THE NARRATOR

Something I often return to, or is often returned to me is the idea that you must always hold your own experience as sacred. THE NARRATOR is someone I have admired from a distance for some time. Someone who I felt, from this distance, personified this idea in a way that was both familiar and unfamiliar. Upon bridging some of that distance very recently in our conversation below and through a show, I feel even closer to that idea.

Exploration can always be whatever we want to make of it, and there is a playfulness that seems to permeate every part of THE NARRATOR’s work. From writing, music, performance, art and so much more, there is a magic that rests both on the surface and deep within.

I had so much fun during this conversation. A gentle reminder that our stories are always sat beside us!

The narrator as a term captures so much, it feels very encompassing. I was wondering what or who is THE NARRATOR to you and where did they come from?

You know when you have a dream and you wake up and you’re trying to remember it. It then sometimes takes something physical for you to remember what happened. I had this dream that feels very far away from me now, however as I’m experiencing THE NARRATOR I’m becoming closer to the dream. I’m living through it rather than constantly processing what’s going on right now.

I remember not thinking about it too much. I’m quite a silly person, so I was thinking how this can be both a serious and silly declaration. It’s become more like a verb. I feel I’m doing so much with my voice because I’ve decided that this is what I’m going to declare into the world.

I don’t want to call it a creative ego, more like a creative confidant almost. My own soundboard. Like the dream, it felt so far away, something that I could catch up to later. That’s what I’ve been living through and it feels much more purposeful years on.

I have always found things to unravel in unusual ways. Our own lives as stories, shaping the way we dream.


Stories do seem to inform every medium THE NARRATOR exists in. What freedoms do you find in storytelling that you perhaps don’t find elsewhere?

It feels like my entire nature exists through stories. I’m constantly experiencing my forks, the paths that I’m picking in this world through story. It’s allowed me to be much more comfortable with reality.

Reality for me personally is always extremely polarising. There’s so much going on all the time! There’s something about stories that just allows me to organise reality much better.

I feel it allows me to give myself permission to be human. I believe that story is so essential to the human condition, but people take it so lightly sometimes. It can be the perfect entrance into speaking to and accessing parts of yourself that are quite difficult too, which I find quite funny.

You begin and it's kind of amusing. People will be like oh it’s not real, it’s just a story. But things are! They’re so real, they’re as real as reality.

Yeah, they’re never that far removed which I think people are often mistaken by. You’re always a lot closer than you think.

I’ve had shows where audience members have come up to me and asked things like: was that your thesis on race and identity? Or something similar about its meaning. I think it's important to allow for space to honour the imagination. I’ve never been too controlled about what that could mean.

I’m excited when people interpret things differently. I think that’s the whole point, that’s what creates more in this realm anyway. We’re constantly recycling but I do find that I don’t tend to pull from specific happenings.

It sounds funny but you know how newspaper horoscopes are quite vague. Human beings are not vague at all, they’re very detailed and complicated. But the phenomena of being drawn to this entirely promiscuous, seductive vague text I find so funny. We’re constantly drawn towards these huge themes, but we want to be told very quickly what these things are.

I don’t want people to only experience the work in a vague way. I’d like whoever is experiencing the world to set time within themselves. To discover something that they couldn’t do on a Google search or you maybe couldn’t ask a friend about. I love the idea of simmering into something.

It’s the funny thing of looking into a horoscope and going ‘oh perfect! I’m going to fall in love today!’. There’s so many vague checkpoints that we enter, but we don’t realise that they’re going to affect us so meticulously and so colourfully. I think that’s what I love doing, it’s the trick, the trick of the light.

Something I always think about is translation. Translating something from inside into an outwards expression.

Often it can be difficult to trace those lines back, especially when different mediums are involved. Then external interpretation can often distort those lines further, which can be really interesting.

THE NARRATOR’s work is very multidimensional, existing in mediums such as writing, art, music & performance. Have you always been drawn to a range of mediums to express yourself? Do you have any favourites that you like to translate in?

I recently got asked about my music/writing crossover. I’ve always separated them so intensely but it’s only since stepping into my work publicly that I’ve had to acknowledge that they are not separated at all.

Despite experiencing them with extremely different emotions, I don’t feel that one is highlighting the other, they’re just two very pure characters in my life.

I would say that I favour writing because it’s my most comfortable expression. I spend a lot of time with the size of writing. An A6 notebook is my travel size of thoughts. I know that in the day I can only allow myself to be here, within the size of this notebook. In this small pocket of emotion.

