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You can use the arrow buttons at the bottom of the screen to jump between rooms in the gallery.
When you look around the gallery you'll see a Read More button at the bottom of the screen and you'll discover more about the Artwork you are looking at.
Video artworks will start as you look at them. Some artworks also have sound, represented by stumps. Step inbetween them to hear the work.
‘Protect Your Crewmates’ is a collaborative advertising campaign with the video game Among Us, which aims to raise awareness about human trafficking and sexual exploitation in schools.
‘Protect Your Crewmates’ is a collaborative advertising campaign with the video game Among Us, which aims to raise awareness about human trafficking and sexual exploitation in schools.
‘Protect Your Crewmates’ is a collaborative advertising campaign with the video game Among Us, which aims to raise awareness about human trafficking and sexual exploitation in schools.
‘Protect Your Crewmates’ is a collaborative advertising campaign with the video game Among Us, which aims to raise awareness about human trafficking and sexual exploitation in schools.
The image of two people on the yellow condom is from a 1990s advert by CRIPS, the French Regional Centre for Aids Information and Prevention.
The 'Be Good in Bed' image was used by the Terrence Higgins Trust in 1992 as part of their ongoing campaign encouraging men to wear condoms to prevent HIV transmission. It was also handed out at the gay pride festival that year.
Credit: Terrence Higgins Trust/Wellcome Collection.
Sex Ed.
Do memories of blushing teachers, condoms and cucumbers, and a commonly used animation teaching consent through the art of offering someone a cup of tea come to mind? Was there anything that was a bit of a turn off? An unnerving presence of embarrassment, confusion or unpreparedness perhaps?
As we at Megaphone sat down in front of our webcams to discuss the topic for our next campaign, we considered, as we slowly start to come together post our covid world, how it may feel to return to our normal lives and relationships.
During a january episode of Channel 4’s ‘The Last Leg’, Dr Hannah Fry, a mathematician who studies and predicts human behaviour, deduced that as we come together again, there is likely to be a rise in Sexually transmitted diseases (STDS) as a replica to the rise in Syphilis in the 1920’s after the Spanish Flu pandemic and the first world war. Whilst all predictions should be taken with a pinch of salt, this new information lead the Megaphone team to question just how prepared and educated are we about our sexual health and the overall standard of sex ed classes taught during school.
We discovered many shared experiences of outdated, biased, gender exclusive sex ed classes that oversimplified sex and sexual health as a mear biolgical transaction, lacking of any emotional impact or consequence. This made most of us feel unprepared and seeking other sources of education such as pornography and hearsay from our friends to fill in the gaps, giving us unreliable and sometimes damaging images and expectations of sexual relationships and sexual health. We decided- no more! And ‘#TouchUpSexEd’ was born!
We’re calling upon education providers and schools to ‘touchup’ their sex education curriculum to include the emotional and psychological aspects. The result of our survey confirmed how young people shared our concerns and experiences, where a more detailed approach to teaching in menstruation, consent, pleasure and less known conditions such as Vagmismus is needed.
As you enter our gallery, you will see a space filled with the responses of 21 participants (aged 16 - 25) of our public survey that asked questions regarding their sexual education at school, how effective it was, if there was anything that they wished they were taught, and how their education has impacted their expectations and experiences going into sexual relationships. The responses are sat beside archive material of past and present sex education campaigns, in addition to creative responses to the survey such as poems and graphic creations.
Girly Chats by Ruby Pinner
On a Monday I think,
Sleep misty, fuelled by Lucozade and thick eyeliner
You pulled me into the sixth form centre loos,
Checked the toilets, waited for a girl to leave, whilst we reapplied our lipstick in unison
And told me how you lost it
Had it
Broke it
Popped it
How he had taken it.
You’d already told Alice; her cheeks were the colour of cherry juice.
The three of us spent the day unable to follow a sentence on our desktops,
Giddy and curious
Getting to know the new you.
Trying to not be too loud,
As we questioned, listened, laughed.
You became the oracle
We hung onto every word
As if gripping to what you said would feel the same as what it was.
I remember you talked about hurting and loss,
For a weird moment I thought of buying you flowers or chocolate:
To celebrate or comfort?
As if I was dating you myself or someone had died.
I couldn’t quite tell what you wanted
Or had wanted at the time.
Nobody had died.
I think it may have been as foggy for you as it was for me.
I did not see it then.
Casey Jackson
Tomblands Rebellion, June 2020
My work uses Norfolk as vehicle to express my views, observations and feelings on a larger scale. This individual piece featuring Norwich’s incomparable Tombland came to fruition during the controversial Anglia Square consultation which made me consider the largely untouched, medieval and historic city centre in a new way, a globalised, generic, terracotta cladded way. Featuring Columbia Threadneedle’s looming marker tower for the ‘regeneration’ was a way to symbolise the daunting anonymity of a modern city and a shift in priorities from a council and society. Standing next to the tower is the mock cathedral, shadowing the Norman original which peeks over the Erpingham Gate. This I imagined would be constructed in this terminally idealistic world I’m portraying, or if another global company for example, Disney should ever, dare I say, acquire the cathedral. It is a symbol for being raised on americanised television, movies and culture. Sold a dreamy world full of princesses in towers and princes on steeds, the discontentment with your real experience in the world is almost mandatory, even in somewhere as wonderful as Norfolk! With mention of companies such as these it felt necessary to also highlight some of the corruption and amoral aspects to them. I tried to document the viewpoint of a child and also the viewpoint of myself now in this work and the journey between the two. This is a creation about a realisation of conditioning and a romance of falling back in love with Norfolk even if it isn’t quite what we expected growing up. To trade the dream of a false utopia for an awareness of the beauty of what you have before you is a bargain worth taking.
Daisy Campbell
Refrain, 17 May 2020
I have always been inspired by the storytelling which occurs within art. From chiaroscuro’s revelation of character in tonal nuances, to the objects imbued with symbolism in Renaissance paintings, the presence of a visual narrative, for me, is paramount. I have found this interest to inform the compositions, subjects and mediums of my work. Whilst seeking to create likeness within portraits, I also endeavour to capture something of the character of the subject, which it is a joy to excavate as a painting develops.
I think that the works submitted fit the theme of the exhibition as they are both concerned with thought. Alongside a person lost in reverie, for me, the stars capture the essence of the exhibition, as we are forever surrounded by these pinpricks of light, yet they are obscured during the day; in naming and creating constellations, we seek to bind distant, scattered scintillations, and as these patterns form above us, they paradoxically reach their zenith above a thousand other eyes. A recognisable and fixed shroud around our planet, these figures disintegrate and metamorphosise as the perspective shifts. Existing, as we observe them, in no space, their semblance of coherence exists in every place across our world. Like stars, we each carry thoughts, yet they cannot be sewn in the external world; they our as intrinsically bound to life as breath or blood, yet are unmoored from the physical self, never tangible nor corporeal. They are our silent stories, ineffable testaments, and mute observations which walk with us. They are why silence can be paradoxically deafening. Just as we can be lost in a forest, we can be lost in thought, the difference is that woods are not everywhere, yet thoughts cram every place whilst occupying no space. We have all strayed from nowhere.
Maili Little
Remember When, 12/06/20
I am nineteen years old, and I am an aspiring filmmaker and scriptwriter. In September I will be studying a Filmmaking BA at the University of Sussex.
This year – my gap year – I went interrailing in Europe and then to Thailand with my friend. Sadly, our trip to Thailand was cut short due to COVID-19, a scary experience where we found ourselves faced with the possibility of being stuck halfway across the other side of the world for an indefinite period of time.
After returning to the UK safely, however, I found it difficult coming to terms with the new normality; feeling imprisoned in my own house, upset I wasn’t in the heat and colour of Asia.
But as I grew used to being at home, I came to realise how much I had taken for granted. I’ve been lucky enough to have my family around me, a garden and plenty to keep me busy. Lots of people don’t have those blessings – and, of course, for so many others COVID-19 has been devastating.
My world, here and now, is about appreciating everything. So, after seeing the No Space, Every Place brief, I felt inspired by the challenge of making a film in lockdown, entirely on my own; using few resources. I enjoyed experimenting with different shots: two subjects I used throughout were the sun and the plants in my garden – representing the beauty of nature and how life will always continue. The writing was also important to me – I wanted to capture the relationship between two generations; the intimacy of that.
I hope you enjoy watching Remember When. Although it is not based on my family experiences, many of the themes and motifs resonate with me deeply.
It is a film about lockdown, a letter, and a love transcending separation.
Daisy Campbell
Selene, 20 May 2020 I have always been inspired by the storytelling which occurs within art. From chiaroscuro’s revelation of character in tonal nuances, to the objects imbued with symbolism in Renaissance paintings, the presence of a visual narrative, for me, is paramount. I have found this interest to inform the compositions, subjects and mediums of my work. Whilst seeking to create likeness within portraits, I also endeavour to capture something of the character of the subject, which it is a joy to excavate as a painting develops.
I think that the works submitted fit the theme of the exhibition as they are both concerned with thought. Alongside a person lost in reverie, for me, the stars capture the essence of the exhibition, as we are forever surrounded by these pinpricks of light, yet they are obscured during the day; in naming and creating constellations, we seek to bind distant, scattered scintillations, and as these patterns form above us, they paradoxically reach their zenith above a thousand other eyes. A recognisable and fixed shroud around our planet, these figures disintegrate and metamorphosise as the perspective shifts. Existing, as we observe them, in no space, their semblance of coherence exists in every place across our world. Like stars, we each carry thoughts, yet they cannot be sewn in the external world; they our as intrinsically bound to life as breath or blood, yet are unmoored from the physical self, never tangible nor corporeal. They are our silent stories, ineffable testaments, and mute observations which walk with us. They are why silence can be paradoxically deafening. Just as we can be lost in a forest, we can be lost in thought, the difference is that woods are not everywhere, yet thoughts cram every place whilst occupying no space. We have all strayed from nowhere.
