I read or heard or saw somewhere that nine lovers maketh the woman. Needless to say that’s a load of old toilet wash, although at the time I was convinced that, by number nine, I would be fine.
This is what happened after number nine, absolutely nothing.
I’ve taken leave of my psychedelic senses and fallen in love with plaster casting. Obsessively collecting recyclable refuse has made no odds, as although I cast beautiful shapes in pristine milk white plaster from them (milk cartons, egg boxes, tetra-pak), I have found I inevitably scour, chip and carve away at them – rather violently, with scalpels, for the most part – and burnish them in graphite powder and boot polish.
Yes, I know it’s not clowns, freak shows and circus freaks. I have no idea what I am doing. All I know is I’m really enjoying it.
All work below relates to anatomy of wound repair and flesh.
Spare Time (when you weren’t looking)
Old and New