The Hexting project Thirty artists respond sequentially to a text
II. Adelie She builds her home out of carefully selected, optimal stones - the type that catch your eye if you’re looking. Of course, she’s not the only one; everyone’s busy around here making things nice and secure, scanning the landscape for the missing piece to fill a gap. Her neighbours always seem to have more, or better, or exactly what she needs. So she turns to tricks; trading sex (or the promise of it) for a specific rock. Sometimes up to fifty rocks an hour. The stones slumbered where they lay, nestled nearly hidden and deep; undisturbed, unperturbed by passing strangers, curious or oblivious.
Fox crunching bones.
Oh that beautiful fox, Alert and living, bright and warm, All along while it’s vicious and feeding, Crunching the bones of Hettie the hen.
I have hedgehogs who visit my garden. They also crunch, Crunch as they scuttle. Scuttle around the undergrowth Looking for nest spots and scaring snails.
If I’m quiet and still, And wearing the red-light torch I bought for work, I can watch them, And hear their crunching all the better.
Sometimes, I feel crunching in my head, Like the hair follicles are stiff and brittle And crunching against the bone of my skull, Threatening the soft matter within.
The bones in my neck crunch too, When I do the exercises from the physiotherapist. That crunching is a little scary But it helps my hips not hurt.
I used to like Crunchies Like the fairground’s bags of burnt sugar, but covered with chocolate. Now I don’t go to the fair, I don’t eat Crunchies either, But I ‘ve found a vegan version And those are really delicious.
They crunch at first and then get sticky All around your teeth, Stuck up in the crevices. You have to be careful you wash your hands And mind you don’t hurt your tongue When getting it all out And savouring every Last, Sticky, Sweet, Moment of them.
Crunching, And sticking, And scuttling, And savouring, Is what makes the world go round so fast That giggles rise into your throat and Almost block your breath Until you throw your head back and let them out. Like foxes, hedgehogs, and humans alike Crunching through life, All day and all night.
‘But that, after all, is to tread a path that many trod, As life goes on.’
Ben Nicholson. Title: June 1961 (green goblet and blue square)
Luckily, you are
And then everything began morphing and changing, with some repeats: (see above); and then the mirroring || ~ >
Endings and beginnings. The correlation between art and historical and current systems of oppression is irrevocable. There is nothing. Nothing is perfect. Nothing lasts. Nothing is finished.
The best advice I ever heard was ‘I think everyone is already perfect.’
This is a peripheral, marginal place. Places existing on the margins, possess a tangled and complex history gesturing and exploring reconfiguration of identity through unfolding, fragmenting, splitting, doubling. This fluidity refuses stable boundaries between interior and exterior.
Perturbations
Tap. Tap. Flppp. Flppp. Flppp. Tap. Tap. Tap. Flpp. Silvered, rusted dust reverberated. Microscopic scaled evidence a reminder that pre-historic-like lepidoptera scales drop drawn to our light years. Short lives of transformation, an ecosystem of food. Frass, the caterpillar’s poo, can sound like rain so projectile it can be. The caterpillar grub food to continents. The most delicate costumed wings to grace a theory whose effect is felt flapped across our globe.
List of contributors: Sam Pickett, Steph Shipley, Steph Fletcher, Sovay Berriman, Sarah Feinmann, Ruth Warman, Roberta Cialfi, Paula Fenwick-Lucas, Ola Dabrowska, Mat Birchall, Maisy Bliss, Leo, Lauren Sagar, Laura Harrison, Keeley Bentley, Julia Swarbrick, Julie Mayer, Jessica Earle, Jayne Simpson, Jane Fairhurst, Fern Nicholas, David Mackintosh, Carolyn Morton, Thea Luckcock, Bonnie Craig, Beata Bee, Ann Carragher, Kerry Tenbey, Amy Stretch-Parker, Abigail Barton in that order