I write with, 
or close to 
the body,
into spaces of 
interdependence.


I am holding Ruth Wilson Gilmore’s question out to you as I write:
“Who works and what works, for whom and to what end?”

My work is to find and forge connections — with others and between worlds, forms, disciplines and commitments — and to make clear the things that interrupt this connection. Sometimes I write about the work and lives of others,  and when I do I try to write away from critique or distanced analysis, preferring to write closer; towards embodied connection with the atmosphere and processes between me, the work and the people that make it. 

I hold close forms and styles of writing that invite affinity and reciprocity but do not foreclose the possibility of dissent.  My writing takes shape through voice notes, somatic reflection, assemblage, letters, institutional dramaturgy (narrating as a witness to organisational choreographies) and conversation with others.  Carrying an ongoing interest in the revelatory possibilities of the epistolary, I use it sometimes as a diary form.  I sometimes use letters or reflective modes of address to express a desire for different forms of attachment and to invite proximity in containers which usually require detached objectivity or knowing adulation.   

Because I am interested in how we find words through the receipt of the ones we offer, my writing is never original, always unfinished and replete with the traces of where and who I have been. It is raw because it wears the grazes of wanting to be known, of coming to know, and of knowing. 


I find writing hard, 
As I find knowing hard.
I write with failure —
I refuse not knowing.