βοΈβ±οΈ Ten Thousand Hours in a Hole
The reading behind Undulating Husk. We used to say nothing, or at least very little. The ring or the hair brooch announced the event, and…
You found The Writing, ooooo. Not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, so let’s throw caution to the wind and find out. You might be charmed. You might be offended. You might get a reality check you didn’t come for. You might be mildly entertained by the odd story.
The reading behind Undulating Husk. We used to say nothing, or at least very little. The ring or the hair brooch announced the event, and…
The companion piece to Mutation Quartet, four concept pieces cast in wax and copper after leaving university, the year nobody thought a two-person module was worth marking.
A half-arsed flower park in Sweden, a near-black dahlia my father and I grew every year, and what’s left of care once it can’t save anything.
What got cut, what got moved, and why. The two root songs taken apart on the bench, by the one who’s meant to know how they work.
Audio bleed in a sealed server row. No active systems. No vocal origin located. Something in the racks is still singing, and it wants you to sing back.
Recovered from a nursery with no child on record. A playground chant for something that grows between your code and your spine. Don’t sing it past stanza three.
On British working-class language, tone policing, and what happens when ‘ta’ and ‘luv’ get mistaken for unprofessionalism. Warmth as class marker, not small talk.
What a seventeenth-century maritime cock-up reveals about mission statements, national branding, and the tyranny of the well-maintained surface.
The first thing is the noise. Coins on coins, a thousand 2ps shoved back and forth under glass, the whole arcade roaring with it, and somewhere underneath, the electronic gurgle of machines promising more than they ever paid. That and…
Found where a substantial amount of do-gooders bloom the loudest and the weakest minds in the room sets the rules. This is a written response…
Crowdfunding tuition for an accepted student bridging working-class roots and elite art education.
This text is drawn from the Rotwhite Archive, expanded here as a written companion to Decay for Clout. The Rotwhite Expanse is not a place. It is a diagnosis.
This text was written as a companion to The Sweetness of Damage. A condensed extract was submitted as part of a written portfolio application to the Royal College of Art. What follows is the original text from which that extract was drawn.
This text was written as a companion to Undulating Husk: Memory Vessels. A condensed extract of approximately 200 words was submitted as part of a written portfolio application to the Royal College of Art.
This is a journal entry written at the time of Muffin’s passing, reproduced here as part of the Corrode & Crown archive. It is the source material from which the work developed.