When I’m going into music however, I can’t physically see it, so I have to expand the invisible laws inside myself. I’m walking through a different measurement and that’s a vulnerability that I feel I’m finally being able to access naturally.

But before, oh gosh! Anytime someone was like ‘hey, let’s write a song’. I’d be like, I don’t know what that means. I’ve made so many songs that just feel so wrong in my body because they were trying to be so formatted and compatible with whatever people listen to.


Yeah definitely. I think when we experience the final product of someone’s creation, the void of the process is often a lot more ambiguous than we think.

Once you try and make something similar, I think we fill the void with a lot of assumptions about how that thing is made. Then you’re left with this weird process and creation, and you’re like wait, how did I get here?

Exactly! Maybe about 9 years ago now, I was in bands and was collaborating with people making a lot of music. I would listen to it and perform it and it wouldn’t feel right. I would finish it and it wouldn’t feel right. You know when you don’t believe in it so you’re not even sharing it. Those were my signs. I don’t even believe in what I’m saying. I don’t believe in my melodies. I don’t believe in the process.

It took a really long time to look at these mediums and not see them as separate from myself. Rather than a chorus and a bridge I can just do what is accurate to me. That’s when the sonicbooks kind of came alive because I was like what if I just make a 30 minute song? What if I just keep going? I don’t have to feel compromised by a 3 minute experience.

There were so many times where I was trying to establish what feels right. It’s funny listening to music I’ve made that is so structured or functional. This obviously is a part of me but it serves a completely different kind of expression. I always find it so exciting when I can break that cycle. I’m like here we go, you’ve got it!

Yeah I agree so much. Feeling right is such an intuitive thing and it’s so important to take you to places that are true to you.

You touched on sonicbooks there. I really love THINGNESS and was curious as to what the word means to you?

When you have something that you’re feeling or that feels so incomprehensible. Like when someone is trying to remember that thing. That feeling of, what’s that thing…? I can’t get there, I can’t access that thing in my mind. I’m trying to communicate that I love you. I’m trying to communicate that I’m angry. I’m trying to communicate that I’m feeling tense. You can’t really get there because you know that it’s not physical.

Thingness for me was when you get to make it physical, when it completes itself. It’s now entirely whole. It doesn’t have to be whole for someone else, but you know it is, it’s reached its full potential. That to me was the essence of the word.

There was the psychologist that created the concept ‘flow’. I think that was my own version of it. When everything is completely in unison and harmony and it's now physical. That was the thing, the thingness.

I often use it in my day. That final conclusion has entered your body and you’re complete. When I cry I’m like oh, I’m at thingness, finally. Then you can move forward. It’s a very tangible expression for me.

Ah wow, what a beautiful word to add to the vocabulary!


Well, there was a part towards the middle of THINGNESS where the person adventuring through different doors was musing on their uniqueness and what was held behind them. They talk about making keys from scratch because ‘unordinary doors need unordinary keys’.

Doors and keys feel like one in the same, almost as if they themselves create their own thingness. Was there something that kept drawing you back to those things at the time?

I think we are as people, doors. I think that we have keys that we’re very protective over. In life there’s sometimes a pressure of feeling like this isn’t ours anymore. That life isn’t ours.

Are we God’s playthings? Do we have the reins to our own experience? I’ve always loved the idea that you’re physically this door. You draw the keys which you’re ready to use to open and access different parts of it.

I find when I’m in places of transit that drawing a key has really helped me, physically, to get where I need to. I think, what am I not seeing yet? What am I avoiding? What am I being naive to? Especially when I’m trying to write something or get through a piece. If I start drawing keys, my whole body is opening or accessing something here.

One of the first shows I did where keys were very prominent, we had a huge roll of paper in the venue, everyone got crayons and we just drew keys. Everyone drew their own keys, which was so incredible to watch how keys were interpreted. In my mind, this is what a key is physically to me:


It was so fascinating watching people draw their keys, what they interpreted as something to open something else inside you. There were so many different dimensions, textures, heads, spirals, claws!

The ability to create your own comforts in the world can be a very powerful and cathartic experience. It must have been quite crazy to see so many people interpret one of yours.

Yeah! It was very intense. It was so private, but also so public. I’ve been playing with that so much over the last year. How can I make privacy in public?

When I’m creating a show, a set, a piece. I’m always thinking of how I can make this experience so private, publicly. I feel like that show was the beginning of that instinct.

