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The Itinerant Self

“Silk work, turning fabric into other fabric, a childhood blanket with satin binding, how hungry our skin was for touch, treasured scraps of silk…somehow the silk and shit go together, spinning straw into gold”.
The abject is ‘the place where meaning collapses’, a border that encroaches everything, it is no longer I who expel, “I” is expelled. I am in the place where ‘I’ am not and which permits me to be.
Through the ritualistic, obsessive, repetitive act of stitching, I endeavour to cover my entire body in layer upon layer of the pale pink visceral gauze.
Voices quietly fill the space, the words they speak becoming vowels, consonant and ultimately sounds.

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