The work takes her to Amsterdam, L.A. & Seoul.
Or else, it’s work in the studio with the old toilet
bowls stuffed with soil and seedlings, cold light
streaks each morning early, the school playground
crashing up next door. A recurrent cat. It’s true she
works most days, the routine becoming normality,
just work. This, her office, her desk. Here’s the most
recent, what she’s been working on for weeks now
– months? – existing before it’s itself, bleeding
paint. So, how does it work, then – I mean,
physicalities, substance shift, where daily work
turns to more than just that? The brush pots,
clippings, tinted tea mugs, dead colour worked into
wall creases, packages marked ‘sold’ stacked by
thick catalogues webbed in dust; out of, I’d almost
call it junk, the whole works, it is made – the work.