Jaqueline Margetts 1852
“I came around and found myself now searching … I do not know, I cannot rightly say How first I came to be here- so full of sleep, That moment, abandoning the true way on.”
— (1.1-12)- Dante Alighieri, Inferno

I have tried to paint out a far away story, a key to some foreign revelation, bouncing in-between slippery gestures and the pylons of a practice. Each move follows like a game of dominos unsure of what will come next, painting spontaneously and revisiting their logics to push the production of something else. Playing in these puddles of familiarity an ad-hoc narrative is crafted where the shapes and marks become the characters that develop through material play.  Each work is generated through a feedback loop of abstract knowledge, liberated by accepted unconscious contradiction and inconsistencies, denying definition. Like a sweaty dream that forgets itself in the telling, the paintings sleep on the floor, to be orientated by each other and the viewer. Weaving in and out of the grid, knobbly navels locate the body of work to the present, the past, and here.


It rubs on me,

So I pull at the threads, 

and I collect them.


They spiral inwards,

small and coloured,

a clustered abstraction,

metaphors grow 

deep in the umbilicus,

nestled and spinning



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