Giving
A belt complete with a shiny buckle sliced through the air towards my throbbing back. Twenty lashes is what I received the night that my owner found out I was pregnant, each whip more unbearable than the last. Screaming in terror, I lashed out and caught in the mouth. He staggered backwards, bringing his hand up to his stunned face. Gingerly, he touched his lip, coating his fingers with a thick sheen of blood. He stared at his hands in disbelief before rubbing them over his worn clothes, as if his own blood was an insult, a disgrace.
Fury contorted his ruddy face into an inhuman grimace as he grabbed my hair, not caring to be gentle – all rationality had been long lost. After that, I was abandoned in a derelict outbuilding by myself – unfit to see anyone else. The air was musty from years of unuse. Paint peeled off the stark white walls, now dirty with spiderwebs clinging to them, like an abstract painting by a unknown, unappreciated artist. Underneath the stars, I grimaced with pain. My belly was so large now that I could barely stand, so I lay restlessly on the damp earth.
Suddenly, a jolt, a flare of pain; my baby was about to come into this world. Yet still, no one came to help me. My ears strained for some footsteps, a sound that usually echoed and lingered in my head, bringing snapshots of pain and terror bubbling up to the surface. I wasn't ready for this, I couldn't do this on my own. I was all alone, but filled with defiance I got ready to give all I had.
Ten minutes later, my breath was still coming in short gasps. Everywhere ached, a dull, monotonous ache that seeped into every part of my body. On the earth next to me lay a baby, my baby. Motionless she lay, eyes closed peacefully in a serene calmness. It couldn't be, I wasn't giving up quite yet. Gently, I nudged her, touching her soft skin untouched by life and all the scars it gives you.
My baby finally took her first breath just as I was ready to give up on her. She opened her starry eyes and looked around in wonder. Her body quivered delicately, her eyes blinked quickly as if everything might disappear if she closed her eyes for too long. I was in a surreal dream, my baby, my beautiful foal was perfect. Our eyes met, and all the pain I had endured for her didn't matter, my gaze saying what I could not.
That night I discovered a new meaning to the giving of life; my beautiful baby had given me new hope for a better world and a brighter future.
Pocketed Poetry
My poetry is hidden, out of sight rom the perverse and peevish people. My poetry is a paragon at the pinnacle of my persona. My poetry is a part of me, it follows me, I keep it I my pocket Thus my poetry becomes pocketed.
See now my pocketed poetry is powerful, they say the pen will best the sword but I can do one better I will jest you with my words and assault you with my sentences, for I could pick you and place you in a ring with me and punch you to an inch of your life, however, my powerful pocketed poetry will perturb you in quite the perfunctory way. For as I said, the pinnacle of my plethora of peevish options to best you is the prerogative that hides in my pocket. My pocketed poetry is pertinent and powerful.
Now you should see what I’ve carried, carried in my pocket. I’m telling you now that my words can pierce deeper than anything that I’ve pulled. Think about this my words are more politically potent, have a greater impact, are more controversial than the 8 inch that I’ve seen, that nicks his knee as he walks. Imagine a scar to feel protected. How dark is it that we’re expected to stab not to speak, taught to slash rather than communicate. Put it down. Think how powerful you could be with that prerogative in your pocket, embrace the poet inside of you to progress our society further than that unsterile stainless steel ever could.
Pocketed Poetry
My poetry is hidden, out of sight rom the perverse and peevish people. My poetry is a paragon at the pinnacle of my persona. My poetry is a part of me, it follows me, I keep it I my pocket Thus my poetry becomes pocketed.
See now my pocketed poetry is powerful, they say the pen will best the sword but I can do one better I will jest you with my words and assault you with my sentences, for I could pick you and place you in a ring with me and punch you to an inch of your life, however, my powerful pocketed poetry will perturb you in quite the perfunctory way. For as I said, the pinnacle of my plethora of peevish options to best you is the prerogative that hides in my pocket. My pocketed poetry is pertinent and powerful.
Now you should see what I’ve carried, carried in my pocket. I’m telling you now that my words can pierce deeper than anything that I’ve pulled. Think about this my words are more politically potent, have a greater impact, are more controversial than the 8 inch that I’ve seen, that nicks his knee as he walks. Imagine a scar to feel protected. How dark is it that we’re expected to stab not to speak, taught to slash rather than communicate. Put it down. Think how powerful you could be with that prerogative in your pocket, embrace the poet inside of you to progress our society further than that unsterile stainless steel ever could.
Giving
A belt complete with a shiny buckle sliced through the air towards my throbbing back. Twenty lashes is what I received the night that my owner found out I was pregnant, each whip more unbearable than the last. Screaming in terror, I lashed out and caught in the mouth. He staggered backwards, bringing his hand up to his stunned face. Gingerly, he touched his lip, coating his fingers with a thick sheen of blood. He stared at his hands in disbelief before rubbing them over his worn clothes, as if his own blood was an insult, a disgrace.
Fury contorted his ruddy face into an inhuman grimace as he grabbed my hair, not caring to be gentle – all rationality had been long lost. After that, I was abandoned in a derelict outbuilding by myself – unfit to see anyone else. The air was musty from years of unuse. Paint peeled off the stark white walls, now dirty with spiderwebs clinging to them, like an abstract painting by a unknown, unappreciated artist. Underneath the stars, I grimaced with pain. My belly was so large now that I could barely stand, so I lay restlessly on the damp earth.
Suddenly, a jolt, a flare of pain; my baby was about to come into this world. Yet still, no one came to help me. My ears strained for some footsteps, a sound that usually echoed and lingered in my head, bringing snapshots of pain and terror bubbling up to the surface. I wasn't ready for this, I couldn't do this on my own. I was all alone, but filled with defiance I got ready to give all I had.
Ten minutes later, my breath was still coming in short gasps. Everywhere ached, a dull, monotonous ache that seeped into every part of my body. On the earth next to me lay a baby, my baby. Motionless she lay, eyes closed peacefully in a serene calmness. It couldn't be, I wasn't giving up quite yet. Gently, I nudged her, touching her soft skin untouched by life and all the scars it gives you.
My baby finally took her first breath just as I was ready to give up on her. She opened her starry eyes and looked around in wonder. Her body quivered delicately, her eyes blinked quickly as if everything might disappear if she closed her eyes for too long. I was in a surreal dream, my baby, my beautiful foal was perfect. Our eyes met, and all the pain I had endured for her didn't matter, my gaze saying what I could not.
That night I discovered a new meaning to the giving of life; my beautiful baby had given me new hope for a better world and a brighter future.
The Brazen Bull Part 1
In Ancient Greece it is alleged that on its pedestal stands A gleaming, brass bull operated by an evil tyrant‘s hands An innocent hollowed out life-sized bull yet no one mentions how pleasant the statue looks on its golden pedestal The whole town looks so different though, come nightfall When life is finally breathed into the dreaded brazen bull A fire is lit underneath and the bull burns red with fury and torment A man looks to his wife and son while he’s thrown into the bull over the rent Through the thoughtfully positioned pipes and whistles The sounds of the screams are translated to mimic the sounds of a living bull
Some say now, that it’s only a story a legend, and that I need not worry But when I cry late at night it’s not for that man and it’s not for the son who lost his dad It’s for the story, for the tyrant and for the inventor It’s for the conscience of the town who stood back and watched her Be reduced to this bull This brazen bull that is my body Brazenly feigning some kind of confidence Self-respect But I am trapped and burning and screaming and bleeding and pleading and the only sound that can escape is the sound of the “I’m sorry” that echoes in my head every time I apologise for not being good enough I wriggle into a new position in a hopeless attempt to reduce the surface area of my skin on the brass I’m sorry for skipping class I’m sorry for not being able to breathe And I’m sorry for not being able to tell you that I am not able to breathe Please You watch but you don’t see The whole town is gathered around No one sees me You see the bull You hear “I’m sorry” But if you listen carefully Really listen
Mother Tucking Children Into Bed
He doesn’t believe in God. God is for men without a paint-brush, with no sacred muse to worship from. He doesn’t need a God to know the sanctity of worship; he draws his wife with the reverence of a disciple writing his gospel. She was made for this, he thinks, an apron wrapped so tightly around her middle that she probably had to remove one or more of her intestines to allow herself to breath. Her hands delicately hover over her abdomen, surreptitiously show-casing the slight bump that defines her figure. Her pride, her joy, her worth.
She leans over her children (their children) in a way that reminds him of a white swan, magnificently bowing it’s long feathered neck towards the water, eyes forever bound to its own. If he’s her monarch, she’s his swan, condemned to a life of swimming in her own reflection, her painting plastered over every copy of ‘Literary Digest’. She’s his in the same way that Helen was Paris’; her picture stains his canvas for eternity.She cannot escape it, run from it. She was his muse long before she slipped his golden band onto her slim finger, his muse long before long before the day he carried her over their threshold, promising to protect her from all harm; love her, cherish her, forsake all else. He cannot help but draw her, she draws herself in his mind every night, dancing into his dreams and nightmares until he wakes, pen poised, brush readied, her figure slowly working into the frame.
She’s easier to love on paper, that perfectly poised mask never slipping, that feathered neck bowing to him always. They argue. She tells him he’s in love with the girl in his painting and maybe it’s true, maybe there came a time where he spiralled out of love with her and slipped into love with Picture- Irene but does it really matter (does it really??) because in his eyes they are one, she and the canvas, entwined in each other. She tells him he’s crazy, shakes the pillows that are his children and clutches at her flat abdomen now, clawing at the parts which make her who she is, the parts which make her his. She begs him to take it back, to erase the lines drawn but Hephaestus can’t unsculpt what is already sculpted and he cannot erase what the world has already seen. She is ‘Mother Tucking Children into Bed’ now and forever, timelessly trapped in the fabricated distorted reality which is his canvas, his mind, his heart.