A shared intimacy of sorts.

Absolutely. It’s amazing what permission allows. People are really prepared to let in, especially when there’s an intention to do so. It’s really special.


Yeah it seems like your shows are quite collaborative and I noticed on the credits for THINGNESS that you had a lot of people involved.

It was honestly my favourite thing about it. The different pieces, the music, everything was an accumulation of 4 years. A friend of mine, Psychedelic Ensemble, has this show on NTS, called Live At The Clinic. He’s an amazing artist and asked me to do a guest mix on his show. I was like hell yeah, why not. I immediately felt like this was a great opportunity to do something special. So instead of making a guest mix, I made THINGNESS!

Then I was like oh wait, this is a project. Anton who I work with very closely, I call The Architect, because he really is the architect of my imagination. It was so funny, I remember being with him a week before it was due and he was like why didn’t you just go on Spotify and put some songs together?

I was like nooo, we have to complete this! All that concentrated pressure drew all these things together that felt so isolated. They finally had a place to sit, finally had a home. They were always meant to live together! It took the pressure of a deadline to allow the bricks to be laid.

Did you have a lot of intention with the people you wanted to work with or is it much more casual?

It’s definitely more casual, especially at the end with TEAM EGO. That story was made just after the song HUMMING around two years ago. I was with my friend Jkarri and we’d never created together and we felt this was the time. We both love Joni Mitchell, a bit of indie, a bit of guitar. We created Humming and we were like this is the best song I’ve ever made haha!

We both looked at each other like it could cure sadness. My other friend Dochi came into the room and was like what are you guys doing? I just wrote them a tiny script.

In my mind, they were two vampire brothers who are going from restaurant to restaurant dating and accidentally killing women, because well they’re vampires. They did it in one take. They both just performed in the most incredible way. I listen back and I hear a commitment that I am deeply inspired by.

My friends and the people around me are that expressive all the time, honestly if there was a mic around all the time there would be THINGNESS VOL. 11. It’s so beautiful and I’m so grateful, but it’s incredibly casual.

I live with my grandmother, so anytime I’m like grandma come in here and let’s read some of this stuff. She’s in THINGNESS as Miss Skyscraper and she had come in and read some of the story and I recorded it. There was no intention of building this huge world. It’s just that the people around me are incredibly expressive.


Yeah, world building can be so casual in its nature. I really love Ursula Le Guin’s world building and I recently read about a thought exercise she has. You ‘create a world, go there, ask questions of the people you meet and write it down’.

Like a cosmic journalist. Drawing your own passport and being like okay I live here now.

Yeah, exactly. You touched on things there that reminded me of that exercise. That a process can feel a lot more simple than it seems.

My process is incredibly deconstructed. I find it so amazing because Ursula has come up so much through releasing this. I personally find her work so dense. I can see her books in my library right now and I’ll go through it in a very deconstructed way. I won’t read her work linearly at all. I find it so dense and it hasn’t particularly affected me now. I always find that means it’s going to come around in a very unconventional way one day. Even in that process I love the simplification of make a world and go there.

There are some artists who have lived in their world for so long that when they do share, it’s so fascinating the way people interpret or understand it. For instance, Hayao Miyazaki and the Ghibli films. The last one, The Boy and the Heron, the story didn’t resonate with me at all. But I respect that I’m a tourist, I’m not the creator. I’m just at border control like I’m going to take a look and then I’m going to go home.

I find that when I’m having more contention with the world, I’m way more fascinated by it. It sticks. It’s not that I wanna conquer it and understand it. It’s just that you have bridged something that I can’t walk over. I love that.

I think personally with my work, relatability is constantly on my mind. When I was younger, isolation didn’t particularly make me feel more comfortable. My process is not necessarily will this land or could this be interpreted easily, but is it relatable to me as a human being?

I really love knowing that I can read my work and remember who I was making it. That’s super important for me.

Yeah, always feeling connected to it no matter where life takes you. It can be comforting to be able to exist back in those places.

Exactly! I can exist back in there. I wasn’t trying to be older than I was, or I wasn’t trying to be more intelligent. I was just being with what was existing then. That’s so important for me. Especially when I read my work when I was 18. I started with scripts. I’ve written shorts and I’ve written lots of random stories. But it was the script framework where I learned how to interpret words. I’m 26 now and when I read them back I can feel the chaos within trying to express that which I don’t have the language yet.

