X (I can’t name them ) had their spine broken at birth, an accident by a doctor means they will spend their life in a wheel chair with people like me helping to care for them. X is worried, they have asthma. We’ve talked about a new strict plan of care and what to do in an emergency. We cant tell X’s parents, they are Anti -Vac conspiracists and will laugh at us for believing in the pandemic.
Walking my dogs that same day, around the start of the pandemic, same day I came across theses salt crosses drawn on the pavement outside a weird house I had once tried to squat . A mouth full of dirty teeth , attached to an equally scruffy old man, had screamed at me through the letterbox and I’d ran away.
These crystalline white shapes suddenly seem powerful on the pavements of Peckham. The closest thing to Shamanism on this road usually are the sucked clean bones of Morleys fried chicken.
The salt crosses invoked a response in me stronger than seeing the papers full of images of empty shelves, or knowing I only had half a loo roll left , or even the harsh realities of X’s vulnerability.
This work investigates a believe in old superstitions, magic, and charms , especially when our modern medicine and supply chains seem to be failing us.
This installation and video weaves as story about how symbols and marks influence how we interact with our new world.