She leaves him, eventually. It is to be expected he thinks, perhaps love fades in the same way that his watercolors do. Now he paints his happiness, he does not live it. He finds some girl from some school to love, has children to replace the pillows but finds pillow children to be much nicer than real children. He doesn’t paint her again, not on paper, but his dreams are rife with her silhouette, mocking him, daring him. Never-changing, never aging, forever his.
Mother Tucking Children Into Bed
He doesn’t believe in God. God is for men without a paint-brush, with no sacred muse to worship from. He doesn’t need a God to know the sanctity of worship; he draws his wife with the reverence of a disciple writing his gospel. She was made for this, he thinks, an apron wrapped so tightly around her middle that she probably had to remove one or more of her intestines to allow herself to breath. Her hands delicately hover over her abdomen, surreptitiously show-casing the slight bump that defines her figure. Her pride, her joy, her worth.
She leans over her children (their children) in a way that reminds him of a white swan, magnificently bowing it’s long feathered neck towards the water, eyes forever bound to its own. If he’s her monarch, she’s his swan, condemned to a life of swimming in her own reflection, her painting plastered over every copy of ‘Literary Digest’. She’s his in the same way that Helen was Paris’; her picture stains his canvas for eternity.She cannot escape it, run from it. She was his muse long before she slipped his golden band onto her slim finger, his muse long before long before the day he carried her over their threshold, promising to protect her from all harm; love her, cherish her, forsake all else. He cannot help but draw her, she draws herself in his mind every night, dancing into his dreams and nightmares until he wakes, pen poised, brush readied, her figure slowly working into the frame.
She’s easier to love on paper, that perfectly poised mask never slipping, that feathered neck bowing to him always. They argue. She tells him he’s in love with the girl in his painting and maybe it’s true, maybe there came a time where he spiralled out of love with her and slipped into love with Picture- Irene but does it really matter (does it really??) because in his eyes they are one, she and the canvas, entwined in each other. She tells him he’s crazy, shakes the pillows that are his children and clutches at her flat abdomen now, clawing at the parts which make her who she is, the parts which make her his. She begs him to take it back, to erase the lines drawn but Hephaestus can’t unsculpt what is already sculpted and he cannot erase what the world has already seen. She is ‘Mother Tucking Children into Bed’ now and forever, timelessly trapped in the fabricated distorted reality which is his canvas, his mind, his heart.
She leaves him, eventually. It is to be expected he thinks, perhaps love fades in the same way that his watercolors do. Now he paints his happiness, he does not live it. He finds some girl from some school to love, has children to replace the pillows but finds pillow children to be much nicer than real children. He doesn’t paint her again, not on paper, but his dreams are rife with her silhouette, mocking him, daring him. Never-changing, never aging, forever his.
an impromptu nonsensical
Do you ever just walk in the woods and as you pause for a moment, it dawns upon you that this is perfect
and this is the air, this is the whimsical charm from which fairy tales are spun it hangs arctic yet soft around your face pure and still, frozen and clambers up from deep inside you
the child within slips into your mind, lolls in the nonsensical glow of long-dormant wonder and grasps the reins as you hesitate -
and just for a slight moment, this pictures stiffens and sets bleeds in vibrant inks into the wrinkled melodies of a fairy tale locked, trapped in time a rare, simple impression - a fossil of gleam and glimmer
and yet in a few seconds it is swept aside, that curious stillness, ripped and ruptured by the nimble dance of time and it is gone forever
an impromptu nonsensical
Do you ever just walk in the woods and as you pause for a moment, it dawns upon you that this is perfect
and this is the air, this is the whimsical charm from which fairy tales are spun it hangs arctic yet soft around your face pure and still, frozen and clambers up from deep inside you
the child within slips into your mind, lolls in the nonsensical glow of long-dormant wonder and grasps the reins as you hesitate -
and just for a slight moment, this pictures stiffens and sets bleeds in vibrant inks into the wrinkled melodies of a fairy tale locked, trapped in time a rare, simple impression - a fossil of gleam and glimmer
and yet in a few seconds it is swept aside, that curious stillness, ripped and ruptured by the nimble dance of time and it is gone forever
Satsuma
It was that sun-bleached afternoon amongst the dust of late summer, as I watched you slowly peeling a ripe satsuma, that I knew for sure. Pith, the colour of curdled buttermilk gathered under the half-moons of your fingernails, staining them nicotine yellow as you slipped the fruit from its skin in one drunken, spiralling coil. You held it up to me, a bright orange helicoid, a faint smile curling up at your lips, the naked satsuma cupped in your right hand, sat lazily in your lap.
The air between us smelt of citrus; sharp and sweet.
'Like Gaudi,' I said, quietly willing you to remember the week before, where we had lingered together in the shade of that skeletal basilica, the silence infused with the smell of suncream and the rush and pull of our breathing, out of time at first and then falling into place, or how you had stood beside me- below the lucid glass- so close I could have sworn I had felt your bare skin erupt into goose flesh.
You looked up at me, and I watched myself watching you in the dark of your sunglasses. Hazily I imagined shrinking down to two inches tall, and climbing up into your eye socket to sleep like Hina. My palms were slick with sweat; I pressed them flat against my skirt and prayed you hadn't noticed.
It was long past lunchtime. Other people drunk from frosted pitchers under the soft seams of trees behind the house, or dozed inside the cool shuttered rooms, and here I sat, in quiet agony, watching you pick the pith off each segment of satsuma, and listen to you talk about the neighbours son, who's name the other girls savoured on their lips.
'What do you think of him?' You asked, wiping away juice from the corners of your mouth. I shrugged. We both knew he had always liked you. When we went dancing, or drinking at the beach he would watch you with that soft, unguarded way, which I knew from experience meant only one thing.
'He's fine,' I said, 'If you like that sort of thing.'
You laughed, and leant back in your chair, stretching out your sandalled feet until they were an inch from my own. My breath snagged somewhere in my chest.
'He's an idiot really-' and I saw your eyes narrow like almonds '- but he's really besotted with me. He keeps leaving me poems.'
I watched you push your dark hair from your forehead, and wanted to speak, to say what I knew, the only thing I knew, and I wanted you to know too, so desperately my lungs threatened to burst bird-like from my ribcage. But cowardice is too warm and comfortable a habit to betray. So I said nothing, simply plucked at my skirt, nursing the satsuma sized pain glowing just above my heart.
Perhaps you noticed. You were quiet then, with your face turned to the late sun, eyes shut and hands steepled on the rusting arms of the chair. The air was thick and still.
Perhaps you noticed. I didn't know what was better.
Later, you left, taking the last of the sun with you, to drink calimocho in the half dark of a bar and be orbited by beautiful admirers. It was an evening I couldn't face, so I smiled as you said goodbye, as you disappeared through the house, as I felt the rush of your skirt as you brushed past.
I didn't watch you go. The dimpled orange peel and pithy tendrils lay on the table, baked hard in the august heat. My head reeled, and I imagined you turning, and looking back at me, one last time, before I banished the thought from my head.
Lights began to appear in the darkness. I sat for a while, watching them flicker on, a ravenous loneliness prowling about me like some soft animal.
When I grew tired of the night, I retreated to my room to sleep in silence. I saw it as soon as I opened the door. My stomach lurched as if I had plunged from a great height at the sight of it, alone in my cool, shuttered room.
There, pale on my pillow; a single peeled satsuma.
Satsuma
It was that sun-bleached afternoon amongst the dust of late summer, as I watched you slowly peeling a ripe satsuma, that I knew for sure. Pith, the colour of curdled buttermilk gathered under the half-moons of your fingernails, staining them nicotine yellow as you slipped the fruit from its skin in one drunken, spiralling coil. You held it up to me, a bright orange helicoid, a faint smile curling up at your lips, the naked satsuma cupped in your right hand, sat lazily in your lap.
The air between us smelt of citrus; sharp and sweet.
'Like Gaudi,' I said, quietly willing you to remember the week before, where we had lingered together in the shade of that skeletal basilica, the silence infused with the smell of suncream and the rush and pull of our breathing, out of time at first and then falling into place, or how you had stood beside me- below the lucid glass- so close I could have sworn I had felt your bare skin erupt into goose flesh.
You looked up at me, and I watched myself watching you in the dark of your sunglasses. Hazily I imagined shrinking down to two inches tall, and climbing up into your eye socket to sleep like Hina. My palms were slick with sweat; I pressed them flat against my skirt and prayed you hadn't noticed.
It was long past lunchtime. Other people drunk from frosted pitchers under the soft seams of trees behind the house, or dozed inside the cool shuttered rooms, and here I sat, in quiet agony, watching you pick the pith off each segment of satsuma, and listen to you talk about the neighbours son, who's name the other girls savoured on their lips.
'What do you think of him?' You asked, wiping away juice from the corners of your mouth. I shrugged. We both knew he had always liked you. When we went dancing, or drinking at the beach he would watch you with that soft, unguarded way, which I knew from experience meant only one thing.
'He's fine,' I said, 'If you like that sort of thing.'
You laughed, and leant back in your chair, stretching out your sandalled feet until they were an inch from my own. My breath snagged somewhere in my chest.
'He's an idiot really-' and I saw your eyes narrow like almonds '- but he's really besotted with me. He keeps leaving me poems.'
I watched you push your dark hair from your forehead, and wanted to speak, to say what I knew, the only thing I knew, and I wanted you to know too, so desperately my lungs threatened to burst bird-like from my ribcage. But cowardice is too warm and comfortable a habit to betray. So I said nothing, simply plucked at my skirt, nursing the satsuma sized pain glowing just above my heart.