But I like that because there was a kid who was just working with the vocabulary that she had. She was working with her environment. I love that. I really heavily try and return to what is relatable to where you’re at. I’m so excited to have checkpoints that existed when I did. And I can hear my voice and be like wow I was really enjoying myself.

You touched on writing scripts there. I’ve seen that you’ve performed HELL NOTES at some point in the past. How do you tend to translate paper to performance? Do you think a lot about performative elements when you write or do you find them quite separate?

I think about performative elements a lot more now because I’m doing it more and I’ve really enjoyed being able to perform words in an interactive way, and blending music with part of the story.

With HELL NOTES specifically, I had performed it in small excerpts over the year, but I performed it properly at the ICA earlier this year and it was so much fun!

I think on paper it can sometimes feel much more serious than it actually is. It’s quite incredible when emotion gets translated. I find that to be my favourite part of the process. In that show I work very closely with Isaiah [Hull], who was always my Dante. I knew he was the perfect person for this character.

When we interpreted it physically, we had a club light following him through the space so he was in his own club world. He was drinking and having a party to himself, pushing people out of the way. It wasn’t just on stage, he was running through the entire venue, and I was singing Everything Man just following him and physically it was so fun.

It can be so serious on paper, but it was so much fun to interpret it live, it was really ridiculous. Anton stitched together soundscapes of the forest. You’re hearing the creatures, hearing the monsters.

My friend Luisa had gone travelling through south London and collected all these sticks and turned them into a huge orb. She was walking through the space as the forest noises were going on and Isaiah had this flashlight and followed this orb through the space.

There’s these moments in every single show or performance that could be interpreted so differently. I like knowing that after the words have been written they’re not confined in the performance world. I really appreciate it when you can translate it. When I was writing HELL NOTES I was never really thinking about how to put them out physically. I am now though, I’m constantly there all the time.


Yeah looking back on the way things have unravelled can be really surprising. There’s a magic to it. I think magic is in everything.

Magic is in everything. Magic is in things that we hate too. It’s there, it’s very present and can be accessed in the most unusual ways.

My project I did with Isaiah, MORTAL OIL OF THE SPOILED SPIRIT. That was a whole other interpretation of language. It was another sonicbook, but it was with someone else. It wasn’t just my imagination.

I was using the same bones to make something completely different. That was magic being translated in a completely different way. To me that was very special.


You mentioned Isaiah there. I really love the work that revolves in and around life is beautiful. What’s your involvement as part of it?

We’re a collective of 8. aloisius is the founder and he met us all in entirely different ways. Him and I became like magnets. When we met, we expressed that we were very important to each other and he told me that he wanted to build something really special with me. I remember when he told me about this vision.

I’m a really enthusiastic person, I laugh at everything. I’m like a child constantly and that will never leave me. When he told me I thought this sounds like so much fun. However, I found the actual reality of building things and that kind of commitment really difficult to begin with.

When we had our first meeting as an 8, I was really sceptical about such dogmatic visions. These huge statements of: I want us to exist with all of our mediums. I want to invite artists in. I want to have huge events. I want to change the creative expression of the world! It was so big, these huge beliefs.

I felt really sceptical, privately sceptical of what was going to happen because I didn’t feel at that point I was very collaborative. I was really trying to establish what was going on in my own creativity. But you need people, you need a village.

Yeah, collaboration is so prominent in the mediums you work in such as music and performance. I think from an outside perspective people often view them as one in the same. But, it’s a vastly different dynamic than working on your own which I find people don’t tend to talk about.

I think sometimes you just need certain things to open your eyes. Pushing through apprehension can often allow things to blossom.

Personally, it's changed my life entirely and I’m very grateful that I was so sceptical, because I had seven other people around me who were also uncertain. There was this really amazing thread that we now see in retrospect. That we are all entirely in love with life. So in love with life.

It’s myself, Isaiah, Aloisius, Jaso, Nwakke, Abi Asisa, Bianca Scout and Samara Langham. We are all absolutely fascinated by the experience of waking up everyday in completely different ways, so it makes sense why we eventually saw what we didn’t before. We’ve created an amazing world and we’ve translated things I could have never done by myself. But it does take a huge amount of faith.

I’m as much an artist as I am the artistic director in life is beautiful. aloisius and I are in constant conversation about where we’re going, what we stand by, and what our shortcomings are. We’re constantly communicating what we can’t do as well, our weaknesses. I’ve never had a place where I’ve been able to do that before.

In school and university there are these blocks that are set up for that to happen, but they seem to come in places you don’t even expect them to.

