https://bexilsley.com Bex Ilsley Tue, 14 Apr 2026 14:02:39 +0000 https://bexilsley.com en https://bexilsley.com/A-mothball-called-girl Tue, 14 Apr 2026 14:02:39 +0000 Bex Ilsley https://bexilsley.com/A-mothball-called-girl A mothball called girl 2026I made loads of friends when I was a kid.I made friends on paper, or, in a pinch, out of mothballs or the lining of my horrible 90s cropped puffer jacket. I ripped the stuffing out through a hole in the pocket and rolled it into balls until it was deflated and flat on one side. I’d talk to the balls of stuffing when I was lonely.I had a set of five cedar mothballs that I coloured with felt tips. I split them into emotions, like real life three-dimensional emojis. There was an orange happy ball - I drew a smiling face on him. There was a blue sad ball, a green jealous ball, a red angry ball. Curiously, the pink ball was ‘girl’, a neutral expression with a Ms. Pac-Man-like pink bow, as if feeling ‘like a girl’ was a fleeting emotional state, something I visited. Something that only happened sometimes. I remember being 7 or 8 years old, stood alone on the school field, pulling the lining out of my coat. For reasons I can’t recall, I’d been desperate to start wearing berets. My mum bought me a black Kangol one from Debenhams and, wearing it at school, I really thought I was the shit. It’s kind of hysterical imagining what I must have looked like, considering that this was me. <img width="1600" height="1081" width_o="1600" height_o="1081" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/897aee352ed4308daf845f510c752cf4f6fb2d55f4de027dde67c5e5f842d73c/stealherlook.jpg" data-mid="247197262" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/897aee352ed4308daf845f510c752cf4f6fb2d55f4de027dde67c5e5f842d73c/stealherlook.jpg" /> Me and some of the sort of thing I liked to wear. Botched approximation of a smile: model’s own. That day, Billy, a boy from my class, walked right up to me and asked me to my face why I was so weird. I hadn’t considered it. Dunno, am I? When I was very young, younger than the above, I went through phases where I wouldn’t answer to my own name, preferring to dress up as characters instead. I’d wake up and decide to be Noddy or Tiger Lily or Basil the Great Mouse Detective. The latter involved me walking around in public in a furry trapper hat, holding a dessert spoon in place of the magnifying glass I didn’t have. Mum made me walk ten paces behind her, and rightly so.&nbsp; I wasn’t interested in other children very much. I was inattentive and disruptive in class and my mum wasn’t part of the mum group, so I was never invited to parties. Teachers told my mum I behaved as if I was deaf, preferring to wander off and direct my own learning instead of bothering with the parts of the day that didn’t interest me. I got in trouble in my first few hours of being there, because I, having already learned how to read, had been used to getting as many books as I wanted from the local library. At school, there was a rule that you could only have one reading book at a time, and that rule didn’t make sense to me. I took too many books and inadvertently drew attention to myself, being disobedient. I fidgeted. I didn’t want to participate in imaginative play with other kids, I wanted to build displays out of toys and then look at them. I did things like repeatedly taking my big 90s granny glasses on and off, putting them back on upside down. This was seen as attention-seeking, disruptive behaviour, even if that wasn’t really my intention. I soon gained a reputation as a problem child. This meant that other children would often use me as a scapegoat, telling the grown-ups I’d done bad things I hadn’t done. Once I was accused of spitting in someone’s lunch (I didn’t even eat in the same room as her!) and her mum followed us home shouting abuse and threatening us, so I had to start getting picked up from the office because the playground was unsafe. I was 5 years old. All of this meant I wasn’t invited to anyone’s house to play, ever. I don’t think I ever cared. I had no interest in it. All I cared about was&nbsp;Biker Mice from Mars.&nbsp; When I was a little bit older, I started to see how my playground pariah status affected things, when kids started saying cruel things and my mum was upset with the way other parents treated her, I realised I was supposed to try to fit in. I liked learning pop dance routines. I wanted to be seen as normal. I definitely wanted to avoid being bullied, so when I was 8, I tried to align myself with the popular girls. I noticed they only had 4 people when they were learning the routines to Spice Girls songs, so I said if they needed a Scary Spice, I’d fill in, despite, well, you know. I’d braid my hair at night to sleep in and then backcomb it in the morning to try and get it close to Mel B’s texture. Look, it was a different time! They let me do that for a while, but I didn’t gel with them. I didn’t understand the hierarchies and the rules of being in a group of little girls, or why they would invite me to play with them one day, then collectively decide to shut me out the next. What was it about me that left me standing on the periphery all the time? I gave up on it and retreated back into my internal world, where things made sense. I loved - I still love - my internal world. I am, admittedly, an obsessive. Back then, it was pop music. I played my CD singles in my bedroom while recording myself talking over them onto cassettes with my Talkboy, pretending I was a radio DJ, listing off facts about each artist. I’d get my mum to buy me Smash Hits and read it cover to cover. At that time, each issue came with a perforated pull-out consisting of a 9x9 set of collectable lyrics cards, so you could learn all the words to the hits of the day. I memorised them. Try me now. I can’t sing, I sound like foxes fucking, but when dementia comes for me one day, the last thing I’ll still be able to recall, most likely, is every word of all of this absolute shit. We all know our Boyzone and Billie, but how many people know their E-male, Alda and Fab? <img width="956" height="778" width_o="956" height_o="778" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/c4657853b559b41f18d3b2f4b6cae92e2952fbfd0521bd1e2a2852edf9e99ab3/s-l1600-copy.jpg" data-mid="247193017" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/956/i/c4657853b559b41f18d3b2f4b6cae92e2952fbfd0521bd1e2a2852edf9e99ab3/s-l1600-copy.jpg" /> I was lucky enough to have cable TV in my bedroom too, so I whiled away the hours watching cartoons and music TV. Writing this, I realise how much my parents, who were young and not high-earning, must have sacrificed to keep their nerdy little only child hooked up with tech and media. My mum had three jobs at one point. While the girls in my class had posters of Leonardo DiCaprio and Johnny Depp on their walls, I developed my first crushes on Jarvis Cocker and, er, Eddy Temple-Morris from MTV’s Up for It.