Archives for the month of: April, 2011

I wonder for a long while, contemplating who the woman is, what is her name? I turn over the photograph and find written, squiggled in pencil, Josephine. A few weeks later whilst in a junk shop I find a letter written to Alice. I decide to make them friends. They shall be terribly good friends.

Mr. A Ferguson owns a post office savings book, his name is written ever so neatly in blue ink on the first page. I decide that somebody so neat should own some correcting fluid, for the mistakes made in the future. He should keep all of these important necessities in a brown suitcase, to match his brown shoes.

Discovering and making connections, I now see things that are not really there and take great satisfaction in doing so. I have arranged the items, grouped them together to uncover a history that I know does not exist. So intriguing is the trace of people, that they perform for me the stories of the past.


To Be Continued…

I wonder for a long while, contemplating who the woman is, what is her name? I turn over the photograph and find written, squiggled in pencil, Josephine. A few weeks later whilst in a junk shop I find a letter written to Alice. I decide to make them friends. They shall be terribly good friends. 

 Mr. A Ferguson owns a post office savings book, his name is written ever so neatly in blue ink on the first page. I decide that somebody so neat should own some correcting fluid, for the mistakes made in the future. He should keep all of these important necessities in a brown suitcase, to match his brown shoes.

 Discovering and making connections, I now see things that are not really there and take great satisfaction in doing so. I have arranged the items, grouped them together to uncover a history that I know does not exist. So intriguing is the trace of people, that they perform for me the stories of the past.

To Be Continued…

I wonder for a long while, contemplating who the woman is, what is her name? I turn over the photograph and find written, squiggled in pencil, Josephine. A few weeks later whilst in a junk shop I find a letter written to Alice. I decide to make them friends. They shall be terribly good friends. 

 Mr. A Ferguson owns a post office savings book, his name is written ever so neatly in blue ink on the first page. I decide that somebody so neat should own some correcting fluid, for the mistakes made in the future. He should keep all of these important necessities in a brown suitcase, to match his brown shoes.

 Discovering and making connections, I now see things that are not really there and take great satisfaction in doing so. I have arranged the items, grouped them together to uncover a history that I know does not exist. So intriguing is the trace of people, that they perform for me the stories of the past.

I wonder for a long while, contemplating who the woman is, what is her name? I turn over the photograph and find written, squiggled in pencil, Josephine. A few weeks later whilst in a junk shop I find a letter written to Alice. I decide to make them friends. They shall be terribly good friends. 

 Mr. A Ferguson owns a post office savings book, his name is written ever so neatly in blue ink on the first page. I decide that somebody so neat should own some correcting fluid, for the mistakes made in the future. He should keep all of these important necessities in a brown suitcase, to match his brown shoes.

Discovering and making connections, I now see things that are not really there and take great satisfaction in doing so. I have arranged the items, grouped them together to uncover a history that I know does not exist. So intriguing is the trace of people, that they perform for me the stories of the past.



Concerned with the notions of loss and communication I have brought the correspondence of my past to the shores of where England and France once met. The journey and act of photographing demonstrate a ritualistic performance similar to the weekly letters one writes to those living distantly.

Becoming almost like a performance and an obsession I visited Seaford once a week for 8 weeks. With each visit I brought a different letter and photographed it amongst the rocks of Seaford’s coastline. When I was satisfied, I began to stitch the images together.






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