotlight circling on the floor. It’s projecting some offer they have on. But as no one is around, we decide to use it as a spotlight to dance under. I dance in turn with my mum and my dad.

Who’d have known you could have so much fun in Ikea?

We sit side by side on the bed.
Still.
Too scared to talk.
Fear of what is to come.
…
I am feeling uneasy.
- I move to the other side of the bed
And try to make myself comfortable.
He does the same.

Silence…

He can’t take it any longer…
“Are we going to talk now?"
I dared not speak...
“I think we need to.”

I know he is right.
It can’t be delayed any longer.
I can’t delay it any longer.

It is me that has to speak.
He is waiting…
…
I look at him.
I see his eyes.

This is the hardest things I've ever had to do.
I don't know how to do it.

I keep searching for words,
Hoping for some to come to me.
But they don’t.

And all I can say is…
“I don’t know how to start.”

He sits,
Waiting,
Patient.
Waiting for the words to leave my mouth.

But they won’t come.
They have deserted me.

I ask him to start,
Knowing there isn’t much for him to say.
But hoping me would lead me to where I needed to be,
Bringing me closer.
Just as he always does when I struggle.

Like the good-hearted person he is,
He does what I need.
What he knows I need.

He leads me down the path,
Holding my hand,
Drawing me nearer to the edge with each word.

Then he speaks the words
That prepare me to take a step on my own.

“Normally it’s me who reassures you that it’s all going to be ok.
But I can’t do that this time,
I just don’t know…”

He has let go…
I am at the edge…

He looks at me,
Willing me not to speak the words we both know are coming.

And through a broken voice
- I speak them.

“I just don’t know that I can do it anymore.”

I take the final step.
I speak the selfish words.

The stillness returns,
This time disturbed only with teardrops.

Holding them back hurts more,
And so I let them come.

Here we lie,
Holding each other.
Never wanting to let go,
Never wanting this time to stop,

Our bubble,
Our moment,
Our time.

Weatherspoons, The Roebuck – Nottingham

Closing time draws near. We are planning where to go next.
The bar tenders start to clear the tables, closing down for the night.

One of the bar tenders has been wiping the tables next to where we are sitting. He is called away.

He has been gone for over ten minutes already.
He has left his cleaning stuff on the table so he will be back.

I pick out a card, and put it on the table.

We carry on talking, finishing our drinks. I forget all about it. Until I see him walk back over.

I watch him.
I wonder if he will pick it up,
Or if he will ignore it.

He goes to pick up his spray and cloth.
But stops.
He has seen the card.

He picks it up.
He reads it.
A small smile creeps across his face.
And in turn across mine.

He tucks it into his shirt pocket,
And carries on cleaning with a smile on his face.

Café Nero – Nottingham

The only place to sit was up here.
There is a good view.
Of people passing by.
I get to watch them pass through their lives.

My eyes flicker round the room.
Watching,
Observing their movements.

There is a guy sitting in the corner reading a book.
I am jealous of him.
I want to feel comfortable sitting on my own.

He gets up to leave.
A game of musical chairs takes place in his absence.

I take a card out, reach out and place it on the table next to me. Minutes later, a guy and a girl come in and sit at the table. It hasn’t been cleared yet so they push the rubbish over to one side. They don’t seem to notice the card.

I look back out of the window,
I watch the people walk by.
I play the guessing game.
Making up stories about who they are.

He smokes his cigarette.
She touches her hair.
I look down
– I watch.
He paces up and down
– waiting.
She glances inside.
The little one blows her nose.
I look away.

I look back over to the couple,
They are deep in conversation.
Too deep now- they won’t notice it.

Outside I see him.
I’ve heard about him before,
But I have never seen him until now.
I watch him until he passes out of my view.
Headphones the size of speakers.
They must be some weight to carry around.
The women waiting outside the shop sees him too.
She watches him pass, smiling to herself.
I smile at her, smiling at him.
Everyone is watching everyone else – but no one notices that they are being watched…

Not even me…
Until I look up and see him looking at me.

I stand up, drop a card and leave.

Cookie Club – Nottingham

With my coat and purse in my hand I queue up for the cloakroom. The woman takes my coat. I pay her, take the ticket and walk onto the dance floor. We start to dance and I realise I sill have the ticket in my hand. I get my cardholder out and put it inside.

The holder glows under the UV light, and in our merry state we seem to find it really interesting.
I get a card out, and as I do someone takes it from me and starts waving it around.

A couple of guys dancing next to us look over and see the glowing card.
They grab it wondering what it is.

One of them tries to read it, but can’t make it out in the dark.
His friend takes it from him.
He reads it and looks very confused.

‘What does it mean?’

‘Whatever you want it to.’ I answer.
I don’t think he is happy with that as an answer.

‘Is it some kind of religious thing?’ he asks.
His friend has now managed to read it, and he too is looking at me waiting for an answer.

I tell them that it isn’t.
We talk for a bit.
They are still very confused,
And I am having trouble explaining myself.

I don’t really want to explain myself.
We talk and laugh,
They still don’t understand.
But I don’t mind that.

At one point they seem to be slightly offended by the card. Which I admit I don't quite understand.
But we laugh it off on both sides.

The card is returned to me,
The two guys say bye and wander off in search of a drink.

Boots Library – Nottingham

I get in the lift to go up to the fourth floor – computers.
I put my smart card in my jacket pocket and realise I have a card in there from yesterday. I had planned to leave it in the arboretum on my way home, but it was locked up by the time I left uni.

There is no one else in the lift.
So I tuck the card into a bit of metal next to the door.
Most of it still on view.

I get out on the fourth floor.
There is nobody waiting to get in when I get out.

I’m slightly disappointed.


Time comes to make my way home.
I wait for the lift to come.
I forget all about the previous card, until I get in, and notice where it isn’t.

I look down to the floor, expecting to see that it has just fallen.
But it isn’t there.
Somebody had taken it.
It makes me smile.

I find another one to replace it.

When I reach the ground floor,
There is one guy alone.
He enters the lift after I get out.

I hope that he will notice it.

I went to the New York film club.
There weren’t many people there.

But I kinda liked it like that.

It was West Side Story.
I love it.
I wanted to sing along but I couldn’t really.

Ruby left me half way through,
So I was sitting on my own,
But it was still cool.

Today I did the screen-printing workshop.

White words on white paper.

White works on cream fabric.

Hidden words,

Whispers,

Your secrets.