* There was absolutely zero supervision involved and I saw a lot of things I shouldn’t but it was the 90s. All the children were watching Eurotrash on mute. *If we want to go back even further, my first crush was actually Big Ben - toddler Bex used to snog postcards of the clock tower and beg her parents to take her to London to feed him crisps by waving them at him in the air. I think it was the bongs I liked. Phwoar.The first time I ever hyperventilated from crying was when my dad caught me and my older male cousins watching an adult game show where a topless woman had to jump and catch balls in a basketball hoop she was wearing around her waist. This was almost certainly&nbsp;L!VE TV. It’s funny to think that my dad was working for the Inland Revenue to fund his eight-year-old daughter watching Kelvin MacKenzie’s tax-skirting tabloid trash upstairs. I still got to keep the TV. For my 9th birthday, all my dreams came true and I got the sickest upgrade to the big old TV in my bedroom - a bright yellow Bush 1433. I remember it came in multiple colours. I can’t find much online. I am now scouring eBay and archive.org for the 1997 Tandy catalogue.Ah, got it. I can’t tell you how much I adored that set. <img width="1600" height="1124" width_o="1600" height_o="1124" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/b14b9a6078ff996771e696f0ddf8a771fdfdcd5869c5da11af66466ac054f784/s-l1600-1.jpg" data-mid="247193006" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/b14b9a6078ff996771e696f0ddf8a771fdfdcd5869c5da11af66466ac054f784/s-l1600-1.jpg" /> If I wasn’t racking up a hideous phone bill making requests for Aqua on The Box, I was busy completing Crash Bandicoot, Croc&nbsp;and, my favourite, the point-and-click adventure game&nbsp;Discworld. I’m still not sure I had the capacity to fully understand half the jokes in that game, but I LOVED it. I loved it so much I would make my mum get on the bus to Lakeside in Thurrock on Saturdays so I could ask the man who worked in Gamestation what to do next when I was stuck. I still, to this day, remember a tonne of strings of information from this time. Fire up Crash Bandicoot on a PS1 now and I’ll unlock every level and gem for you, without needing to look it up. <img src="https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/e/notoemoji/17.0/1f53a/32.png"><img src="https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/e/notoemoji/17.0/1f53a/32.png"><img src="https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/e/notoemoji/17.0/1f53a/32.png"><img src="https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/e/notoemoji/17.0/1f53a/32.png"><img src="https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/e/notoemoji/17.0/274c/32.png"> <img src="https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/e/notoemoji/17.0/1f7e5/32.png"><img src="https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/e/notoemoji/17.0/1f53a/32.png"><img src="https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/e/notoemoji/17.0/1f53a/32.png"> <img src="https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/e/notoemoji/17.0/1f53a/32.png"><img src="https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/e/notoemoji/17.0/1f53a/32.png"><img src="https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/e/notoemoji/17.0/1f7e5/32.png">&nbsp;<img src="https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/e/notoemoji/17.0/274c/32.png"><img src="https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/e/notoemoji/17.0/1f53a/32.png"><img src="https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/e/notoemoji/17.0/2b55_fe0f/32.png"><img src="https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/e/notoemoji/17.0/1f53a/32.png"><img src="https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/e/notoemoji/17.0/1f53a/32.png"> <img src="https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/e/notoemoji/17.0/1f53a/32.png"><img src="https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/e/notoemoji/17.0/2b55_fe0f/32.png">&nbsp;<img src="https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/e/notoemoji/17.0/1f7e5/32.png"><img src="https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/e/notoemoji/17.0/1f53a/32.png"><img src="https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/e/notoemoji/17.0/274c/32.png"><img src="https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/e/notoemoji/17.0/274c/32.png"><img src="https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/e/notoemoji/17.0/274c/32.png"><img src="https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/e/notoemoji/17.0/274c/32.png"> My enjoyment of primary school very much depended on how kind my teacher was to me that year. Some years were good, if a teacher appreciated my sense of humour and blurting of facts during the day. Others were gut-wrenching and terrible. My year 5 teacher was so vile to me, it was the first time I remember feeling something deeper and more lingering than sadness, something deep, in my stomach, that made me wonder if I should be dead instead of alive and causing all these problems. I was ten years old, you know? I wasn’t even trying to cause harm. I can’t even remember 99% of the specific things I did that seemed to enrage everyone around me. I’d do it all by accident. I remember kicking a mirror in the school bathroom to see how much force it would take to break, and then being terrified when it did break, because I was so focused on my little physics experiment that I hadn’t factored in what I would do if there were consequences. Things like that. The one place I felt comfortable and safe, if I haven’t illustrated that by now, was in media - music, TV, games. Then, by 1999, I was online, and that opened up a whole new world of research for my little brain to bathe in. I liked Pokémon a lot. I had a Game Boy Color and all the guides and even a GameShark so I could cheat. I caught a Mew that way, which wasn’t possible in the game otherwise. I also attended a promotional event at Bluewater where you could obtain a legit Mew onto your game pak by putting it into a Mew Machine (here I go down another rabbit hole, brb). This meant I had two different Mews in one save, and I think they even had two different sprites? I thought this might make me cool at school. It did not. It made me cool online though, in Mighty Misty’s Pokémon Chat (I wish I could find this, I think it was an Angelfire site). I impressed someone I knew only as ‘Necromancer’, my first exciting experience of talking to a ‘boy’ (who knows) online. By the time I was 11, I had fully given up on having friends at school. I had also read every work of fiction held in my primary school library, like an unbearable little Matilda, so I’d sit alone in the classroom at breaktimes, teaching myself Japanese from a textbook, drawing the Sailor Senshi, and learning all the words to Moonlight Densetsu. In the evenings, I’d log on to the Fox Kids forum on dial-up and write essays about how the Sailor Moon English dub was censored and terrible and we should really be watching the Japanese original so as not to miss out on all the fun stuff like nudity and lesbians and magical gender swapping. I don’t think my account lasted long. All of this nostalgia-laden preamble is to say: I was a fucking odd kid. I had advanced abilities in some areas and baffling gaps in others. While all of this was going on, I did not master things other children seemed to have mastered. I couldn’t tie my shoelaces, hold a pencil right, tell the time on an analogue clock or use cutlery properly. I couldn’t play sports or ride a bike or climb a tree. Going to the supermarket made me misbehave in odd ways. I’d been referred to CAMHS at some point, I think when I was 6 or 7, and I attended multiple sessions about my behaviour, in a room with my parents that had a camera and a two-way mirror. I would always sit in the far corner of the room. When my mum asked me why, I told her it was because it was the only part of the room the camera couldn’t see me. By the end of these sessions, they told my parents they had no suggestions - they would simply have to accept the fact that I was ‘a naughty little girl’. So you might know where all this is going, but nobody did back then. --- I was scared to go to secondary school. I didn’t want to grow up. In the summer before I went to Dartford Grammar School for Girls - my lofty, turreted new home - I attended a course for, I was told, Gifted and Talented girls! We did odd things, like having to go and wallpaper an alleyway in Islington with aluminium foil, an art project. I really enjoyed it. Years later, on my wedding day, my old school mate Holly - who has written beautifully in the past about the Kentish grammar school experience as a working class kid - told me that this was in fact a course for girls they thought were poorly socialised and would need extra help making the adjustment and fitting in. I never knew.