Metalwork, memory and meaning.
Some are worn, some are read, some just sit there looking at ya, all of them come from the same place.
My work is about heavy things. Loss, damage, resistance, and the distance between what a surface says and what’s actually going on underneath it. Everyone expects heavy to look grey. Veils, dark corners, behaving yourself. I call that an early death.
But grief isn’t grey. Tears glisten iridescent and leave your face flushed pink and swollen like a smacked arse. Blood runs velvet red and dries crisp rust. A bruise blooms damson, rots through green, and fades to old custard.
Note: Nothing is for sale at the moment. When that changes there will be an update.
If you’re into the raw, the too-much, the not-enough, the she-shouldn’t-have-said-that, you’ll get on with this place just fine.
The Projects So Far.
The Thinking Behind The Making.
⛏️⚱️ Ten Thousand Hours in a Hole
The reading behind Undulating Husk. We used to say nothing, or at least very little. The…
🔥⚱️ Forged in Pandemonium: the Concept Pieces
The companion piece to Mutation Quartet, four concept pieces cast in wax and copper after…
🥀🖤 Rot With a Witness
A half-arsed flower park in Sweden, a near-black dahlia my father and I grew every…
✏️🌱 Notes on the Root Songs
What got cut, what got moved, and why. The two root songs taken apart on…
🔌🌱 The Root That Sings
Audio bleed in a sealed server row. No active systems. No vocal origin located. Something…
🧸🌱 The Little Root Song
Recovered from a nursery with no child on record. A playground chant for something that…
🌍💬 ‘Ta, Love’: When Warmth Sounds Wrong
On British working-class language, tone policing, and what happens when ‘ta’ and ‘luv’ get mistaken…
⛵💀 The Art of Looking Impressive While Going Nowhere (Since 1628)
What a seventeenth-century maritime cock-up reveals about mission statements, national branding, and the tyranny of…
🪙🎰 A Fortune in Coppers
The first thing is the noise. Coins on coins, a thousand 2ps shoved back and…