Perhaps you noticed. You were quiet then, with your face turned to the late sun, eyes shut and hands steepled on the rusting arms of the chair. The air was thick and still.
Perhaps you noticed. I didn't know what was better.
Later, you left, taking the last of the sun with you, to drink calimocho in the half dark of a bar and be orbited by beautiful admirers. It was an evening I couldn't face, so I smiled as you said goodbye, as you disappeared through the house, as I felt the rush of your skirt as you brushed past.
I didn't watch you go. The dimpled orange peel and pithy tendrils lay on the table, baked hard in the august heat. My head reeled, and I imagined you turning, and looking back at me, one last time, before I banished the thought from my head.
Lights began to appear in the darkness. I sat for a while, watching them flicker on, a ravenous loneliness prowling about me like some soft animal.
When I grew tired of the night, I retreated to my room to sleep in silence. I saw it as soon as I opened the door. My stomach lurched as if I had plunged from a great height at the sight of it, alone in my cool, shuttered room.
There, pale on my pillow; a single peeled satsuma.
War
As I drift across the battlefield, just a breeze to the grass, the smell of gunpowder and cordite reaches my nostrils. I can hear men's faint whimpering over the sound of gunshots and rumbling tanks. Dark bags sag beneath their eyes, a sign of just how tremendous this war is. Despite the fear in their eyes, cloaked by their determined set of jaw, they keep firing their lethal weaponry. It is get killed by the enemy or be killed for cowardice. Only terror anchors them to this war-stricken place. I have seen many wars in my time. Nothing changes. There will always be people who believe that if we are from a different culture, a different heritage, if we have a different skin colour, then we are less. Wars break out everywhere. This war is like any other: people who are oblivious as to why they are fighting, artil- lery and wounds everywhere.
I am death.
I have walked the Earth since the start of time. No one has survived me. When most people think of me, they picture the grim reaper, a male skeleton in a robe. Well, that's not how I really look. I'm female for starters. Of course I'm female. I am where life begins and ends. I may have skeletal features but the rest of me is definitely human. I feel pain. I feel hunger. I feel loss.
This war is the war to end all wars. Literally. Mankind shall die out from this last battle. Even I will cease to exist. I feed off the energies of human deaths. To me, death is life. I am faced with a choice: allow them to destroy themselves and secure my end or intervene so that their souls survive for me to collect another day.
How do you stop a war? It is easy. There must be a winner. Pick a side. Make their bullets fly home. Make them land every time. Make their fire hotter, their anger stronger, their devastation complete. Does it re- ally matter which side?
I choose one end of this scorched, desolate wasteland. They see me but not for who I really am. To some, I am an angel, a vision. To others I am their mother, come to take them home. I speak but in a terrible voice. They hear me in the scream of missiles and in the flaying of skin, but they understand: this war must end. It works. Peace reigns. It reigns for months. But only months. The next threat to existence, even I cannot avert. These fragile humans are too determined. In the end, it is always consumption. Or conflict. Or both.
War
As I drift across the battlefield, just a breeze to the grass, the smell of gunpowder and cordite reaches my nostrils. I can hear men's faint whimpering over the sound of gunshots and rumbling tanks. Dark bags sag beneath their eyes, a sign of just how tremendous this war is. Despite the fear in their eyes, cloaked by their determined set of jaw, they keep firing their lethal weaponry. It is get killed by the enemy or be killed for cowardice. Only terror anchors them to this war-stricken place. I have seen many wars in my time. Nothing changes. There will always be people who believe that if we are from a different culture, a different heritage, if we have a different skin colour, then we are less. Wars break out everywhere. This war is like any other: people who are oblivious as to why they are fighting, artil- lery and wounds everywhere.
I am death.
I have walked the Earth since the start of time. No one has survived me. When most people think of me, they picture the grim reaper, a male skeleton in a robe. Well, that's not how I really look. I'm female for starters. Of course I'm female. I am where life begins and ends. I may have skeletal features but the rest of me is definitely human. I feel pain. I feel hunger. I feel loss.
This war is the war to end all wars. Literally. Mankind shall die out from this last battle. Even I will cease to exist. I feed off the energies of human deaths. To me, death is life. I am faced with a choice: allow them to destroy themselves and secure my end or intervene so that their souls survive for me to collect another day.
How do you stop a war? It is easy. There must be a winner. Pick a side. Make their bullets fly home. Make them land every time. Make their fire hotter, their anger stronger, their devastation complete. Does it re- ally matter which side?
I choose one end of this scorched, desolate wasteland. They see me but not for who I really am. To some, I am an angel, a vision. To others I am their mother, come to take them home. I speak but in a terrible voice. They hear me in the scream of missiles and in the flaying of skin, but they understand: this war must end. It works. Peace reigns. It reigns for months. But only months. The next threat to existence, even I cannot avert. These fragile humans are too determined. In the end, it is always consumption. Or conflict. Or both.
The Brazen Bull Part 1
In Ancient Greece it is alleged that on its pedestal stands A gleaming, brass bull operated by an evil tyrant‘s hands An innocent hollowed out life-sized bull yet no one mentions how pleasant the statue looks on its golden pedestal The whole town looks so different though, come nightfall When life is finally breathed into the dreaded brazen bull A fire is lit underneath and the bull burns red with fury and torment A man looks to his wife and son while he’s thrown into the bull over the rent Through the thoughtfully positioned pipes and whistles The sounds of the screams are translated to mimic the sounds of a living bull
Some say now, that it’s only a story a legend, and that I need not worry But when I cry late at night it’s not for that man and it’s not for the son who lost his dad It’s for the story, for the tyrant and for the inventor It’s for the conscience of the town who stood back and watched her Be reduced to this bull This brazen bull that is my body Brazenly feigning some kind of confidence Self-respect But I am trapped and burning and screaming and bleeding and pleading and the only sound that can escape is the sound of the “I’m sorry” that echoes in my head every time I apologise for not being good enough I wriggle into a new position in a hopeless attempt to reduce the surface area of my skin on the brass I’m sorry for skipping class I’m sorry for not being able to breathe And I’m sorry for not being able to tell you that I am not able to breathe Please You watch but you don’t see The whole town is gathered around No one sees me You see the bull You hear “I’m sorry” But if you listen carefully Really listen
Natalie Frary
Life in lockdown, 16.5.2020
This piece symbolises the emptiness many of us may be feeling during this difficult time whilst portraying 'Life in Lockdown'. Life at the moment is quite empty and difficult so I wanted to capture this hard time by documenting places that would usually be full of people and in the future, I can compare this hard time with normal life. I think my photos fit well within the theme of the exhibition as it represents life right now. We may never go through anything like this again so we all need to focus on the present and be grateful for what we already have.
Katherine Stockton & Sykiá Collective
Conkers, 20th May 2020 – 25th May 2020 'Conkers' is about a girl in lockdown, missing her mother, and ruminating on her family's luck traditions, that have been given to her through both hereditary and social means. As an artist and writer, I like to write about space and location often. I feel as though the focus on the single room, with its saturation of luck and family and feeling within in, emphasizes both my writing style, but also the theme of this exhibition: the room is small, but the meanings are wide. The space of the window in this bedroom becomes a larger space through the monologue style of the film, as it begins to frame and encapsulate more and more of her family's traditions - those she misses, those she doesn't. Those that haunt her, those that make her lighter. The film emphasizes how even in the quiet, lonely spaces of lockdown, those you love leave a trace.
The film 'Conkers' is part of a larger anthology series of short films, Tales From The Lockdown, a project through which I have been thinking about the simultaneous isolation and connection with the wider world that lockdown has given us. However, I believe this second film, 'Conkers', best fits the brief of this exhibition.
The film 'Conkers' is part of a larger anthology series of short films, Tales From The Lockdown, a project through which I have been thinking about the simultaneous isolation and connection with the wider world that lockdown has given us. However, I believe this second film, 'Conkers', best fits the brief of this exhibition.
Charlotte Ivany
Untitled, January 2020
Leading up to the creation of this piece, I was conceptually experimenting with nostalgia, and family memories that I, as the artist, was not involved with. Therefore, my work became personal and detached simultaneously. I was able to produce a faded quality with the use of Ink and batik salt, creating a level of distortion within the piece that reflected my own detachment. Furthermore, I used a dip pen and ink to refine aspects of the piece, adding in a semblance of clarity to juxtapose such a distorted background.
Dylan Hickman
Singing in the rain, 1st May 2020
I decided to create my piece because it had been about a month into lockdown and I was still waiting for that motivation push. I realised that if I wanted to be motivated I needed to do something to kickstart it. So I decided to do a silhouette photoshoot as its always been a form of photography I’ve wanted to try as a beginner. I knew I would be most motivated to just go in head first and see what I had round the house to create it. That’s when I realised I had a massive white umbrella for my garden seats. So that night I decided to put it on its side and take all the lights from my house to go behind it. I watched 'Singing in the Rain' recently and I realised an umbrella is such a good item to use as it can be easily identified from its shape.
I think my piece fits the ‘No space, every space’ because it proves that if you put your mind to it you can create some pieces of art and film during this time. This time is amazing for becoming creative and trying things you might not normally have the time to try. If you can take anything from this work, take an opportunity to try something different and to just experiment.
Kyran Demetri
”Organized Chaos”, 2nd June 2020
Since we have been in lockdown, my school has moved to online learning. This picture taken on my iPhone is of my desk on a Tuesday evening after all lessons have finished. Tuesday’s are my busiest day with Lessons all day and Teams meetings in 5 of the 8 lessons. It is “organized chaos”. To the outside world it looks like there is no space on my desk but actually, everything has its place. Even my dog has a place sitting under my desk to keep me company.
This is my new normal.
