A narrative studio practice

Narrative is the driving force behind my thinking, and the need to say, comment or express fills most of my work (the amount of words on this website are testimony to that!).

A title is often how a new piece will first manifest itself. Sometimes from simply holding a trivial found object which just spoke to me from the ground, sometimes from a recurring word or phrase echoing in my head, sometimes from the need to understand and communicate feelings or personal history. Materials, with no hierarchy of value, are included simply according to how they fit my story. Any hesitation as to their choice is a vital clue to me that a tale is not ready to be told: however powerful it may feel in my head or in my soul, I cannot force it into physical existence. When the moment is right, assembling is normally fast and instinctive, and my design process is dictated by an innate make-do attitude: as with everything else in life, I thrive on applying my knowledge to constructive problem solving and finding workable solutions from available resources and basic staples.

In a world where stories and information are consumed and discarded at a gruelling pace, my practice never manifests itself in straightforward collections, something I feel would risk feeding a modern hunger for the new and the desirable through objects that (even if only semantically!) suggest being replaceable and disposable. Most of the stories I tell come to be embodied in a one-off piece or ensemble, or a limited-edition body of work. Like a short story or novella, they are born in my creative world with a more definite beginning and end. But there are times when I happen upon narratives that just work at a slower pace. I like to think of them as stories that need to be re-examined and retold from different angles. And this is where my series are born, never knowingly finite but projects that remain open to be revisited. Re-explored. Re-experienced. And, above all, re-enjoyed.