That’s the real magic of it. When you get to have very human interactions in places where you never thought it would have happened.

But that’s definitely life is beautiful. We are a force, a real force. I’m so proud of everyone constantly. I feel like I’m more surprised by it than anything that’s happening in the city.

Every time we do a show, I’m like what was that?

I love that.

To go back to some of your previous work. There were some questions I wanted to ask you from The Radioweaver’s Symposium. I loved the questions you had as part of it and wondered how you relate to some of them at this current moment.

What do you find yourself caring less about?

Embarrassment. I think it's a combination of variables, but I am really detaching from the emotions of embarrassment. It's becoming alien and foreign in my body. I don’t want to highlight this emotion because it doesn’t serve anything, it doesn't serve me in my day. It doesn’t serve the people I love to be embarrassed by my experience.

Myself and Isaiah have this poem that we constantly go back and forth about and one of the lines is: ‘not embarrassed at imbalances’. We say it backwards too, ‘not imbalanced at embarrassment’.

I’m not imbalanced at embarrassment. I’m not embarrassed by imbalances. It’s just where you are.


Who do you idolise?

It feels very physical and non-physical. I think I idolise time. I idolise the fact that time is forever. I personally wish that I could continue living, that I was immortal in a sense. I really idolise time for that.

We’re constantly talking about time in a way where it feels like it's ours, but it’s not. I love knowing that there’s this thing here that we’re playing with but we’ll never be able to meet.

I lust for it almost. I don’t physically idolise anybody. There’s so much dissonance in people that I can’t possibly idolise people. But time, I really idolise time. It’s seen everything. I wish and I want.


What can’t you afford to lose?

Physically I think about silence. I can’t afford to lose silence. I really need quiet. I’ve been in such a dynamic relationship with silence for years. We’ve had our highs and lows. But at this time in my life I really can’t afford to lose silence.

What I’m understanding is that it’s not something I get to have. I have to create silence all the time because there’s so much going on up here, there’s so much constantly cycling through the day. If I’m not present with silence, everything is falling apart around me. So I really can’t afford to lose silence.


Who do you invite to your quiet?

My quiet is quite observational and I only have a few people in my life that I like to observe with. I’m thinking about people physically and I’m trying to also think what it is about them that allows me to observe with them so beautifully.

I think it has to do with the fact that they are fabulous at the truth. I love people who are honest in their day. I mostly invite those people into my quiet. The spirits that are honest, honouring what is happening right now.

Isaiah is someone who is like my other half. I call him my soundboard often because there is so much observing that I do daily that I would love to hear our observations together in communion.

That to me is the quietness of the noise. To be able to reach out to someone who you can rely on for their honesty, can rely on for their truth, can rely on for their observations. That is where I believe you’re living as accurately as you can.

I love an honest spirit. I’m attracted to an honest spirit. I find that I’m constantly inviting those people into my quiet.


Are you a mirror or a window?

I think that I am fluctuating between the two constantly. I think I’m a mirror when I need to see inside. I’m a window when I need to see out. I need to look at the horizon.

Sometimes there are things that you cannot look at yourself for. You cannot look inside for. You have to go to the horizon beyond you and check in with what’s going on there.

They’re like the sun and the moon. You couldn’t live without either. You need both to interpret the world. So I feel that they’re both constantly being completed within me.

Ah, wonderful!


What’s on THE NARRATOR’s plate at the moment?

Well in November, I’ve got the Radioweaver’s Raw Technicolour. This is a project that has been extracted from me in the last year, since the symposium.

Radioweaver is an entity who lives at the bottom of a well in this city, this huge hole in the ground. Fireworks shoot out of it one day and turn on all the electricity in the city. All of the radios in the city turn on and tune to a particular station. You hear the Radioweaver and it basically lets everyone know that the hole they were just living around is a well, and you can now place your wish.

Everyone goes crazy. They’re like oh perfect, everything I ever want will now come true. But there are terms and conditions, of course. There are things which don’t come true and there are things that do. Interpreting the equation of what the Radioweaver is, the equation of a wish.

The story follows this one character. A wish that wasn’t hers stirs a lot of chaos in the city. Everyone is trying to find the owner of the wish. I’m about to go into that, the hierarchy of a wish.

I’ve been heavily creating for the past few months. The Radioweaver’s Raw Technicolour has 7 songs, 3 of which are out now. WHISTLE SPIRIT, IN 3’S and TROPOSPHERE.