Sam Parkinson My main theme for this work was ‘The Natural Environment’, and I wanted to experiment with all kinds of different mixed media to represent my own local environmental areas. I have grown up in a mainly rural area with many wooded areas and parks and I have always been interested in how the changing weather and seasons affect an area, which led me to research the paintings of David Hockney. The main intention of my project was to celebrate my local areas and create a sense of place. I had always been interested in my own local natural environment, both in rural and urban areas.
Amy Rose Williams
Shoreline Cyanotype Series, May 2020
Standing at the point where the land meets the sea, I layer sand, seawater and found natural objects from the shoreline onto cyanotype paper, allowing it to expose in the sunlight. I have the strongest sense of being when I am standing on the shoreline; there is a sense of freedom and peace. My relationship with the coast is a collaborative one; the location provides me with the inspiration and freedom to create and I document its natural wonder.
Lucy Guy
Perceiving, 12/6/20
I am Lucy Guy. I’m an art school drop-out turned English Literature graduate, and in my free time I make things. I describe myself as a ‘bedroom filmmaker’, messing around with home-made sound effects and figuring out low-fi ways to produce film, all in my ‘bedroom studio’.
Perceiving is a film about inner space. It is inspired by a neurological phenomenon called ‘Alice in Wonderland Syndrome’ which affects how a person perceives their surroundings. Sometimes things are impossibly small, or unimaginably huge, but only within someone’s perception. It’s a common experience to have just before falling asleep, and I have experienced it many times.
In the film, the character’s inner space is rife with turmoil. The space around them becomes frighteningly massive, whilst they themselves are lost in an anxiety-inducing microcosm. Malevolent cylinders never seem far away. The surreal and eerie atmosphere was, in part, inspired by the catastrophic events of 2020, including the Covid-19 crisis; the horror and uncertainty this has caused both the world and each of us individually.
Perceiving is wildly different to the happy, silly and fun animations I usually make, but it has taught me a lot about narrative, filmmaking and the inner space of the mind. I hope that you enjoy it.
Andie Man
Hong Kong, Mid-June 2020
This is a montage capturing the night scenes of Hong Kong. As a metropolis, streets are never not packed with people embracing their fast-paced lifestyles. It is only when the night falls, that things slow down a little bit, and one can really stop for a moment to take a look at the beauty of the cityscape surrounding them this whole time. The bickering lights and ambient sounds linking up all the places in the city, is a deep connection you only realize when you empty your mind, and give it space to see, listen and feel.
This piece was created because I wanted to capture the little moments of the city before they are all subject to unforeseeable change in the future amid political instability and uncertainties.
When I was filming, I tried to incorporate camera movements such as tilting and tracking into most of the shots, which makes the clips more versatile for me to play around with transitions between clips. In post-production, I also added in multiple layers of sound effects to like the beeping of the traffic lights to make the footage more alive.
Lorna Gauvain
What If?,1st June 2020
The short film ‘What If’ is my direct response to the current situation of lockdown; I was inspired to create the piece after my A levels were cancelled, and, on the days I was meant to be revising and sitting my exams, I was obliged to stay at home and spend my time however I wished. It was such a strange situation to be thrust into that it felt almost like a dream, and that I would have to go in and take my exams when I woke up, and so I wanted to make a short film that highlighted this confusion and worry concerning the exams and highlighting how unreal the events of the past few months have felt. This relates to the exhibition of ‘No space, every space’ as it concerns the recent events that have taken place due to coronavirus, and how life has been deeply affected by the global pandemic.
Ellie Reeves and Nikita Jaitly
Snail’s Pace, June 2020
This poem speaks to the endless summer that arrived with the pandemic. With no foreseeable end, my local park became a snapshot of the mundane repetitions that filled people’s lives. I was no exception, running in a circle to make productive use of my time. There is something surreal about monotony. Their faces have become impressed on me as the faces of the long summer, squinting in the sun and waiting for something, anything, to change the wind. A collaborative effort between a poet and an animator, we hoped to create a piece that reflected this calm dreamy state, almost reality but lost in the strangeness of slow time that we’re all experiencing.
Katie Torbitt
Through the window, March 2020.
The title of my project was expression and I focused on the figure, especially still life, and expressionism. This piece is inspired by Pierre Bonnard who studied still life in an intimist way, focusing on everyday life, abstract use of oil paint, and bold colours. I also chose to focus on these ideas in my oil painting specifically looking at intimacy with the figure. This links to the subject of this exhibition the sense of being and relationship with the location. In the piece the figures detachment from their environment is clear, with them staring outside the window into the "garden". For the window I used abstract brush strokes of bright coloured oil paint. The colours used were similar to the colour pallet of the garden to create the illusion of uncertainty, and a barrier between the figure and the outside world detaching her from her environment. This uncertainty in the relationship between the figure and her outside world is relevant now as we are so far from normality. However, the figure has a sense of being in the intiminsit aspect of the work.
Taryn Everdeen
'The Desire To Be Liked', April 2020
This piece was shot under lockdown at the beginning of April, in response to the theme ‘selfie’ as part of the admissions process for an art school in Paris. I captured myself in my physical space, confined to home, exploring my inner space - my thoughts about identity.
When I went travelling last year, I was alone, passing through unfamiliar places. The people I met didn’t have the context of the things that I like and do, the things that I define myself through. I could choose exactly how to present myself, stepping into and out of these different versions, taking with me the bits that I liked, leaving behind the things that didn’t serve me.
My identity is something I find tricky to define concretely - I think a lot of us ask ourselves the question, “Who am I?”
Who I am changes all the time, and I struggle with this lack of stability. I feel like I’m never the same person.
“I’m constantly changing,
my form rearranging
to reflect the person I’m facing.”
I'm a people-pleaser, dependent on validation from other people. Often, I catch myself changing the way I act, hoping they'll like me.
Or, more accurately, that version of me.
Perhaps this isn't entirely a bad thing - after all, we need to be able to adapt to different situations. But being preoccupied with - and reacting to - how I think other people perceive me is exhausting. It’s something to notice, to be aware of, and try to decide whether it’s helpful or harmful.
Creating this helped me process some of the insecurities I have about my identity. When I shared it with the world, I was comforted, realising that I wasn’t the only one who felt this way. I am not alone.
Tilly Pettitt
Dad’s Workshop, 04/20
Since the lock down I have been motivated to capture the inner workings of my family’s daily routines. I have become very aware that my world is now a bubble, since I live so far out in the countryside. It's sunny, green and peaceful all the time, I rarely see anyone else outside of my household. To document this world, I have been photographing everything, every routine and chore no matter how mundane, then working into these images.
‘Dad in Workshop’ is a reduction Lino cut. During the lockdown I have had to take up residence in our garage as it’s the only place I can make a mess. The garage is normally my Dads territory and his alone, so it has been interesting making it part of my space as well. The garage is a patchwork of shelving and tools, but my Dad knows everything has a specific place, if I move something I will always find back where it was the next day.
Boo Green
Paper Nature, June 2020
I have recently completed an award in photography in nature and one of the tasks was to create an art piece based on the photographs that I took in my garden. I have no space to go to right now and so my garden is my space to go. I decided to make some origami flowers from my photographs. I learnt this art from watching YouTube videos. You can find origami or geometric shapes in nature, for example leaf buds are folded in intricate ways that resemble origami art.
Origami is one of my favourite things to do because it helps me stay relaxed; I can focus on the present moment and feel calm.
Origami is like poetry with paper. You can play with colours, textures and shapes and it’s also eco- friendly as you can recycle paper. It’s great because by giving away folded models I get a smile in return.
Boo Green
Paper Nature, June 2020
I have recently completed an award in photography in nature and one of the tasks was to create an art piece based on the photographs that I took in my garden. I have no space to go to right now and so my garden is my space to go. I decided to make some origami flowers from my photographs. I learnt this art from watching YouTube videos. You can find origami or geometric shapes in nature, for example leaf buds are folded in intricate ways that resemble origami art.
Origami is one of my favourite things to do because it helps me stay relaxed; I can focus on the present moment and feel calm.
Origami is like poetry with paper. You can play with colours, textures and shapes and it’s also eco- friendly as you can recycle paper. It’s great because by giving away folded models I get a smile in return.
Suki Martinez
Family Album, December 2019
The main idea for my work was to shoot people in a social documentary style, born out my fascination in people watching and capturing aspects of the human conditioning. My work was focused upon looking at strangers and their stories, my family in Spain and finally documenting my friends. The last two are much more personal than the first as this part of the work gave me the opportunity to document my friends and my family before I leave for university, meaning that people I used to see almost every day, I will barely see once a month. Through this, I got to document lots of my family who I barely knew and their relationships with other family members. The work on my friends also gave me a chance to actually give them more confidence with the more styled photoshoots. As well as this it gave me opportunities to just spend time with them and capture those memories.
Some other questions to think about but not essential are: What techniques did you use and why? What does it mean to you?
Nathan Bygrave
Foundations of Norfolk, 24/06/2020
I would like to submit my 3 pieces as a collection for the brief of "sense of being and relationship to the location" I feel these link in well as we have all been inside for some time and are now all missing the little things that make Norfolk awesome.
I chose these locations as they all mean a lot to me. The Dereham Windmill represents where I am from and what makes this town stand out against the other small towns around Norfolk. Great Yarmouth is our most favourite coastal town to visit and we always enjoy the time we spend there for the wide range of arcades to the small independent ice cream stands. Finally, Norwich City Hall, I opted to create something around this building as it's a staple of Norwich and I like the style of the building. The title for this piece stems from the idea that these 3 monuments create the sense of what Norfolk means to me.
To make my 3 pieces I first created a mindmap of what I felt linked me to Norfolk. I wanted to do this first so I could plan and think about what design I would like to create and what I would like each piece to reflect. Once I had this done I then started to gather my images relating to these places this was achieved by looking through my photo archives and selecting the ones that looked impressive.
