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I See Dead Trees.

I have an exhibition with a friend, Elphia Hanson-Viney, in the Sidespace Gallery early next year. Desolata: The title came from a link to an Italian song I followed on facebook, I think the song was a requiem of sorts, or at least that is how the song made me feel. As often happens with links on the internet, I ended up down a rabbit hole miles away from where I began. I am pleased my parents didn’t call me Alice, very pleased.

At this point in a blog post, I would insert an image so that we, you and I, had a visual reference, a marker of sorts in this journey of words.


I see dead trees.

And they hurt my soul, they cut me to my very core and I do not want to look at them.

But dying trees are pushy.

They know I can see them and so they whisper at me to tell the story, to tell their story.

Desolata 2017.

Deadlines are looming.

AND I do not want to start making the work.

I want to keep on hiding in pokemon land, hanging out on the edges watching the meme generation on facebook, observing these kids who use the word literally, like seventeen times in a sentence like, literally, and who have no idea how to cite a source. Boys who would tell me I am wrong because I am old, even if I could even be bothered talking with them. A neck beard who likes to pat the ladies on the head and tell them, well done ladies.

And not once have I ripped his fucking head off for using the term ladies.


I am hiding from the trees.

Hiding from Desolata.

Avoiding the story

But it is time.

To stare into the Abyss.

Past time.


The Desolata of Canosa

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