&nbsp; Me and Elle were sat next to each other on our first day at DGGS because our last names were next to each other in the alphabet, and I, being great at making friends normally, introduced myself by telling her “Hi, I’m Rebecca. I can do an impression of a pig.” I lifted my nose up with my finger and snorted. Apparently this worked on her because she’s been one of my best friends since that very first day. We cemented our friendship by setting a lab bench on fire by accidentally turning the gas on the wrong Bunsen burner tap, which kind of set the tone for the rest of our school days and the many ‘behavioural concerns’ letters sent home. My parents listened to a lot of good&nbsp;stuff. When it came to finding my own, I speedran my juvenile tastes over the course of a year or so, upward from The Offspring through pop-punk to Weezer and Jimmy Eat World and out into the deep. By the age of 13 I had become a completely insufferable snob for post-hardcore and what was then known as emo, digging through the internet to find more impressive and obscure names to tippex onto my messenger bag (Milemarker, The Jazz June, Small Brown Bike, anyone?). I thought perhaps this would mean that somebody really cool would strike up a conversation with me on the bus and save me from my life. Instead, I was kicked and spat at on the bus by a kid from round the corner whose actual, real name was James Bond.I just started to lean into it. I became a self-identified Freak. As every adolescent does, I had started to feel some big feelings. I’d found spaces online perfect for a girl my age to express them. This was the age of platforms like Livejournal and Diaryland, so I started to keep a diary online where I’d talk about my friends and my anxieties and the concerns I had as a teenager. I still have access to this. It is useful to me now in the sense that it has helped me prove to myself that there is a consistent through-line in my life for certain traits. But it’s a hard read, and not just because it’s earnest and cringey. I wrote about being afraid to be in public, struggling to make eye contact, rehearsing conversations I could have with Elle ahead of time, putting them into play if I thought someone was looking at us and we needed to ‘act natural’. I wrote about never wearing my glasses in public, walking around not being able to see, because that way, it was harder to tell if people were looking at me and laughing at me, and it helped me to feel safer. I wrote about how I always felt like an actress, like I was being fake the whole time I existed. I wrote about being angry about being placed in a textiles set for art at school when all I wanted to do was draw and paint. I got in trouble for drawing in class instead of sewing because I knew my fine motor skills were shoddy. At one point, I even typed up lines from my Year 8 school report to berate myself with. I noted how my form tutor had written that I struggled to form friendships within her class. She framed this as a kind of personal choice and moral failing. My mum said I had to try and be more social, or I wouldn't get pocket money. Must try harder!&nbsp; At school, I had become practised at appearing functional when I had to. I would perform the right things to say and do so that people liked me. So much so, that I started to worry at night that I was evil, because I was fake, and I'd ruminate over and over on what the difference was between appearing to be something convincingly and actually being it. I didn't think it mattered what I felt like on the inside at all, as long as the outside was tightly controlled and received as pleasant enough. I'd stew for hours, wondering if there might be nothing real beneath my constructions, that a performance sustained for long enough might replace the self, or worse - prove the self was never there. The line between those things was so blurry. I worried that, because I couldn't seem to 'be myself' or connect with anyone properly, it meant there was something bad they could smell on me that I couldn't wash off. I worried that all this introspection meant I must be a manipulative and self-involved narcissist. Maybe that's what people could smell. I really yearned for connection, though, more than anything else in the world. For the first year of secondary school, it was just me and Elle. Sometimes we’d mooch around Bluewater together, wearing matching bright green corduroy trousers from Punkyfish in Camden or matching black maxi skirts from Topshop (until my dad joked we looked like the Plymouth Brethren). In the summer of 2002, the two of us got the train to Brixton Academy to see Jimmy Eat World. I was thirteen. I had agonised over what to wear and accessorised with wrist-sweatbands I'd made by cutting the tops off a pair of cheap sports socks, because I'd read online that this was the correct thing to have if you were going to be emo (??) The Promise Ring were supporting and me and Elle were furious that nobody around us knew who they were. We jumped up and down to Happiness is all the Rage and we bought t-shirts from the merch stall. Elle's was brown with a vector drawing of a girl with wavy brown hair just like mine, wearing an orange version of the shirt I'd bought for myself, so it was like she had a shirt of me. We were kind of enmeshed. <img width="1600" height="1071" width_o="1600" height_o="1071" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/a988e885663645bcd6ca4cb2eca8c48f174c6932147d409858f6da8fb342902b/dastpr.jpg" data-mid="247346601" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/a988e885663645bcd6ca4cb2eca8c48f174c6932147d409858f6da8fb342902b/dastpr.jpg" /> I felt alive at gigs in a way I didn't anywhere else. The same girl who rehearsed conversations in advance would go into a loud dark room full of strangers and feel completely at home. I still mouthed along to every word (so everyone around would know they were dealing with a serious pro), still made sure I was doing the right things, but underneath that, a switch was flipped&nbsp;on. I liked to feel the bass in my chest. I liked the anticipation of waiting for the lights to drop. It meant everything to me and I made it my whole personality. Eventually Elle made a friend, Charley, in another class, and that friend knew other people, and then we had a little gang of six or so similarly afflicted misfits. My teenage years, like so many others, were an exercise in wearing my differences like armour to tell the world that it can’t punish me for losing a race I’ve already opted out of running in. I grew up in the kind of place you’d be yelled at and sometimes physically threatened in the street for looking different. It happened, but often I would just laugh and agree. I was trying to communicate that calling me names didn’t work on me. I was so used to it. Tell me something I don’t know. Occasionally this kind of unfazed reaction would be interpreted as a challenge, and make things worse. One time, a girl kicked me so hard between the legs outside a betting shop, for no reason other than being a mosher, I was bruised purple and I was worried it might have made me infertile. I still just took it all stoically, like it was just noise. I didn’t speak back, I didn’t fight back, I’d just tell myself I was misunderstood because I was better than them, hope to escape one day, and cry at night to sad songs. Life at home became very complicated in so many ways I shouldn't go into here. What I will say is that by December 2003, just after my fifteenth birthday, I found myself standing in a Las Vegas wedding chapel as one of two witnesses at my mum’s wedding to someone she had met on the internet, who was only six years older than me, and she had only known in person for one week. I remember thinking it would make a good ‘bit’ for when I got back to school, a funny story I had to practice telling over and over in my head, of course. I feel bad flattening my mum into a chaotic anecdote - she had her own