“I left myself somewhere along the way, it simply stole upon me in the dead of night. Life is complicated and busy for everyone, it’s the accumulation of work, motherhood, ambition and an organisation that grew until it filled every room of my mind. That organisation led me to become capable, recognised, effective and slowly but surely my creative life receded but it was really never gone. 

I hesitate to say this period took its toll but in many measurable ways it did. However, life is more complex than a simple before and after. My life is full of love, fulfilling, joyous and purposeful but there has been therapy, medication, operations and a slow reckoning along the way. As time has loosened its grip, something has shifted and a return to creating for myself has become possible. 

This body of work is a shy return, by the same hands but changed, made in flesh, with sagging surface, indentations, fingerprints and the gentle peach-like fuzz of skin both baby and mature. Alabaster the colour of abdominal visceral fat and nail gel glossy like congealed blood. Baby bathroom pink marble is fashioned into medical like compressors and industrial bolts piece together everything. The soft fuzz of flocking usually used for car dashboards or plush figurines is used to crest fantastical breasts that are both like melting ice cream or obscene objects . One is drenched in ox blood sealing wax , a reminder of the almost unspoken contract of body to motherhood. 

Each work sits inside a conversation about mental health not as confession but as a tentative testimony that survival of both body and mind are shackled. I am investigating whether the softer losses of self, the ones without diagnosis, survived through resilience and hard-won endurance belong here.”