Drawing from my own personal experiences with anxiety and multi-disciplinary research into the so-called “aesthetic turn in mental health,” my practice utilises custom fractal geometries—visually chaotic patterns that refract within different scales—to explore emotional resonances across space and time. Shooting on saturated 35mm film through kaleidoscopic lenses that reorient perspective, the images highlight oft-ignored affective resonances and the everyday atmospheres they engender. Read more →
They say that the best solution is to stay young of body as you grow old of mind. Stay young on the outside and grow on the inside. Settle down, learn life’s lessons and have experiences in a young person’s body. Rush headlong into life with a young person’s force. Because force, according to adults, is that rising slope of regenerating cells. At twenty-five, it’s the downward slope. At twenty-five, you hit the point of no return and start going backwards. The cells get lazy, start daydreaming. They’ve had enough of being good and keeping busy; they’re sick of desperately splitting into four. At twenty-five, it’s like the cells start missing roll call. They pop and sizzle like a slice of bacon shrivelling in a pan. That’s where the aging starts. That’s the decay, the degeneration. That’s what they say. Read more →
The high arch over the entrance to the Vancouver train station divides the sign running along the roof in two. To the left the letters spell out Pacific, to the right, Central. Although it works out to the same number of letters on either side, the run of slender lines in the ifi in Pacific makes true balance impossible. Whoever built the sign spaced out the letters on the Pacific side to the same width as the more compact Central. This does not so much compensate for the sign’s inherent asymmetry as it does abstract it back into an evasive dissonance. Read more →
I thought I was ready,
I woke up from a dream once with a fervour and your name in my mouth. The week where I saw your absence at a party. Felt your presence at a mixer and thought. The signs were obvious. And all year I had been saying. I am accepting signs. From the universe. And. Intention was the name of the game. Read more →
I said yes: And a few days later I met Mina, which in another way made me feel I was moving on to something new. Read more →
The collage of photographs, “E-mote,” is from a larger multimedia work: “Emote, a time capsule,” an experimental performance installation of the sounds, images, and words of a fictional heroine, Sophie. Living in an experimental society, Sophie is a cynical yet idealistic romantic trapped in her own paradoxical and self-deprecating ruminations. She works in a corrupt industry that commercializes the experience of emotions through the enactment of live actor simulations. As a writer for Ataraxia, a company specializing in selling ‘sentimentality,’ Sophie creates personalized fairy tales and medieval romances for her clients. Beneath the surface of an elegant and collected professional, Sophie struggles with an erratic temperament of severe manic-depressive episodes. The installation represents the digital memory box in which Sophie scatters her collection of music, voice, and sound memos, journal entries and poems, short films, and sketches and photographs. Read more →
She knew what they called her when she wasn’t there: Steak Diane. They were calling her that right now, as Diane imagined they had done countless times before. The barmaid began in a low whisper directly into the bartender’s ear, as if to a lover in a shared bed. “Steak Diaaaaaane.” Suddenly called to duty, the bartender tied a mottled bar rag around his head and began to limp theatrically around the bar. As if she actually looked like that, thought Diane, as she readjusted the knot of her scarf, which rested—tight as a noose—at the base of her chin. Read more →
