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fulljustify {text-align: justify !important; max-width:400px !important; line-height:08rem !important; }fulljustify:after { content: “”;display: inline-block;width: 100%; } The work takes her to Amsterdam, LA & 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