Winner of the Barbellion Prize.

“Funny, moving and profound - this is a vital contribution to writing on illness that everyone should read” - Polly Atkin

Over the course of the pandemic, a complication with my chronic illness left me alone in a darkened room for three weeks. I drew comfort from an imagined Book of Hours. Half Almanac, half prayer book, medieval Books of Hours offered guidance for every situation and every day of the year. As I recovered I started to wonder, where was the spiritual guidebook for people like me; lost, sick, artists who watch too much reality TV? I couldn’t find one, so I made my own.

Borrowing wisdom from Anglo-Saxon hermits, contemporary artists and The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. Book of Hours is a collection of lyric essay and poetry exploring what it means to have faith, why we chase suffering and how to take solace in small joys.

Buy a Copy

‘Anchorage’ is a 4.5 x 3 meter textile installation, inspired by medieval anchoresses, women who lived and worked in dedicated cells or ‘anchorages’. The anchorage spaces created isolation, but also opportunities for connection as the community would seek spiritual guidance from the anchoress living there through windows in the cell walls.

I drew a parallel between anchoresses and my own experience as a chronically ill artist. Often spending long periods of time isolated in her 4.5 x 3 meter bedroom, I still seek to connect by sending art into the world.  The themes of the project are further explored in the companion artists book Book of Hours: An Almanac for the Seasons of the Soul.

Watches for An Ordinary Day is a series of short videos inspired by the watches or prayer times that gave rhythm and routine to medieval monastic life. I loved the poetic names of the original watches when translated into modern English, things like ‘At First Bird Song’ and ‘The Darkest Part of the Night’, and I was particularly liked how the times were tied to physical experiences and not the hours on a clock. I began to create these short videos reflecting on my modern chronically ill experience, with titles tied to the rhythm and reality of my day.

The films were made to play inside/ alongside my installation Anchorage. The original Anchoresses were isolated in their simple cells, but still able to seek connection and conversation through windows. I like to imagine these video’s beaming out from the window in Anchorage and continuing to travel, sometimes landing in unexpected places.    

Watches for an Ordinary Day has shown at Attenborough Arts Centre and Liverpool Parish Church with Anchorage, and Bluecoat Liverpool’s Garden and Leeds Playhouse as a stand alone work.

Watch Here

When Keighley's new Mechanics Institute opened in 1825 it was with the aim that 'latent genius may be excited and prompted into action, the dormant abilities of individuals, yet unknown, may be roused, brought to light, for the general good.' At the opening Rev Drury gave a speech in which he expressed hopes "that brilliant talents might be called forth". When I read the account of the opening in the Keighley News a few in 2023, I felt that the speech had the potential to become a new unofficial motto for Keighley, one that encapsulates our past and celebrates our hopes for the future.

For BD is Lit 2023, I was commissioned to make my version of this moto as a large light installation, which was displayed on Keighley Libary.

When I was six years old, I bit off half my nail. I panicked. I didn’t want to die. I prayed, then nothing was wrong. A miracle. What if everyone alive only gets one miracle?

I once read about a Monk who fell from Tynemouth Priory three times and survived twice. I bet he wished he’d saved a miracle for that third time he hit the ground. You can imagine how much I wished I hadn’t wasted my miracle on a fingernail when I was diagnosed with an incurable illness…

Read more

The other week I was scrolling down Instagram when, I came across the headline of an article someone I used to follow had just published in a national newspaper. It was about assisted dying and her friend who lived with MS, before she chose to end her life. For me scrolling on my phone in bed it felt like a gut punch. I’m here trying not to think about the ways my degenerative illness can degenerate. Trying not to think about how bad things can get, and this author, who doesn’t live with MS is casually throwing the worst it can get around like a grenade, like MS and the desire to die are one in the same, like no one living with this illness could be on the other side of a social media stream….

Read more

Why would you live here? A friend asked me, with barely concealed horror, when I picked her up from Keighley train station a few summers ago, with a strong emphasis on the words you and here.

There is a lot of shorthand in that question because we know each other and we were both stood on the station, her meaning was clear, but since this article lacks that essential context let me expand on her question for you.

What my friend was really asking is this: why would you, a 20 something artist and writer live here, in a rundown town in the North of England, that has clearly seen better days?

Read More