life, her own reasons - and that marriage lasts to this day. She’s fucking wonderful, she’s my best friend, but, it was the kind of destabilising thing that was happening around me while I was trying to become a person and it was hard for me. When I got back home, Take Me Out by Franz Ferdinand had just come out. I went to Charley's house, played it on repeat, and drank vodka from the bottle until I was sick. I really wanted to fall in love. I wanted to know what all those songs were about. For whatever reason, the only real criteria I had when it came to trying to get a boyfriend was that I wanted to be with someone who had the same music taste as me, because I really wanted someone to talk to about music, and to have a kind of dreadful indie teen fantasy romance around it with. I lived in my head all the time and I had this constant soundtrack so I dreamed of someone who'd come live inside it with me. It could be thought of as the kind of short-sighted and immature goal of a teenager more concerned with the idea of romance than the reality of another person. I wanted social validation, proof of normality, obviously, but more than that I wanted something to make my inner life feel less stranded. I didn't have much luck with that in my real-life catchment area of the local park and my friends’ bedrooms, so I looked online. I used to talk to a man on MSN when I was 14. He knew I was 14, and I knew he was in his 30s. He stopped talking to me because I would answer his questions without remembering to ask any back or add detail. Just yes, no, okay. Talking to me was so boring he couldn’t hack it and one day he wrote “you know what they say, never meet your heroes” before blocking me. Imagine being too boring to groom. I then had a kind of online relationship with a boy my own age who lived in Virginia. It lasted for a few years. I met him on Myspace. He told me he had Asperger’s, as it was called at the time. I spent lunchtimes at school sat in the IT room checking to see if he'd messaged me. Of course, Myspace was banned at school, so, I went as far as working out one of the teacher's passwords (this was not exactly MI5 work - it was three characters long and basically his own name) and using his account to access it, until that backfired when he was investigated because I'd distributed that information to multiple other girls, and made it look like he was looking at teenagers online on his breaks. I had to own up and he told me that if I wasn't a schoolgirl, he'd have punched me. I will never forget being sat there in a room with him, me and three friends. He told us “I want you to look at me with your own two eyes” - then, when he panned round to Kat’s side-swept emo fringe - “well, one eye - very fashionable”. lol. We got suspended for a week and my mum said she'd always known it would be 'white-collar crime' with me. I’m being glib but it was awful. As a stupid kid, the only thing I was thinking about was getting through the firewall. It genuinely didn’t occur to me what it might look like for that teacher until he was being questioned about it. Myspace-boy and I used to fall asleep on the phone to each other and send each other burned CDs through the post, swapping names like Elliott Smith and The Delgados. We fell out quite spectacularly when I started going out more and speaking to him less. I've always kept this email he sent me when we "broke up". It's really horrible, a merciless attack on my character, but deep down, I knew there were bits of truth in it, so I kept it accessible in my old hotmail account. Not so much because I thought he was right about me in full, but because he’d hit a fear I already had so squarely. An excerpt -&nbsp; you're just another cardboard cut-out sycophantic piece of shit who doesn't care about betterment on a personal level but is so consumed with everyone elses' ideas of you, what they're desirous of and what you can do to fit the mold of normalcy. that's all you're concerned about and all you'll ever be concerned about. fuck you forever you dumb bitch. When I think about the sad and scared young person I was, I mainly feel protective. I wish I could go back and help her. There’s a lot to complain about when it comes to the absence of care and understanding in the 00s education system. I had one meeting about my mental health at secondary school, because I got caught cutting myself in the toilets when I was feeling overwhelmed. I’d stolen a Stanley knife from the DT room to do it with. I read the words ‘strange girl’ circled in biro, upside down on the notes the deputy head had in front of him. I asked why it said that. He popped the paper in his drawer and, flustered, stammered ‘oh, that’s not about you’. He said he’d follow up another time. Nobody followed up. As long as I was getting A’s and showing up to most of my classes, they gave no shits. I got through school by myself, with poor but effective coping methods, believing that I was indeed just a freakish and offputting person, and that this could not be helped. It was my being, my lot in life, my fate, so, I embraced that. I listened to the Smiths on tape, on a 1980s Aiwa walkman instead of an iPod, like a total fucking bellend. I sought oblivion on the streets, in the park, in a jumbo bottle of White Ace and a 10 deck of Mayfair, every weekend. Before the age of 17, I had passed out and thrown up on the streets of Dartford more times than I can count. I still did alright though. It wasn’t all bad. I got to paint, eventually, and the art room became my second favourite place (after the internet). I had a small group of friends, but those friends made other friends, and so over time I became part of a loose local network of young people. This was back when subcultures still existed, but in a commuter town, you all get lumped together, so the punks, goths, skaters, the emo and indie kids all hung out in a specific corner of the Bluewater shopping centre quarry, drinking blue WKD. I still felt like an alien. I’d still run off to get the bus home sometimes without saying goodbye to anyone, but, I could make myself useful too. I customised a lot of Myspace profiles and pirated Photoshop and made things for people, which is probably the main reason I work in the areas I do now. I found huge solace in art and books and music. I started listening to so many different things (jk it’s all millennial indie bullshit) and going to gigs all the time. I matured, slowly, and remembered how much I genuinely enjoy study and learning, and I got good GCSE results despite being so sad all the time. Sixth form was even better still, because I could focus on my passions and also go clubbing, and I made another lovely, very close friend - Emmie - in Year 12 after most of my old friends left for the local college. I left grammar school with AAB A-levels, a belief in my academic skills and my love for art. I only wonder now what would have happened if I’d also had support and understanding from the adults I saw every day for all that time. I even got a real-life boyfriend for a while, who I went out with purely on the basis that he had heard of Neutral Milk Hotel and listened to Dinosaur Jr. He was a bit older than me, he’d been through uni already. I’d meet him after school. Being confronted with the task of having to maintain a romantic relationship with a human being without the mediation of screens made me incredibly anxious. I would do literally anything he said, even if it made me uncomfortable, trying to contort myself into a vision of a fun, desirable girlfriend. He dumped me and went back out with me repeatedly, and I let that happen, failing to realise he was much more into the, mmm, services I could provide than my hopes, dreams or personality. I’d write emergency topics of conversation in my notebook to return to if I found myself running out of things to say to him on the phone. It didn’t last, obviously, but that’s normal. I felt relieved to have hit a milestone of normalcy, to have been in some way publicly chosen, even if he called me Waynetta* and I was never allowed to go to his house or meet his parents. *I take this as a compliment now because Kathy Burke is the coolest. Things were complicated in 2006-2007 because my mum had moved across the country with her husband and she was desperate for me to follow her in the middle of my A-Levels. I stood my ground and waited until I finished my last year, but I moved up immediately after and went to Warwickshire College for my art foundation year. I thought I would easily find my kind of people on an art foundation course, but I was very much an outsider, and softly bullied.