SORRY ABOUT THE MESS

Debut exhibition at Visual Bulk, Hobart 2016.

My thanks to Eden Meure, Theia Connell, Grace Herbert and Liam James for their assistance.

Content warnings: rape and mental illness.

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Yeah nah, the title is misleading—I’m not actually sorry.

When I was fifteen years old I was statutorily raped five, maybe six times.

(I wasn’t sure what to write immediately after this, so I had a nap instead).

I used to think that was when the panic attacks started, but have since changed my mind.

I think I’ve been anxious—chronically or not—since before birth (mum, it’s not you it’s me).

Nah yeah, I live with the anxiety always. It is one of my life’s framing device.

There is no recovery to speak of. There is living, and not-living.

I think I’ve made some progress on the former, but you’ll undoubtedly be the judge of that.

I personally believe I’m becoming something of an expert at getting tangled up.

Oh, and unfortunately for everyone involved, I’ve started keeping my promises.

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Apologism I–III, paper, wood, yarn, oil pastel, watercolour, pencil, ballpoint pen, tape, 2016.

You remind me of when flowers tear themselves open.

Repetition ad nauseum.

Draw it out, baby. Draw it all out.

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They Tell Me Fragility Is A Virtue, paper, wood, yarn, 2016.

This body is a house with no walls, only windows.

The two of us, within striking distance.

Things falling through, things falling apart.

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The Nest, paper, television, looped video (documentation of performance), 2016.

I get stuck in loops—in the badlands between two easy choices.

Sometimes it’s easier to just do nothing; wreck everything.

Sometimes it’s even smarter than the alternative.

Skin Time, video (documentation of performance), 2016.

I’m one of those people that runs their mouth, then forgets about it.

I could disappear at any time with no problem.

Sometimes I am paralysed with visions of tripping over at work.

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Nesting (Performance Stills), photographic print on parchment, 2016.

I am doing just fine, thank you very much. How are you?

Papercuts are never quite as bad as they seem.

I will begin breathing normally again very shortly.

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Playing Up I–V, photographic print on parchment, permanent marker, 2016.

I wish I didn’t have such a sweet-tooth for my own reinvention.

Identity can become entropy but, like, embodied.

A weight is being lifted.

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I’ll Show You A Fucking Narcissist, found mirror, paper, oil pastel, 2016.

What’s worse, being self-centred or constantly projecting?

We have been conditioned into dishonesty.

I accept responsbility, I have learned my lesson.