Somewhere close by, pus flows Minion© yellow. A bit like the colour of the of the kitchen wallpaper after 20 years of cooking potatoes, who cleans their wall anyway? A dog with three legs takes the remote control into his cage. The mattress stains immediately, because the bed sheets are permanent curtains. A body is slowly sinking into it, slumped and seeping into every fibre of the crumpled heap. Flesh liquifies; mass to juice, brain to gel, life to vapour. Then, the saponified body - it doesn’t even look much worse than it did before. Next to it are crisps that are still edible. No one cares, it only ends because of unpaid electricity bills. And that’s the end of that. The council doesn't tell the new family.
Spectator Of Time: Does My Garden Chair Feel Pain?
An encounter with a humble plastic chair lying lonely and broken on the side of the road gave way to my thesis. I explore the notion of what I call object experience. Relying on anthropomorphism; an innate human tendency, relics of personal taste; mattresses, sofas, ornaments and plastic chairs become regular cast members to the re-run of a uniquely everyday melodrama; homes and gardens setting the scene. My interest is of the trace; the aspirations, anxieties, memories and even dreams that linger in objects long after we decide their functional value is extinguished. Regarding them as somewhat conscious, they’ve witnessed our lives and have been silently recording our presence. What would these objects say about us if we bothered to ask?