4 years of education later, and I’m still non the wiser. I’d like to say in my last year I finally pulled my shit together and aimed for the stars in an almighty sprouting of confidence but instead derailed along the way into the usual self loathing state wishing I could just believe my poo really did smell of roses. From upholstered furniture to 3D sculpture to Fashion garments, the identity crisis goes on and my sketchbook reflects that well. Ups and downs, smiles and frowns, swings and roundabouts and all those annoying sayings my boss says, in the end I tried to accept my traits and “ride the wave man”. I realised the ebbs and flows of my project make sense now, and may even believe I have pulled something off to be proud of and that even my fabric pervert of a Dad is impressed by.
Photos: My own
Visual/ initial ideas for my final year project. Subjects around indulgence and beauty.
The look could never be achieved by no other but the wonderful and weird Hope.
[Colour 35mm film. Canon] Me and Curly’s trip to Seville for Semana Santa. Amazing food, heated arguments by the rivers edge, young boys in strange high socks. Rich women with plaited belts and high telephone bills, just marmalade on toast please.
Next stop Jimena donkey land to go see my family. We got the mardiest bitter bus driver on the ride back, no toilet on board so the toilet ended up being a plastic smoothie cup, water bottle and unfortunately the bus seats and Tom’s crotch.
We watched the silent procession, a very beautiful and dark experience- just as Jesus passed my line of vision, my dad muttered his usual offensive one liner in my airspace, just enough for me to choke a little on the calamari remnants in my throat. We rejoined the table, scattered with fish of every kind, in warm company of 10 children a few adults and even Minnie the dog.
So It’s Christmas break, and I’m already looking forward to going back to uni and getting stuck in again, not to sound like a brown nose, but they don’t call me the grinch for nothing.
A while back when I used to live in Sherwood I came across this lovely desolate factory on a summer run. I’d been past before and hoped one day I might find that special partner in crime to do a B & E with. I went back recently to scope it out on a beautiful rare winter day, the torn curtains blew through the shattered windows and light beamed through the space, showcasing the local residents graffiti.
Thankfully Curly came with me, and he watched me Lara Croft it over the railings with my thong gracefully halfway up by back.
We made it into the place easily enough, and golly gosh what a beautiful place! A mighty shame to say it had been like that for so long, what used to be some kind of workshop with machinery in- it must had been an incredible space to work in back in the day.
On the fourth floor we encountered the dreamy room I’d kept fantasising about, only it was raining this time and it was pissing it through the roof onto a floor of broken glass and an excessive amount of pigeon shit. But the curtains kept swaying to and fro and even the dead pigeon on the floor seemed to be a a blissful slumber.