The pram in the studio hallway


The pram that I bought from the charity shop now stands in the studio hallway. Its covered in balloons and signs to entice people down the corridor to our open studios. I wish it wasn’t covered in notices and balloons. I much prefer it as an object waiting, however it can wait to become a piece of art and at least it is being utilised.

Waiting for a baby that will never be born.

Waiting for a time when there will be enough cash to make the art work that I want to make.


The pram in the hall does not stop me from making good art because I make bad art.

Bad art about maternal ambivalence. Discerning. Deliberately provocative work. Art that questions ourselves and our place in the world. Art about the maternal. We are all born of woman.

A woman hovered at the door of my open studio and proudly announced that she couldn’t look at my art work. She was, I think referring to some photographs that I had made about expressing the last of my breastmilk. I tried to engage her but she did not want to talk, she just wanted to feel offended and walk away.

I had a more positive reaction from a woman who was very moved by my art as it reminded her of a time when she struggled to express milk for her six week old baby who she was separated. The mother was unwell and therefore wasn’t able to feed her baby from her breast. It clearly was a traumatic memory but one that she was compelled to share. It is a great privilege when the public shares such personal stories with me in response to looking at my art. These discussions are the art. These discussions are the material. Conversation= Art. Ideas= Art. Shared. Connected. Drawn too. Affected.

Need to try and understand Bracha Ettinger’s matrixial.

Syd is away at his dads, my feet are kicking the boxes of books that I bought home from the studio when I thought that I was going to have to move out.

I am staying now. I need a room of my own, though maybe the room of my own will suck dry the tiny amount of money that I have and I will not be able to afford to make the art in the studio as I will be too busy  working to pay the rent.

All life is a struggle, a fight, there is never any balance. I am so tired of feeling wasted and cast aside. All this knowledge that could be utilised. I did not even get an interview for the most recent academic job that I applied for. Too many fish in the sea chasing the same pot of gold. All I want is to be able to pay a little of my way in life, I am not lazy, far from it. The harder I work, the less I seem to achieve.

My neighbour departs from her house to take her dog for a walk. Four men pass on their road bikes. Its grey but warm. I don’t really want to spend the day inside. I woke very early around six and couldn’t get back to sleep. Its been fifteen minutes now, thats my limit, my time is up.


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