&nbsp; My sense of humour didn’t really land with the new people I met. I'd moved from a damp-ridden rotten mid-terrace in Dartford to the middle-class regency rendering of Royal Leamington Spa, and this was so jarring, I didn’t know how to navigate it or who I was meant to be to fit in, so I joked to them that I lived on the one shit street in their lovely town. That didn't go down like I thought it would. They just kind of wrinkled their noses at me. It was all so odd because, growing up in Dartford, I used to get called posh all the time, and I put that down to the things I said, my vocabulary, and speaking strangely because I was raised by the television. It was always strange to me because I grew up in the same situation as the kids who called me it. I played in the same mysteriously blood-spattered stairwells. It wasn’t my circumstances that made me seem posh to them, it was something else, these other markers that made me seem different, made me seem perhaps condescending or aloof. I saw myself as one of Pulp’s Mis-shapes. A class of our own, my love. When I went to Leamington, I met proper middle-class people on that college course and experienced the opposite treatment. I was a chav in their eyes. So - where the hell was I going to fit? Always somewhere in the middle, neither one thing nor another. A square peg. I remember talking about needing to get a job and one of them asking me why on earth I’d ‘want’ to do that. One of them liked to hide my cigarettes and mock my accent, telling me things like ‘I’d explain my work to you, but I don’t think you’d understand it’. There was a night out, and by this point in time I'd become very used to the millennial ritual of taking a digicam to the club in order to put all the photos on Facebook to prove you were a cool person with friends. I had double the reason to try and prove that in a new place on my own. I very much overdid it, and the group of young artists I'd tried to befriend held a meeting and informed me I was being evicted from their social group for being cringey and overfamiliar. I was trying much too hard and reading none of the cues, which is obvious to me now and was invisible to me then. It was a shit year. I tried to find online spaces that felt safer, like the world of Blythe doll collecting and posting on Flickr. That became an obsession for a time and I met some wonderful women doing that. I had absolutely no qualms about meeting up in public to do photoshoots with dollies at the big age of 21. <img width="1536" height="2048" width_o="1536" height_o="2048" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/ba9b62322656b6eee56d911e7d1e1f7d49848aea55083cb05c1db39b5b5f5699/5058010162_6de1ea41a3_k.jpg" data-mid="247801213" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/ba9b62322656b6eee56d911e7d1e1f7d49848aea55083cb05c1db39b5b5f5699/5058010162_6de1ea41a3_k.jpg" /> Young me and my Goldie, Allie Vimto. You would not believe how much this doll is worth. Sickening! I got a job at Next on the shop floor but I was pretty swiftly ‘promoted’ to being the stockroom and office manager there. I say ‘promoted’ because I’m not actually sure I got a payrise, I think they were just desperate to get me and my flat affect as far away from the general public as possible. I ran that shit, as they say, like the fucking navy. I loved it. I was upstairs, alone, playing my own CDs in the stockroom, meticulously organising clothing by type and SKU. Not a thing was out of place. Replenishment was done at lightning speed. I did all the admin and cashing up, and then the store manager also got me to do her auditing forms, so I was the only person performing security checks... on myself. I genuinely could have gotten away with stealing hundreds of pounds in cash, definitely enough for a Kenner Blythe or two... but I wouldn’t have slept at night if I had.Eventually I needed more money to fund my expensive doll-collecting habits so I applied for an office job doing credit control, despite having no idea what credit control was. I was so nervous in the interview that I still didn’t ask what credit control was, and I picked the skin on my thumb under the desk, and when I came to shake hands at the end, mine was covered in blood. Somehow, I got the job anyway. I imagine because nobody else wanted to do it.On my first day in the big open-plan office, I made a new friend. Again, I’m really good at this, I’m pretty sure one of the first subjects I brought up in conversation was how weirdly beautiful slug sex is. What I had learned by this point was that my way of being was offputting to the vast majority of people, but was an effective and fast-acting litmus test for finding similar oddballs, so I’d throw out insane shit like that to test the water, lighting a little neurodivergent beacon. Billie saw the beacon, thank god she did, because that job was fucking terrible.I discovered that my role was, essentially, calling up people who had been placed in social housing in off-grid areas requiring expensive alternative fuel, and asking them to pay their overdue gas bills. These people were mostly in estates in remote parts of Wales and Scotland, living on JSA, and here’s me, an English twat doing a telephone voice, asking them if they can cover £2000 of backdated bills or I’ll have to cut them off. I tried to be as lenient as I could possibly get away with. I had one really creative woman on my ledger who seemed to experience a different traumatic emergency every single week, and told me she was in a women’s shelter for domestic violence the same day she was posting “barbecue with hubby xx” photos on Facebook, but I played along. I became very concerned about an elderly woman I called often who was showing serious signs of dementia, and would think I was her estranged daughter in the middle of our conversations, She had no understanding of her own debt, so I contacted her local social services to explain the situation and ask for a welfare check. This was in breach of company policy because I told a third party she was in debt. That part was all they cared about, I got threatened with disciplinary and decided to pack the job in instead. The lack of empathy in that place was absolutely unreal. --- I decided I should go to university. I wanted to make art again and time was ticking on. I picked Manchester School of Art, and I’m going to skip most of that because I’ve written about it already. What I will say is that it is interesting to look back at the work I made then through the lens I now have. At the time, I thought I was making art about a universal human experience in a mediated world - fragmentation, flattened identity, the artifice of constructing personas both online and off. Now, I look at the bright colours, the goop, the materials I chose because I found them comforting on a sensory level, the childhood toys, the literal masks embedded in sculptures. I look at the photos I took of myself, always staring off-screen at something unknowable in the distance, with black unreadable eyes and blank faces. I realise now that everything I have ever made has been about one thing only, and I had no idea what it was when I was making it. I learned I was somehow pretty comfortable with presenting my work in lecture halls, monologuing to students. It’s something other