Are there any books, art, music, poems or stories that have been spiralling through your mind recently?

Well, we’re making THINGNESS into vinyl which is exciting. It’s funny with working creation because you never know what is happening with it when it’s out in the world.

Moments like making that, or conversations like this. You realise that having something physical is also as powerful as it is when you’re indulging in it digitally.

I’ve also written a book that’s coming out soon, called THE NARRATOR’s Cipher. I wrote it 2 years ago but I didn’t enjoy who I was when writing it. I had to wait to enjoy who I was to be able to share it.

That comes back to embarrassment. I was writing it with embarrassment as a sensation. I wanted to allow myself to gain a sense of security before sharing all of these works. I’m super excited to put that out in the world.

It’s similar to a sonicbook but physically which is quite strange. There’s also a book that’s been inspiring things at the moment. It’s called The End of Mr. Y by Scarlett Thomas.

I was part of a book exchange. I had put my address out and someone had just sent me this in the mail, completely anonymously. I received 5 books and this was the 5th. All the books were beautiful, but I had never heard of this one before.

Everything about my writing changed whilst I was reading it. It’s the most incredible book I have ever read!

I constantly wish that I lived inside of it. I’m on my second run through, but I have it in my bag as an amulet. Similar to the way people carry rosaries, I carry this book on me because I need the energy of it with me.

I’ve never read anything that feels so akin to a physical person. It doesn’t feel like a story, it feels like you are there the whole time. It feels like everything that’s happening is real. As if it’s being lived. It’s not the past. It’s not the future. It’s all being experienced right now. I’ve never had that before.

The last 10 pages I was on a plane reading it and I was crying the whole time. I was trying to go through it, I was purging that it was about to end. I don’t think I was physically more in body than I was when I was reading this. I was super present to everything, my memory was becoming really sharp. TROPOSPHERE was the language that was in this book, that’s where that came from.

I’ve told so many people about this and there’s only one person who is reading it. An inconspicuous person that I’m not really friends with. They’re a producer for a very famous rapper at the moment. I see him every so often out in the city and when I last saw him he said a line from the book.

It felt overwhelming, it felt so private! I was thinking, how did you just land that on me? It was amazing.

That is amazing, especially being affected by something that makes you feel so alive.


I love your paintings as well. There’s something about them which feels alive, as if you’re sinking into a static performance. Do you find you’re trying to express different things through painting or does it form as a whole?

Before I was sharing, before THE NARRATOR, before I completely allowed myself to express in this way. I was teaching botanical dying, which is dying fabric with flowers, bugs and plants, to both children and adults for 5 years.

I was making these pieces that were all done with plants. The piece below was one with onions, madder (which is the root of a plant) and the blue is woad seeds.


Oh wow, that’s a really nice blue. I’ve always heard that blue is a really rare natural pigment. That it doesn’t really exist in a lot of old paintings because it was so difficult to find.

Indigo is a really incredible colour to extract. I had a pot I made in the pandemic and you have to actually feed it sugar to produce the colours, I had a pet of blue ink in my kitchen!

For years that was my medium, being able to interpret art through plants. Then my best friend had a birthday at a life drawing class in May. It was crazy, I didn’t realise that you don’t have to actually draw the person.

I would watch the person and their nakedness as a whole. I would see characters flash through my mind. I started drawing the people as these characters and that for me was a huge source of magic.

I feel like for my work personally, being able to merge mediums is the thrill of it all. The last show I did, I was trying to create the transference of luck. Everyone put their hand on a canvas and outlined it.


There’s around 50 hands on this canvas. Now it’s a giant canvas of luck. Everyone with the intention of transferring how much luck they have inside of them was put down here.

I guess this is visual art but also to me, this was the room. This is the audience. This is the physical representation of everyone who wanted to be within the world. I find that to be magical. There’s so much that can be indulgent in the medium, but there’s also so much that can be transferred.

That’s beautiful.


Something I always think about is compulsion. A compulsion to do things but not know why. I feel that compulsion seems to be inherent to the things you do. A desire to express because it almost needs to be expressed. That the reasons don’t particularly matter in this given moment.

But they also never need to be. Why do I need this to be something that I need to understand? I have this rock I picked up because it looked like a pen. I picked this up because I liked how it feels. It’s sitting on my desk not with the intention of it becoming anything.

There are things on this planet that we have to have without inquiry. They just have to exist. We can’t invoice for our own existence. That’s the way we can fully feel our existence…