New What: August 2019

I want my work to act like a kind of poppers on the audience: vaporous; heady; easing difficult ideas into uptight spaces.

I take a casual, sensuous and erotic approach, seducing the viewer through a striptease of detail, playing with ideas of proximity, intimacy and exchange.

I weave text, music, visual art and movement together to create hallucinatory yet strangely familiar environments. 

Back in April, I was awarded a Developing Your Creative Practice grant by Arts Council England, which I’ve been using to explore the newest / least-trained aspects of my practice: singing, movement, composing. The aim: a more agile career through a multi-faceted practice that sets me apart as a solo maker, and supports collaboration with others (as a sound designer, singer, so on). It’s a highly competitive fund, so I’m hugely grateful to receive it.

Thanks to this support, over the past few months I’ve been having regular singing lessons with professional vocal coach and session singer, Rebecca Phillips; traveled to Berlin to study Klein Technique with accredited teacher, Hanna Hegenscheidt; and been spending time in the studio working on new compositions. I’ll start showing the fruits of this work in early 2020. The introductory text at the beginning of this blog comes out of an afternoon I spent with creative producer, Michael Norton to help map out what the future might hold. This text should serve as a lodestar for how I pull all these things together.

Dinis Machado Normcore

It’s also been a busy couple of months of collaborations. In June, I spent two weeks at Siobhan Davies Dance working with choreographer Dinis Machado and four other amazing dance / art practitioners on NORMCORE: a “playground dance where the trust we place in each other allows us to discover our bodies further into places we dream of”. It will be touring a few places across Europe later this year, including a date in London on November 16th, which is on sale now.

I also co-created a new sound art piece imagining a Paralympic sportscaster panel discussion eighty years in the future with Gemma Nash (as part of CUTTER // NASH) , in collaboration with Cornbrook Creative‘s Sonic Pixels. It was commissioned as part of the Bodyparts Exhibition which ran for a week in July at Asia House. We’ll get some documentation online in the near future.

Lastly, I’m spending time planning on getting my work out over 2020. So if you’re looking for an eerie solo theatre / dance performance about intimacy with strangers, or a gig from the best ambient industrial sound art duo to span London and Manchester, get in touch.


Movement Eighteen

Reading Rumi, thinking of Bruce Chatwin’s Songlines, the quote where he talks about poetry and pedestrian language being words shorn of poetry, poetry the language of nature, what would a modern day Rumi sound like?

Is my heart a fist clutching cash

Slowly unfolding?

Movement Seventeen

Sit in a chair and wait for people to arrive / think about where pleasure is for you.

Movement Sixteen

[Bart notices that the factory has collapsed.]

Bart: Ah, jeez. Milhouse, how could you let this happen? You were supposed to be the night watchman!

Milhouse: I was watching. I saw the whole thing. First it started falling over, then it fell over.

On Saturday night, as midnight came and went, I watched my 22 day streak on Duolingo dissolve. Even lost five lingots I’d wagered on keeping-up a seven day streak. Wasn’t that bothered.

Walking home today, I remembered this writing streak, and wondered if my commitment to a daily practice of writing is just further embodiment of pervasive late capitalist mindset: always be productive.

Aware there is privilege in watching deadlines and opportunities drift by. This isn’t a deadline to worry about.

Somedays, no movement is allowed.

Movement Fifteen

Having a daily practice seemed like a good idea fourteen days ago.

Movement Fourteen

Incredibly beddable people
Temptingly edible with shreddable skin
Bowed under the steeple


John Maus asserts that he does not eat human beings, exhorts that we should not let our mouths become open graves (a Bible reference, I think). A dictum I could do-dum.

Worm-words tumbling over teeth
Hissing falsity, wheezing into my personal space

Movement Thirteen

Listen to It’s Time To Go Home And Have A Nice Weekend by Gareth Cutter #np on #SoundCloud

Movement Twelve

A three hour round trip, from North London to South and back again, for a free roll of dusty pink latex (thanks Rosie!)

Movement Ten

Her face floating behind and between bodies crowded on the Underground. She wipes it with the back of her hand.

I remember the woman sat opposite me on the train, her eyes two pink topaz stones. She sniffs, shuffles a stack of papers, glances at them, then looks away.

Four boys heading to Stockport on the same train swear and jeer each other. They sound ugly.

I think about offering the woman a cup of tea but then decide against. Let her sadness and grief be private. Let me keep my awkwardness to myself.

The crowd on the Underground coach has thinned out and I will be walking past the woman on my way to the doors. I decide to ask her if she’s OK as I’m about to disembark.

“Oh yes, I’m fine,” she grins. “I cry all the time!”

Her posture softens, head tilts. “But thank you.”

I think about them both as I’m walking down Holloway Road, fighting back tears, wondering what shade of pink my eyes are.