a hostile message about my work touched something i recognised. what began as anger at someone else's concealment became harder to separate from the ways i edit, soften and control what i allow others to see.

for years i kept taking on more responsibility in refugee centres, long after my body had started telling me to stop. eventually the work changed how i responded to people, and how much of myself i had left to give.

four works came from the same mould, but none of them stayed the same. porcelain broke, terracotta cracked in smoke, surfaces changed, and eventually the accidents became as important as the decisions i had made deliberately.

arkard began when i knew very little about clay and was willing to try almost anything. it broke repeatedly, survived decisions i wasn't sure about, and became stronger through a repair that could easily have destroyed it.

instagram made me think too much about how the work would appear before i had even made it. after years of deleting accounts and starting again, i decided it could have a smaller and more practical role.

during several weeks in south africa, race kept entering ordinary conversation in ways i found difficult to ignore. staying quiet avoided constant confrontation, but i began noticing what that restraint was doing to me as well.

i learnt early to adjust myself to what other people expected. eventually that entered the studio too: safer choices, perfectionism, concealment and overwork. one fractured wrist made it difficult to pretend the pattern was harmless.