I recently visited the surrealist house exhibition in the barbican centre. It bought to light something I had been trying to put my finger on for ages. The idea of the house as an expression of self. A location acting as an innate part of artistic practice and how we live, it says so much more than it might on face value, becoming, even, ourselves, a self fulfilling prophesy told though our homes.
I want to live in the Barbican centre, it is something my boyfriend and I have been working towards unconsciously.
So British so brutal so simple, so that I associate with it.
These images are of my dear Hana, in a house we live near, it is to be torn down soon. So that they might bring down the old in favour of the new. The house is beautiful, it has its own heart beat, its own putrefying smells, perhaps it is dying.
Its so still with silluettes in oubliette’s, waiting , waiting for us.