Afterwards, I loaded these images onto Photoshop to begin. The first move was to cut out what I needed from each image once this was done I toyed around with the brightness and contrast settings making the images slightly more eye-catching. Subsequently, I knew I needed to create a colour scheme that really stood out therefore, I opted to use bright, bold, vibrant colours that could also contrast well against each other.
Next I made around 4/5 colour alternatives of each image, I needed these because I wanted to replicate the idea of how the old 3d glasses used to work. This style had fascinated me for a while and this was my chance to experiment with this concept. Following from this I then added the thin border going around near the edge of the work, this was added to act like a photo frame, framing each iconic place.
The Typography had to remain behind the image because I wanted the images to be at the forefront of these pieces. I determined that the text in the background should be bold and help the spectator identify where these images are from.
Once this was done I reviewed what I had so far and felt I had to add something to aid the image from merging in with the text. I decided to add the illustrations behind the images. Whilst making these I knew it would be wise to introduce a new colour, to the colour scheme. Doing this would cause the viewers eyes to gravitate towards the centre of the pieces.
Finally I wanted to create one more striking feature for these pieces therefore, I selected the main item. I cut around half of each image using the pen tool and then turned it negative. Doing this gave them all a rather compelling feature.
Ellie Crawford
Sanitary Towel Dispenser, November 2019 to January 2020
My main intention behind my work was to explore the concept of ‘Women in Art’ developing an understanding of womanhood as well as the male perception.
‘Sanitary Towel Dispenser’ was a broken dispenser which was once used in which I done it up by adding quotes with and graphite pencil and then smudging the lettering depicting how the machine gets unnoticed within toilets by people just brushing past it. To make it seem the machine was working I stitched back into some sanitary products boxes that acted like the product you would be receiving. To highlight the machine was linked to periods I stitched, ‘periods’ into a pad allowing the threads to flow down initiating blood flow.
Dulcey Gebbett
My Space, June 2020
This work is a depiction of what is going on in my head, the good and the bad, the pressures and the fantasies. I am in the middle, lost in a book, but the outside influences are always there with me. There are other people’s demands, my own insecurities and even a black hole.
The inspiration behind my piece of art is my own imagination, the good thoughts and bad thoughts all jumbled up and buzzing inside of me. It's my own personal space that no one can access and makes me feel like my own person, often my thoughts get ahead of me and I feel like I have no space. My conscience and my thoughts follow me wherever I go and are with me at every place.
Techniques were pen and ink with watercolour.
Phoebe Adelle Challinor
Abandoned, August
The inspiration I had to create this piece was my own mental health. The project this piece comes from is all based around bringing awareness to what struggling with different mental health issues feels like. I began this project as photography is my means of escaping my mental health issues and to prove to others that your mental health issues do not define who you. Mental health is still such a taboo subject even though most people suffer from mental health issues or know someone that does.
I want to help prove that every space should be a safe space to talk about mental health issues. Which is why I think my work relates to the exhibition, as everyone should be safe to talk about whatever they are struggling with in a safe place instead of feeling as though there is no one or no where they are comfortable turning to for help. Having no space to free themselves from their mind.
Ellie Crawford
Overflow, November 2019 to January 2020
My main intention behind my work was to explore the concept of ‘Women in Art’ developing an understanding of womanhood as well as the male perception.
‘Overflow’ foreshows the harsh reality of being a woman. Each sanitary towel design shows that although every girl has periods in which each one if different based on the individual. My first design involved producing a realistic pad; by mixing red and brown inks together. Due to the main purpose of the pads to be absorbent; I poured the ink over the pads allowing the ink to soak into the towel. Moreover, I combined different red tone felt fibres and applied them to the pads by stitching over the top. Due to all the ‘dirty’ connotations that linked to periods I wanted to take a turn on these strong opinions by glamourizing the pads with sequins and glitter. Once all the pads were done, I arranged them gushing out of a bin acting as the bin has overflowed within the female toilets.
Poppy Griffin
#MeToo, January 2020
My intention for this work was to explore the concept of feminism, question the perceived ‘role’ of a woman in society and bring light to the challenges faced by women throughout history and in the present day. As a young woman growing up in the 21st century, I personally connect with this theme as feminism is increasingly important to me, as recent issues such as abortion bans, gender pay gaps and the wake of the #MeToo movement make it more important than ever before to project these issues into the current conversation. Feminist art has been a source of inspiration for much of my prior work at GCSE level drawing inspiration from Barbara Kruger and the Guerrilla Girls, and I wanted to continue exploring this genre as I wanted the work to promote strong feminist messages and produce work that challenges the status quo. I feel this piece relates to ‘no space, every place’ as I feel feminist issues and challenges women face appear in every ‘place’ of life, being work or the home or society in general, but are often left with ‘no space’ to be addressed and spoken about in the media, so my work brings light to that and forces these issues into the current ‘space’ of people’s minds, sparking a conversation.
A particular technique I used to create this image was digital projection paired with digital photography. It is a technique I had started to explore at GCSE and have always found myself coming back to it as I feel it always produces some of the strongest images than any other technique, and I have been perfecting the process for about four years now. I would load up found images onto a laptop and connect the laptop to a projector and project the images onto my models body and then shoot from my digital camera. It is time consuming and you have to be really precise with placing the images but I think the overall effect is so unique and powerful and I particularly like how you can get an image to wrap completely around a models skin. This technique was fitting for the #MeToo series as I wanted to convey that feeling of all-consumption and suffocation that women have to endure when experiencing or recounting sexual harassment or sexual abuse.
Kenna Winter
'Isolated', 14th May 2019
My image ‘Isolated’ focuses on one’s imperfections and differences as well as their insecurities and the psychological barrier. The work of photographer Diane Arbus was at the forefront of my mind when taking this photograph, especially her series ‘Freaks’ which kick started my desire to hone in on my subject’s mental health due to the strong link with the psychological barrier, including their opinions, attitude, status consciousness and emotions.
The relation to the exhibition ‘No space, every place’ is conveyed through the subject’s connection to the location, more so the positive effect the location has on the subject. Through focussing on my subject’s characteristics, I found out how shy and self-conscious she really was and how she loathed the idea of standing out or being the centre of attention. This to me is where the image itself contradicts what we as an audience would potentially presume. The fact that she is so clearly the focal point in the image made me question her reason for being somewhat at ease with the photograph being taken. And for her it was simply the vibrantly colourful open space, tranquility and lack of judgement she felt around her that grounded her slightly and took her mind off the constant self-degrading thoughts and to a so-called ‘happy place’.
When taking this photograph I was experimenting for the first time with my new lens, aiming to slightly blur the background and centre the camera’s attention on my subject. The photoshoot was a light-hearted, carefree and enjoyable one so keeping the image in colour and only making slight adjustments to the composition just made sense.
Amy Rose Williams
Shoreline Cyanotype Series, May 2020
Standing at the point where the land meets the sea, I layer sand, seawater and found natural objects from the shoreline onto cyanotype paper, allowing it to expose in the sunlight. I have the strongest sense of being when I am standing on the shoreline; there is a sense of freedom and peace. My relationship with the coast is a collaborative one; the location provides me with the inspiration and freedom to create and I document its natural wonder.
Lewis Avery
Great British Sheds, 07/06/20
My name is Lewis Avery. I’m fifteen years old and live in Costessey. I am currently studying GCSE Photography among other subjects at Ormiston Victory Academy.
My favourite hobby is photography. I really enjoy the immediacy of digital photography and the way it allows me to express myself both through the camera and during post production. Some of the most enjoyable subjects for me to capture are nature and the world around me. This is particularly true in the current situation in which we all find ourselves. It has been a real challenge to get out and about, so every moment we are able to get outside of our home and experience the world around us is truly valuable. With every trip out and about during our local walks for exercise being precious, it has really taught me to value and cherish the area in which I live. It is during these walks, that I came up with the idea of photographing that great British institution of the shed. My grandad, who lives in the same village as me, has an amazing collection of worn out and dilapidated sheds in his garden. I managed to capture these sheds whilst walking through his garden and waving at him through his window. The shed is a place where grandad spends a lot of time in during the day, and contained within these sheds is a wonderful collection of objects that he has accumulated throughout his life (he is 94 and used to work in an ironmongers). Each object seems to have a story or memory attached to it.
Lewis Avery
Great British Sheds, 07/06/20
My name is Lewis Avery. I’m fifteen years old and live in Costessey. I am currently studying GCSE Photography among other subjects at Ormiston Victory Academy.
My favourite hobby is photography. I really enjoy the immediacy of digital photography and the way it allows me to express myself both through the camera and during post production. Some of the most enjoyable subjects for me to capture are nature and the world around me. This is particularly true in the current situation in which we all find ourselves. It has been a real challenge to get out and about, so every moment we are able to get outside of our home and experience the world around us is truly valuable. With every trip out and about during our local walks for exercise being precious, it has really taught me to value and cherish the area in which I live. It is during these walks, that I came up with the idea of photographing that great British institution of the shed. My grandad, who lives in the same village as me, has an amazing collection of worn out and dilapidated sheds in his garden. I managed to capture these sheds whilst walking through his garden and waving at him through his window. The shed is a place where grandad spends a lot of time in during the day, and contained within these sheds is a wonderful collection of objects that he has accumulated throughout his life (he is 94 and used to work in an ironmongers). Each object seems to have a story or memory attached to it.
Charlotte Ivany
‘Shine’ (portrait), December 2019
This piece is a self-portrait, one that I initially chose to create (with acrylics and pastels) due to its unique composition and dynamic. The exposed area surrounding the eye is reflective of exposing oneself, ‘letting in the light’. My ideas were focused on themes of self-representation, and how, more specifically on social media, I have produced a very narrow view of the person that I am. Arguably, platforms such as Instagram allow for one to present themselves as they wish, and this is rarely a true representation. This piece symbolizes showing an unseen, and perhaps more vulnerable, side of myself to an audience, whether that be an audience I am familiar or unfamiliar with. In relation to the exhibition title, ‘no space, every place’, I think that this piece also partially reflects that there needs to be diversity in who we are, with less conformation to a standardized view of how everyone should be; we can all make space for differing representations of ourselves, and others.