people might get nervous about, but I was fine. I found it easier than things that should be easy, like having to make small talk with a hairdresser. I might say this - sometimes, people ask me about my art. They ask me in a kind of sad way, as if to imply that I must have failed or squandered an opportunity because I no longer have gallery shows or celebrity endorsements on Instagram. Don’t get me wrong, I loved that time, I loved making things and I loved being recognised for making them. It was a nice feeling to express myself, to see my ideas made real, to have my name on posters and printouts and to be praised for something, praised for my way of seeing, instead of treated like an aberration. But it was totally unsustainable, and stopping was a choice I made because I finally learned what my own needs are and how to take care of myself in my own way.At the height of it, I would treat making art like some kind of extreme boot camp. This was hyperfixation. When I was making that work, it became all I could do and all I could think about. I would neglect my basic needs, finding things like eating and sleeping to be irritating disruptions to my flow. It would mean nothing else got done and I got sick. People still ask me why I don’t supplement my income by making blob sculptures anymore, why I don’t still try to monetise my creative work. I never liked doing that because it was never about money-making. I hated having to change my work to make it more likely to sell. Even if I did, making art to sell is a full time job, I have no idea how anybody side-hustles that. I already have a full-time job and that depletes enough of my energy that the only art I can make around that is deadlineless, niche special-interest work and research done at a snail’s pace. Besides, making things was supposed to be a grounding exercise, a safe harbour, a refuge. The moment it feels like I have to make things because my quality of life depends on it, it becomes an empty, hard slog for me and I lose interest. It’s the reason I seem to drop an idea as soon as I think it’s what people want from me, it feels like external pressure. I just need it to be mine, entirely self-directed, with no strings attached. That’s why. I also was never able to cope with the demands of things like private views, air-kissing the cheeks of gallerists, networking, forming inauthentic professional relationships in the hope that it might get me opportunities, being my own accountant and solicitor and PR executive all at once. I hated that stuff. I felt fake, plastering on smiles in white rooms, knocking back free prosecco to calm my nerves and then talking anxiety-fuelled bollocks I’d regret the next day. I’ve hidden in the bathroom at my own private views, or pretended to fix artwork that wasn’t broken, just to avoid having to make small talk with curators and visitors (A tactic I reprised on my own wedding day). I couldn’t stand feeling exposed, being perceived, having to explain things that were deeply personal in academic, distant ways. I never want to go back.Looking back now, I definitely think I went through burnout. The period of recuperation that was ushered in by Covid, despite how awful it was for many people, felt like a blessing to me. The relief of everything being cancelled and being told to stay indoors and not socialise is something I look back on quite fondly. ___At university, in my twenties, I met a fellow mature student. He seemed to know so much about art, and he stayed late all the time, dedicating hours to his work. Because we were both older than the people around us, we didn’t live in halls or go out and get drunk with the other students. We were dedicated, we were there to work. I’d stomp through the corridors and keep to myself and others thought I was serious instead of, you know, scared. I’d stay late too, spending hours injecting dots of thinned paint onto canvas with a syringe until my hands ached, not knowing how to actually talk to him. Instead I’d just make a weird show of myself, stretching to pin the inspirational images I’d printed off Tumblr to the highest bit of the wall, hoping he’d turn around and notice how long my legs are. That lasted a while, until he did finally talk to me. He asked me if I had any sellotape.We became friends. He was sad, too. He understood how it felt. He loved art and films and music I hadn’t even heard of (wtf). He was older than me - shit, I realised - he was older than my mum’s husband. Hmm. What a weird world. I texted him outside of uni more than I spoke to him inside, but that’s how I got to know him. Then I just kind of followed him around for three years. It is difficult to write about what happened, but, by the end of a night out during the last few months of university, we were a couple. I moved in with him to a 9-bed HMO in Liverpool, a tiny room full of stuff and clutter that made me feel sick. Things changed between us. He was a heavy solo drinker and a total slob - a totally different person to the one I had known as a friend at uni, I thought. Maybe there were signs I ignored. In third year, just before we got together, he was so upset about breaking up with a first-year he’d been shagging (he was 35) that I wrote his dissertation for him in one night after finishing my own. That’s just what friends do for each other, right? I got him a 2:1. He sulked when I told him I’d got a 1st, so I had to apologise.Once again, I found myself in a relationship with someone older than me who refused to let me meet their friends or family. I was really anxious and scared to upset him. I seemed to upset him accidentally all the time, and I had nowhere to go and cool off when I did. Life was very unstable, we had absolutely no money. He wouldn’t get a job, so we both lived off my minimum wage earnings from my job at a jeweller’s (up in the cash office of course, not the shop floor). That Christmas, I came home from work and thought we’d been burgled, but it was just him leaving it in a state because he’d decided to go to his brother’s house down south for New Year’s Eve without telling me. He’d left vomit in the carpet for me to clean, socks encrusted with semen on the floor. I remember going to bed early, not knowing that the ships on the Mersey would blast their horns at midnight. I rolled under the bed thinking it was an air raid. I stayed there. I felt safer squashed in the little gap under the bed than I did in it.I remember he commented that in the first three years I’d known him, I’d never looked him in the eye. He told me I was deeply, severely, mentally unwell. I believed him. Obviously I was, I had always been. There had always been something wrong with me, I knew that. I hadn’t really ever considered the idea that sometimes people tell lies to manipulate, to steer others towards a certain outcome. I thought he was doing me a kindness by telling me the truth I’d always suspected - that I was an evil psychopath. I thought, yes, all the evidence does point that way - so, perhaps this person can finally teach me how to be normal, okay, happy, nice. That’s what I thought. He would refer to my ‘condition’ as being the sole cause of my problems, never telling me what ‘condition’ that supposedly was. I told my female university friends and they begged me to leave him. He found out, and I apologised to him, petrified, sorry I had badmouthed him to them and made him look bad.I had noticed that I was now living with a constant underlying sense of shame and terror, and I began to blame myself - my ‘illness’ - for feeling it. I thought the feeling was me being mentally ill, a personal failing, rather than simply the effect his words and my new environment were having on me. He would start arguments with me that weren’t really arguments, because I’d never know what they were actually about or what I had done wrong. These arguments were circular, maddening. They could last for up to 8 or 9 hours, so I lost entire nights of sleep, being made