Tχ – ‘Nora Whiskerson’

Installation 2.5


Nora Whiskerson

It said its name was Nora. I say ‘it’, because I cannot be sure the feline race follows the same gender-naming structure we humans tend to follow. In fact, you may decide upon a gender, if it helps you imagine its voice. I recall making this observation quite clearly, because Nora proceeded to pull me up on it. With part of my attention still retained by the phantom puzzle-bag, I may have distractedly muttered a quizzical Nora? and offered my most confused looking frown. Nora grilled me: Continue reading

Tχ – ‘Jigsaw Puzzles’

Second Installation

Jigsaw Puzzles

Somehow I’d managed to uproot myself from the spot, and apparently also found time to manipulate my jaw shut and blink two or three (million) times. In between these episodes I’d retreated down the stairs to the kitchen, to the kettle I’d filled with too much water for the mere two cups I’d anticipated. I was in no state to consider any such Freudian revelation that I’d filled the kettle with enough water for three cups on purpose, though retrospectively I imagine I’d always been expecting the arrival of a massive elephant, to assume its position in the corner of the living room. Continue reading

Tχ – ‘In a heartbeat’


First Installation

‘In a heartbeat’

It’s a clear memory, pristine like a framed photograph that hasn’t been moved, never mind handled, for centuries: the off-white door with its panelled design and grainy sheen of cheap paint, that could chip in a gust of wind; the dulled metal of a well-used door handle; beige carpet, rough looking but certainly not designed as such, speckled with various darker coloured ‘fluff-stuffs’ caught in the fibres and unyielding to any hoover. Tightly packed into an alcove to the right of the doorframe an Ikea wardrobe, comprised of a balsa wood frame over which a dark material skin is draped; all the walls in the world are white, matted over time with scuffs and scrapes betraying numerous move-ins and move-outs; and me, right hand cupped round a personalised mug, hot tea steaming like hot breath on a bitterly cold evening – my left hand poised in a knocking position. Continue reading