Joe Milne
Untitled
These two pieces are about nightmares, how they reflect reality and reveal things to dreamers about themselves they’d never know. The concept is psychological death in dreams, how dreaming can alter your own state of mind subconsciously. every time a person dreams the dreamer is never the same after, the old version of the dreamer dies and is reborn as the person who awakes, this metamorphosis is reflected in the 2 pieces by the sun and the moon and the altered genders of the dreamer, the figure behind the dreamer in each picture is a representation of death, who has come to collect the soul of the dreamer.
As an artist I take dreams for inspiration as they are the best reflection, analysis and satire of reality, I’m inspired by surrealism, symbolism and Japanese printmaking. I’d like to have a career in illustration but I’m also interested in writing, acting, film making and music, I think they all relate to each other.
I'm interested in psychogeography and the stream of consciousness, I never have a plan before I make art, it comes to me depending on the situation I’m in when I make it, subconsciously it reflects what I’m thinking both literally and metaphorically.
Alicia Knights
Frozen in Time, 24/05/19
The main theme of my work is double exposure. I have been experimenting with multi-layered images and looking at how layering the images can represent movement. The use of a snow globe was inspired by the work of Christoffer Relander’s Jarred and Displaced Series where he captures photographs of memories that he has within a jar to conserve them. I chose to use snow globes to capture a memory of how a place was at a certain time as they are often used as souvenirs when people go on holiday in order to remember a time or place. I created this image by putting two of the multi-layered images that I had already edited inside the snow globes then photographing the filled snow globes. This image relates to the exhibition ‘No space, every space’ as it portrays the current atmosphere in the city of Norwich, using multiple layers to represent the movement in the busy city. These images have then been put into snow globes to capture the moment in time of what our world is like here and now.
Rebecca Foster-Clarke
What Day Is It?, June, 2020
My work explores advertising and consumerism in contemporary culture. I am inspired by 60s and 70s fashion, Old Master portraits, still life painting and social media. I usually work in the mediums of oils and acrylic painting, collage and film. I am currently studying a BA in Fine Art at Norwich University of the Arts.
Advertising is everywhere. Because of lockdown I feel we are now more than ever hit with constant advertising in our own homes, through our televisions, computers and even our phones. This has compelled me to create these works responding to advertising and the unusual times we find ourselves in.
For the painting 'What Day Is It?' my inspiration stemmed from the futuristic fashion of the 60s. I wanted to create a piece responding to the pandemic whilst relaying the fake utopian world of advertising that I carry through all my practice. This piece to me speaks of isolation and disconnect from the everyday. The figures in the painting can be both seen as together but also apart because the suits are ultimately a barrier preventing physical interaction. The wallpaper in the painting implies that you may not feel safe in your own home adding to the feeling of uncomfort.
Joe Milne
Untitled
These two pieces are about nightmares, how they reflect reality and reveal things to dreamers about themselves they’d never know. The concept is psychological death in dreams, how dreaming can alter your own state of mind subconsciously. every time a person dreams the dreamer is never the same after, the old version of the dreamer dies and is reborn as the person who awakes, this metamorphosis is reflected in the 2 pieces by the sun and the moon and the altered genders of the dreamer, the figure behind the dreamer in each picture is a representation of death, who has come to collect the soul of the dreamer.
As an artist I take dreams for inspiration as they are the best reflection, analysis and satire of reality, I’m inspired by surrealism, symbolism and Japanese printmaking. I’d like to have a career in illustration but I’m also interested in writing, acting, film making and music, I think they all relate to each other.
I'm interested in psychogeography and the stream of consciousness, I never have a plan before I make art, it comes to me depending on the situation I’m in when I make it, subconsciously it reflects what I’m thinking both literally and metaphorically.
Maisie Howe
To The Oppressor, 13/06/2020
Home is an embodied safety, somewhere one can be situated and feel truly at ease. It is not only a location but also a state of mind. For many, their state of mind can never be relaxed, and they can never feel at home, because their skin colour dictates their position within society and creates a bias against them.
My composition is in solidarity with the BLM movement and is designed to convey pertinence of systemic racism within society. The statue of Robert E. Lee - a confederate general whose principle was to perpetuate and expand slavery - was converted, by civilians, into a platform where their message of desperation and hope could be viewed by the world. I found this idea empowering. It is therefore the focal point.
Blood is pictured running down Lee’s hands to signify the blood on – not only his hands – but on the hands of all those who lack the empathy to see that they, intentionally or not, are maintaining a society of white privilege.
The statue is surrounded quotes. Read every single quote. The last words ever uttered by just a handful of all innocent civilians who have died at the hands of the police simply because they were born with the “wrong” skin.
This issue applies to everyone. Systemic oppression is what the UK is built upon. Before watching documentaries and doing further research, I was completely blind to this so I ask everyone to learn about our history but also the way black people live in fear in some parts of the country still.
To create this sketch, I used pencil and then a red pen to portray the blood. I wanted to use a font that portrayed emotion, so it is bold to show strength but almost shaky to convey feelings of desperation, innocence and worry.
Harriet Foster-Clarke
Purgatory, 11th April 2020
My practice explores the modern day through a surrealist viewpoint of my personal experiences in the world. I experiment with many mediums however I mainly create work with Oil paints, photography and film. I am interested in the Dada movement, Film noir and Old Master portraiture. These movements and styles have influenced these shots aesthetically however emotionally it is society’s shift into lockdown. As an Artist I am inspired by surrealism and conveying emotions through the abstract which allows others to connect with me.
My work fits into the title of the exhibition as it displays my feelings of isolation and the disconnect from society and ordinary life. The title for my photos is ‘Purgatory’ as personally lockdown feels as though humanity is trapped in a middle ground, unsure of the future and life as we know it.
One of my images shows the detachment from reality and earth whilst the other shows more of an inner conflict of unfamiliarity with oneself. The primarily blue photo shows a figure floating above the earth, unable to come back to reality as with the pandemic it is unrecognisable. The red photo physically shows the detachment of mind and body engulfed by darkness and absence. The figures are submerged in water which makes it difficult for the viewer to connect with the subject which further reflects feelings of disassociation and loneliness.
For this exhibition i have used my personal feelings towards lockdown to create two images which are unique yet familiar as my emotions are believably shared. My work in the exhibition would help me share my outlook and feelings on the pandemic and hopefully connect with others feeling the same.
Benjy Fox
Doorway to natural enlightenment , October 2019 – January 2020
These three doors were created as a series of work looking at the transformation from natural to urban development but also the decay of the urban landscape with natural elements taking its place. I wanted to portray the relationships of these two juxtaposing elements together and their individual struggles for power and control. In the door in the foreground I aimed to evoke a sense of wonderment of the outside natural world from the perspective of a house or building showing the potential beauty that is there, but at a distance as we loose our connectivity with nature while sheltered In our homes. Elements like the pipe and socket have been taken out of an abandoned building to further emphasise the idea of our landscape being left to decay but also the familiarity of our world being centred around an urban lifestyle.
This same idea is reminiscent in the door in the middle ground depicting an old radiator in the form of a sheet of rusted metal with worked in detail. Showing our current lifestyle in this broken bleak way has been one of my primary focuses aiming to show an alternative way of life immersing yourself in natural surroundings rather than the shown dull views.
This brings in the last doors intention showing the natural surroundings in a more idealistic light but also blending in with the actual trees in the photo. I made this ambiguous appearance to show the man-made elements (the door) disappearing into nature showing the environment regaining control giving a more aesthetically pleasing and calming portrayal. These spaces to me show our current, idealistic and future world and what we want our landscapes to look like moving on – urban and grey or naturally vibrant.
John Oswald Crichton
Norfolk Inspired Garments, January 2020 As an Artist I am particularly interested and invested in fashion as art and seeing how nature of the manmade world can inspire us to create art. For my entry into the competition, I was very inspired by the textures and colours of wildlife and nature found around the areas of Norfolk. The ocean was a particular influence as there are so many different textures such as the blue of the ocean, the grainy textures of the sand and the feathers of seagulls. All of this inspired me to add textures and colours that resembled these found to create a garment that gives a high art appeal. On the more colourful look I was also inspired by the commercial aspects of Norfolk such as Hunstanton with all of the plastic and pollution that is caused by all the tourists. This was reflected by using bolder colours found on plastics and the use of more unconventional materials such as plastic, metals and even a table matt. This was brought upon by my thinking about the different ways we could recycle and reuse waste that is found all over the world and country. So in conclusion I tried to by inspired by Norfolk as a whole by being inspired by the beautiful landscapes, nature and the growing commercial appeal of Norfolk.
Ciara Curzon
The Windowsill, 28th May 2020
I was inspired by my plants as they are my favourite part of this inside world I inhabit currently. I see my plants as something that gives me comfort and routine, and they gave me a new appreciation for nature. Before I wouldn’t go out much because I would be doing my university work for my games art and design course, and playing video games; I did not feel like I was achieving anything, I wasn’t very happy with what I did every day. My plants represent all the new things I have started to do like running, gardening and painting, they represent the new growth in myself as much as themselves growing, I think that the more I grow, the bigger and brighter they can become. Although we are all cut off from the outside by being stuck in our homes, or for me my very cramped room, we can still build a better connection with the outside world in our own way. This is what my world looks like to me right now, a window to the world I haven’t been properly appreciating until now. I love to make art by any means possible, using all the resources I can find that will get it done, I don’t like canvases much, but I like bringing new life to things that would be rubbish, so I paint on cardboard and I used acrylic paints and marker pens to create the art.