to feel that I was completely insane, that I had lost my mind. I truly believed I had. I went to the doctor and explained that I thought I was evil and I felt terrified all the time. He took me through a questionnaire about how many times I’d thought about dying in the last two weeks. He told me that ‘some people have extreme personalities’ and put me on sertraline, which made my thoughts feel slow and foggy, and did nothing to help. It became so hard to hold on to my sense of self and sanity, my understaning of how life works, all the things I’d figured to be true up until that point. I’d flit between asking myself why this was happening and whether I was being abused, and then telling myself that’s what an abuser would say - that I was flipping the script to absolve myself, and I was the bad one. If I could just listen and learn and be normal, all of this would stop. I lost trust in my own thoughts completely, deferring to him to make all my decisions for me. I think this was the intention. I would panic and apologise for being myself, for being weird, for not understanding how to behave, and ask myself how I could reconstruct myself to keep him happy.This lasted for about a year, and the only thing that made me come to my senses was when he began phase 2: trying to convince me that my friends and family were all evil terrible people who didn’t have my best interests at heart. One morning, he referred to one of my best friends - Emmie, from sixth form - as ‘that cunt’. Not in the British term-of-endearment way either. I knew this was a lie. She’s the very opposite. She’s an angel, hilarious and kind, clever and loyal. I finally, finally realised that he was trying to break my spirit and then isolate me from my lifelines and that it had been embarrassingly textbook. How could I have taken so long to work it out? I thought I was meant to be smart. I packed up what I could fit in a suitcase, fled to Kent while he was passed out drunk, and never saw him again.The damage had been done though, and it took me a long time to recover. Even when I was back in Kent, safe and living with my dad, his voice would remain in my head, telling me not to trust my own judgements and making me question everything about myself. I still believed I was evil and I still questioned the truth of the narrative I’ve written above. It is true, but, part of the damage was that I could no longer feel secure in the truth of it without immediately imagining his rebuttal and doubting myself. There are two sides to every story, and I would ask myself what version of the story he would tell, if asked. The effect was so frightening and confusing. I couldn’t get out of bed. I cried all the time. That August, my granddad passed away from pancreatic cancer. I know grief can do strange things to your mind. I remember being in my dad’s flat. Emmie came over and we tried to order a takeaway, but the doorbell broke and my phone wasn’t working, so it didn’t get delivered. Emmie left. I tried to stream some music but the internet went off. There was a storm. The streetlight outside my window wouldn’t stop flickering. My dad’s alarm clock radio came on in the middle of the night. I called the Samaritans and told them something like ‘Hi, I’m not suicidal but I think my granddad might be haunting me through technology because I’m a bad person’. I knew it sounded crazy. They were really nice to me. My dad had to move to Bedford for his own complicated family reasons, and so in 2017 I bounced around the country trying to find somewhere safe to live. I had 4 different addresses in as many months, sleeping on a friend’s floor, looking for work, finding a room in a house in Cheetham Hill that only locked from the outside with a landlord that made me feel unsafe. He’d tricked me - when I looked around the house, there seemed to be lots of other people living there, but the next week when I moved in, it was just me and him and everyone else was gone without much of an explanation. He asked me if I wanted to watch Game of Thrones - I did - but it was awkward watching tits and dragons with a stranger, and I couldn’t relax at all. My head felt like it was on fire, like all I could hear in my brain was screaming. He told me about his wife who left him and how much they liked going to the cinema together. He asked me if I wanted to go to the cinema with him. I told him no, I hate films. Yeah, all films. He asked me if I knew how to use Photoshop. Yes, I said. I edited photos of fluorescent jackets and workboots for his website. He wrote me poems to say thanks. It made me feel sick. I hid in my room and stopped eating completely. I couldn’t tell if my fears were legitimate or paranoid. He offered me a glass of water and my brain started spiralling. The familiar tingling feeling of a panic attack started in my hands and my throat closed up so I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t tell in that moment if it was a panic attack, or if he’d given me drugged water so he could hurt me. I called my mum and asked if I could come home. It was just normal water.I sought medical help again, still in the middle of what I’d now call a period of acute trauma, and after a year on a waiting list I was told, after speaking with a psychiatrist for - no lie - 5 whole minutes, that I had BPD. I knew BPD could involve paranoia or losing touch with reality under stress, and I thought that was what I had experienced with the landlord. I thought that everything that had happened was because I was an empty person who didn’t know who I was and couldn’t seem to regulate my emotions, so that is how I presented it when I sought help. I feel nervous writing about the BPD diagnosis, even now. It’s not because I think people with BPD are bad - I don’t. It’s because the stigma around it is so intense, and because I did feel shame. For hours on end, I would get stuck in thought spirals that could not resolve themselves. The label attached itself perfectly to the story I had been told, and to the thing I already feared most about myself: that I was unstable, manipulative, too much, impossible to love, somehow rotten at the centre. It felt less like a diagnosis than a confirmation of the prosecution’s case. It was the stamp of authenticity on the front of the dossier against myself I had been compiling for decades.After two years on a waiting list, I went to group therapy. It was a mix of various approaches - DBT, ACT, CFT. In the meantime, I had tried every antidepressant under the sun, none of which seemed to change anything for the better. I just got a tour of various grim side effects, from sewing-machine leg to binge eating biscuits to constipation. I disliked group therapy because I didn’t understand it. I wanted to know exactly why we were doing certain exercises, what it was supposed to achieve, what I was meant to learn from it. Asking those kinds of clarifying questions was almost seen as selfish and disrespectful in group, so I kept quiet and tolerated the exercises. I did try, but they all seemed so stupid to me, so childish. We had to walk around the room and laugh at things that weren’t really there. It felt ridiculous. I was shown a wheel of emotions that sent me into a terrified internal philosophical debate - how the hell I was supposed to understand the difference between all these micro-emotions when mine only ever felt like either “okay” or “petrified” and nothing in between? I really struggled with the difference between guilt and shame - a difference that seemed, as I probably misunderstood it, to be defined by whether or not something is your fault. How can I tell if I’m at fault and feeling appropriate guilt, or if I’m feeling misplaced shame, when every single person has a different interpretation of the world and I can’t trust my own judgement to make sense of my life? You can’t disrupt group to ask that. It has no answer. <img