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.