Paige Newell
3D garment design My Sense of Being In My Inner Mind During Covid19 Quarantine, March
I created this dress as an abstract portrayal of my inner thoughts.
I created a layered and colourful meshwork of cellular geometry (circles). The fabric itself is deliberately sheer as I just wanted to highlight my “cells/life blood” coursing through me. The symbolism behind the circles has many layers to it. Initially, the circles represented my wholeness of self – a contained, protected individual with a clear understanding of where my life was going this year – exams, summer and my 18th birthday celebrations and festivals.
A circle does not have a distinct beginning or end, so at any given time I could interpret this as my life having boundaries - or not. Additionally, I found I was focusing more on my own toxic cycle of comparison which societally, has been ingrained in us. I am so familiar with judging my worth, ranking and achievements against others. I viewed the circle as ‘productivity’ and how as a society we strive to be productive whilst equally being unable to find time to live! Even during this pandemic, people (me), still feel that they should do more, improve somehow and feel dissatisfied, unworthy and purposeless within their own goals.
I feel overwhelmed with choice anxiety. What does the bigger picture look like? What do I need right now? The modern-day student is expected to have it all: grades, work experience, volunteering, extra clubs and a great social life - all at the same time. Most of us are wearing ourselves down trying to ‘have it all’. The circles in my garment emphasises this cycle - this continuous loop of concern, pressure and expectation for the future that is inflicted onto us right now.
I placed my circles deliberately over the parts of me that define my femininity, as I wanted to portray the “cells” that form a protective barrier around the fragile parts of myself to denote vulnerability.
Benjy Fox
Encroaching Urbanisation, November 2019
The natural world around us is rapidly changing. Global warming, deforestation, animal extinction, all accelerated by one common cause, humans. I look at the world we live in today where natural wonders I played in as a child get concreted over and a new supermarket or carpark appears in its place. My inspiration for this piece came from this resentment. It aims to portray the once luscious green wilderness being overpowered by bleak grey metal trapping the beauty behind. So, the space this symbolises to me is not one field or forest but all nature we see around us succumbed to urban lifestyle and industry.
I created the green backing of the work by making a series or prints from natural ferns and bracken. Painting onto the ferns themselves and sponging and rolling paint onto the page with the ferns between creating a negative print gave me the randomness and uncontrollability I desired in portraying nature to me. Over the top of this I drew subtle ferns in pen to add detail and recognisability to the image yet still retaining the sense of fragility. To finish the piece l placed the rusted metal, that I had found left to decay in an abandoned structure, over the top of the paper and screwed it to a frame to keep it in place.
As I was fixing the meal sheet it appeared to me that in an alternative light, the natural backing seemed as though instead of being blocked and overpowered it was instead breaking through the metal, rusting it, decaying it. This made me think, maybe nature was regaining control over the man-made elements, maybe we can bring back these places of natural beauty, maybe we simply need allow our surroundings to grow into a more natural future for us all.
Katie Wood
“Movement and Transformation”, March 2020
Within my work, I study intricate details found on natural forms using a range of techniques, with the aim of creating powerful yet refined pieces. Through nature I feel connected to my surroundings; I feel at home. This is the basis of my two pieces pictured. The first, entitled “Movement and Transformation”, is a nostalgic study of my genetic and metaphorical roots; reflecting the tree roots in the forest landscape in which I grew up, alongside imagery of my own blood cells mirrored through embroidery and dotted embellishment. Additionally, I heat-transferred my own photography of trees onto yarn and expanding paint to reflect the twisted and gnarled texture of the tree roots visible in our forest. This forest is where my mind wanders during quarantine, as it is my sanctuary and my home. The conjunction of scientific and anatomical research with the nature of the environment of my childhood considers both ‘nature and nurture’ in my own personal “Transformation” and internal world.
Kenna Winter
‘Immersed in Fear', September 2018
My work is based all around the idea of conveying a sense of self-doubt and self-disbelief and how these vulnerable and insecure feelings can be displayed in many different ways. Whether it was through one’s fears and phobias, imperfections and differences or insecurities and the psychological barrier. I aimed to capture the raw emotion of my subjects, thus creating a unique and powerful form of communication, without the use of words. Ultimately, looking at what makes an individual an individual.
With regards to my image ‘Immersed in Fear’ I was specifically looking at the fears and phobias of an individual. Researching the work of photographer Alban Grosdidier,in particular his metamorphic series ‘Drowning’, it was definitely a driving point for me in terms of aiming to capture my models involuntary reactions, their natural response and in turn the truth. I was also intrigued by wanting to discover the coping mechanisms used by my subject when submerged in what to us as the audience seems like just water but through his eyes is his greatest fear.
The relation to the exhibition ‘No space, every place’ stems more from my subject’s reaction to their surroundings rather than the location itself. Meaning it isn’t until my subject is fully in the depth of his phobia that the emotion shows. A sense of distress and turmoil obvious, set off by the immense realisation of his surroundings. Claustrophobia caused by the sense of being consumed plays a part in magnifying the pure panic and stress he is under.
Creating this photograph was based solely around using what I had. Taken in the bath with the flash and bathroom light, no natural lighting was used. To create the black back-drop I used the shower curtain, and had assistance when water was poured from a jug over my subject’s head.
I used photoshop to convert my image into monochrome in order to depict the detail in the water droplets and my subjects face where he is visibly in discomfort.
Enzo Li-Rocchi
Screaming 2, April 2020
Art is important to my life. I’ve always loved drawing and am especially interested in creating atmospheric and thoughtful pictures using pen and paint. Recently, I’ve been interested in drawing and painting faces, particularly faces that express feelings. In this acrylic painting, ‘Screaming 2’, I wanted to show my personal feelings of pain and anguish and frustration of being in lockdown – a feeling of having no space in EVERY place, of being stuck in my head with nowhere to go. The portrayal of feeling, created with the distortion and stretching of reality, is more important than realism in my painting.
Katie Wood
“Movement and Transformation”, March 2020
Within my work, I study intricate details found on natural forms using a range of techniques, with the aim of creating powerful yet refined pieces. Through nature I feel connected to my surroundings; I feel at home. This is the basis of my two pieces pictured. The first, entitled “Movement and Transformation”, is a nostalgic study of my genetic and metaphorical roots; reflecting the tree roots in the forest landscape in which I grew up, alongside imagery of my own blood cells mirrored through embroidery and dotted embellishment. Additionally, I heat-transferred my own photography of trees onto yarn and expanding paint to reflect the twisted and gnarled texture of the tree roots visible in our forest. This forest is where my mind wanders during quarantine, as it is my sanctuary and my home. The conjunction of scientific and anatomical research with the nature of the environment of my childhood considers both ‘nature and nurture’ in my own personal “Transformation” and internal world.
Katie Wood
“A Sense of Place”, March 2020
The second piece, entitled “A Sense of Place”, captures this same sentiment of escapism and nostalgia, as it is inspired by imagery from a past family holiday. It is an investigation of the delicate surface texture of butterfly wings and orchids found in Punta Cana in the Dominican Republic, and how these details help form the identity, or ‘sense of place’ of the region. I created freehand embroidery, imitating the intricate segments formed by the butterfly’s vein, and reflected the similar vein-like surface texture of orchid petals with heat transferred foil and distressed metal knit. The tenderness and fragility of these features additionally reflect the fleeting nature of the moments during holidays; I now understand that exploring new places (and appreciating the striking details within them) with my loved ones is not an experience to take for granted.
Taryn Everdeen
'Plurality of Self', April 2020
This piece was shot under lockdown at the beginning of April, in response to the theme ‘selfie’ as part of the admissions process for an art school in Paris. I captured myself in my physical space, confined to home, exploring my inner space - my thoughts about identity.
When I went travelling last year, I was alone, passing through unfamiliar places. The people I met didn’t have the context of the things that I like and do, the things that I define myself through. I could choose exactly how to present myself, stepping into and out of these different versions, taking with me the bits that I liked, leaving behind the things that didn’t serve me.
My identity is something I find tricky to define concretely - I think a lot of us ask ourselves the question, “Who am I?”
Who I am changes all the time, and I struggle with this lack of stability. I feel like I’m never the same person.
“I’m constantly changing,
my form rearranging
to reflect the person I’m facing.”
I'm a people-pleaser, dependent on validation from other people. Often, I catch myself changing the way I act, hoping they'll like me.
Or, more accurately, that version of me.
Perhaps this isn't entirely a bad thing - after all, we need to be able to adapt to different situations. But being preoccupied with - and reacting to - how I think other people perceive me is exhausting. It’s something to notice, to be aware of, and try to decide whether it’s helpful or harmful.
Creating this helped me process some of the insecurities I have about my identity. When I shared it with the world, I was comforted, realising that I wasn’t the only one who felt this way. I am not alone.
John Oswald Crichton
Norfolk Inspired Garments, January 2020 As an Artist I am particularly interested and invested in fashion as art and seeing how nature of the manmade world can inspire us to create art. For my entry into the competition, I was very inspired by the textures and colours of wildlife and nature found around the areas of Norfolk. The ocean was a particular influence as there are so many different textures such as the blue of the ocean, the grainy textures of the sand and the feathers of seagulls. All of this inspired me to add textures and colours that resembled these found to create a garment that gives a high art appeal. On the more colourful look I was also inspired by the commercial aspects of Norfolk such as Hunstanton with all of the plastic and pollution that is caused by all the tourists. This was reflected by using bolder colours found on plastics and the use of more unconventional materials such as plastic, metals and even a table matt. This was brought upon by my thinking about the different ways we could recycle and reuse waste that is found all over the world and country. So in conclusion I tried to by inspired by Norfolk as a whole by being inspired by the beautiful landscapes, nature and the growing commercial appeal of Norfolk.
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