The following installation was installed at the exhibition Memories are Made of This curated by Corinne Julius at Sarah Myrescough Gallery in London. The installation consisted of two artworks:

…this is not a house…
(2023)
Brooch, Oxidised Silver and Steel
Plate, Enamel, Steel, (distributed AI imagery and feedback scanning)
Box, Cloth Card
Book
What is memory, how does it fold and unfold, corrupt, and become apparent? What are the sensory triggers for
the psychedelic hallucinations of the image of thought? When do memories gain meaning, is it in a language
(which is not ours, but in which we dwell?) or as pre-semic undulations of meaning-making-sense. This is not a
house, but a representative image, caught in the tidal waves of feedback and distortion. The momentary smell of
damp- a visceral transportation device to a cold February morning riding a Grampian bus. This is not a house…
but it is where I come from… An’, thi’ hinkin’ aat remains, an thi’ spikkin inside are nae fit is externalised an like
the matters atween a liminality o something or ither is aire present aye deferred bit isnae iver absent. It’s hame…
bit gang.

…it matters what knots knot knots… (or) ....why are you wearing my granda’s watch…
(2023)
My grandfather’s railway service timex, 18ct yellow gold, photograph, two frames

My Granda never took his watch off, he was a train driver, and his life ran by the movement of its dials. My
Granda never took his watch off, even when he dressed as Father Christmas, the watch remained. The upper-
right lug has snapped, but the object memories continue to weave and to knot and to entwine. Memories and
materials, matter entangled with meaning.