Conceptual Artbook TMCopyright2015

This is my list of projects, for your attention.

1. Really cute love lyrics to death metal music

2. A white t-shirt with a smudged drawing of a white t-shirt on the front

3. A photograph of a young brown-haired girl with age lines drawn on her face, in blue biro, next to an old-school silver stopwatch

4. A wall of collected advent calendar jokes, stuck on with black and white striped washi tape

5. Ed Sheeran's song about finding love until old age, played backwards at an old people's home exercise class

6. A three minute video of a London street of houses at 6.45am, showing people's waking up movements (lights coming on, curtains opening)

7. A collage made of real sushi on a table, forming a man with shoulder-length dark straight hair and a moustache, eating spaghetti bollognaise with a spoon and a fork

8. A framed photo of Beyonce and Jayz in front of the Mona Lisa (internet meme 2014), on a student dorm room, next to 'The Kiss' poster, with a pile of dirty bowls stacked on the floor next to the door

9. A still of a Henry hoover 'threesome', in a green field of English countryside, on an overcast day. Red, Blue and Green Henry appear entangled, mysterious and content

designer

I intended to have it all completely and totally ready and perfect and ready and complete and ready.

i am not ready

I meant to have it all ironed out and hung and fresh and clean and spotless and ready and happy and comfortable and ready.

but you guessed it right, i am not.

cannot begin unraveling this tangle, without a second hand to hold the string while i pick. My second hand is patting and petting and wiping and sweeping and drying and polishing, to make things readier. Your second hand is on a your first hand, as you rub them together nervously, trying to solve the riddle of what to do with me.

I intended to design a zimmer frame for your ideas to flower. a simple ample structure with space and air and everything. I wanted it ready for when you were. ready for life. ready for rust - as you pleased. but somewhere down the line i've polished too hard or put it up wrong or expected something instead of everything or anything. or i guess maybe it smells of me now and so it is not yours, but i don't even want it.

I intended to give the world to you with as much my -notoriously- long arms could build in such a small space and such little time and so few resources and am afraid i've just taken a step back and realised it looks pretty shit.

Shoddy tears, and shouty crumbs in bed, and sweaty face cloth, and panic toast, and abstract symbolism of self-loathing, or any type of loathing, or cereal whispers of horror, and highly strung filter stick picking up off the floor by the second.

The floating lingerie-wearing sunshine punk that would support your entire universe while sipping on a milkshake through a twisty sparkly straw winking in a hilarious and adorable fashion, has just taken a step back and seen she is a conventional office worker with a (suspected) lactose intolerance.

My master plans of course are not ready and they never will be. I cannot be ready, as I am not going to achieve any of this, for I am not able to deliver something outside this excessive wiping of good and smearing of bad. I AM a wiper and smearer and sweeper and stainer and cleaner and spiller. I am my loop. It's conveniently all I am (today). I inhale with the duster and exhale with a sponge.

And if you were to take these away, new and different cycle-makers would grow where my long arms are. And it you were to stop those too, I would learn how to walk on the ceiling and not/worry about that.

Perhaps this has always only been my own expectation, for me to provide. But how do you tell someone who feels guilty for taking that their giving is no good?

And how do you prove that you won't whack them on the head and be gone, when mortified they realise mid-scream that an offensive bogey has fled across their face, and their panic-making hell-raising hands are too busy squeezing a teatowel and a bottle to come to the rescue, leaving dignity completely unaided? I mean, surely everyone would want to whack a bogey face and flee? No? Is it just me?

Me. Well, regardless of what you are and how you feel and if and what you need, I will obsess about my giving. My giving is my love. My giving is my life. My astounding attention to detail is love. My meticulous structures and finishing touches. They are love too. I am unable to give you everything, but I can give you everything I am. And I am all these great useful things that you definitely require. And i wish i wasn't guilt. And I hope I am not pain, but if I am, it's not what I intended. I am ready.