width="768" height="786" width_o="768" height_o="786" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/d20e4a3e4c3babcb5a71e933672ab95d61e3a76729c713bf96f120ebb1c57dda/Emotion-Feeling-Wheel-1-1-768x786.jpg" data-mid="247860433" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/768/i/d20e4a3e4c3babcb5a71e933672ab95d61e3a76729c713bf96f120ebb1c57dda/Emotion-Feeling-Wheel-1-1-768x786.jpg" /> Fuck off. Too many. All of the exercises seemed to be based around the idea that I had a choice in how I behaved, that I just need to pause, count to 5, and then make kinder, more considerate decisions for the sake of people around me. My experience was more like being completely powerless, like someone else taking the wheel and driving my car off a cliff while my rational voice whispered weakly at them to stop from the backseat. I thought that this probably meant I was incurably evil, because I couldn’t even acknowledge to myself that I had control over my own worst tendencies, in the way that was described to me, so I would never be able to make the effort to change. There really was no amount of naming 5 things I could see or creating a wise and compassionate imaginary friend that I could do. I craved logical answers, rational explanations, that were not offered.What I did know, was that the diagnostic criteria for BPD didn’t seem to really fit. I met my now-husband around the time I went to group therapy. On our first date, I had to stop him and ask him if we were on a date, because I couldn’t tell. He had to ask me if I was enjoying myself (I was) because I wouldn’t look at him. We went back to his place - and I know what you’re thinking but no, we stayed up in his kitchen talking and listening to songs and I finally got to demonstrate to someone that I know all the words to Sleep by Marion and be told I was cool because of it. Later, I met his mum. I was so nervous I had to take time out to curl into a ball in the corner of another room in the dark for a second. She asked me if I’d considered that I might be autistic. No, no, I said. I don’t think so. I just need a break sometimes.Over time, I came to find that this relationship was nothing like the previous one, it was the opposite. Surely if I was the problem, if I had a personality disorder, this relationship would be fraught and scary and unstable too, wouldn’t it? They all would have. So would my friendships, but I’d never fallen out with my friends. The friendships I have are great - devoted and long-lasting. I didn’t fear abandonment from my family or friends or partner. If anything, I longed for it sometimes, because my alone time, deep diving weird things online, is my happy place. I have to be alone, often. BPD can also be coloured by what is called an unstable sense of self, but, though my sense of self had been destabilised, and I often masked in an attempt to fit in and be liked, beneath that I’ve always had the same tastes, convictions and interests. These subtle differences create diagnostic challenges, especially when you’re looking at how behaviour presents without looking at its roots, at intentions. The further I got away from the trauma, the more I could see that my worst symptoms only arose situationally. They basically disappeared when I had no pressure on me, my own routine, a stable income and a roof over my head. It was nothing to do with attachment issues.I’m still ashamed of that label, which is unfair, because shame is not how anyone should feel about any diagnosis. But I am. I’m ashamed because it was given to me at the exact moment I had the least trust in my own reality, and it seemed to confirm every cruel thing I had ever thought about myself.It’s hard to find proper statistics for how many late-diagnosed autistic women are first misdiagnosed with BPD, but studies suggest it’s rather a lot. ---I went on a little holiday to Galway in Ireland with my mum and half-sister in February of 2023 and I was looking for an audiobook to listen to during my travels. I’m a fan of Fern Brady and her book Strong Female Character had just come out, so I downloaded that. What happened next, was that a book I had planned to absorb in short bursts on trains or coaches, kept me up all night. I finished it in one go, skipping sleep. Then, I listened to it again a second time, immediately. I had never related to anything more in my life.There’s a lot about Fern’s life that is very different to my own experience, but her honesty and her objective detachment from herself sounded like my inner monologue. There were also little details - really uncannily specific things in there - I related to in a way that scared and excited me. At one point, Fern writes about having tried to learn social skills from, hysterically, Debrett's Etiquette and Modern Manners and I thought back to when I’d done the exact same thing, in a Waterstones in Kent. All I’d managed to retain from that is that one should restart a dying dinner party conversation by asking ‘what does everybody think of X?’ - where X would be some kind of non-controversial topic or current affair. I could never think of anything to fill in for X, so remembering this has really only come in handy since Elon Musk bought Twitter.But reading Fern’s wonderful book changed everything. Instead of someone else telling me what was wrong with me and me blindly trusting them because I was gullible and didn’t trust myself, it felt instead like overhearing the language I had needed all along. Other people had been giving me incorrect interpretations of myself as definite statements for my entire life. When you are conscientious and frightened and desperate to understand, you end up buying into and trying to incorporate those explanations. You see, I was bad and stupid, everyone else was an expert, an infallible authority.Now, for the first time, something had tipped my life onto the floor and rearranged it. Everything was still mine, but re-ordered and re-contextualised. Nothing changed. Everything changed. Jigsaw falling into place.It’s why I’m writing this now, not because I love navel-gazing (I fucking do!!) but because if just one person has a shock of recognition from the spaghetti mess of my mind and it helps them to understand themselves, I would be delighted.---In my usual way, I began a research project. I discovered autism TikTok. I listened to women’s stories. I read reddit threads. I compiled observations about myself in my notes app. I went to see a support worker from the Mind charity at my local GP in August of 2023 and she told me I should speak to my GP and ask for a referral, but, I wasn’t ready. I had to be sure, I had to be scientific. What if I was just trying to dodge my BPD diagnosis and lie my way into a nicer one, like the evil bitch I (maybe) was? I kept monitoring. I kept reading and researching. I kept lists of things that seemed to be relevant, everything from my lifelong colour-grapheme synaesthesia to how I had routines about walking around cars when I’m outside so I don’t disturb drivers by walking in front of them. How I’d had to teach myself how to hold my arms normally when I walk, and not like a T-rex or a Ukrainian Hopak dancer. How I hate sudden noises, whistling, the big light, the JML TV talking at me in The Range when I’m trying to shop. How I sometimes listen to the same song on repeat all day at full volume in my headphones. I added and added to the list over the course of two years. I took self-screening tests, the AQ50 and the RAADS-R, then waited six months to do them again. I did this three times, to ensure that the results were consistent and not just me on a bad day. They were always sky-high. I made graphs. I collated a 10-page report with a one-page summary sheet and then hid it in my bedside drawer for a year. I finally did something about it in April of 2026. I was referred via Right to Choose, assessed and diagnosed within a month.&nbsp; --- Nothing felt like it had changed when I was told that I’m autistic. I didn’t really know what to do with myself. Immediately after my appointment, I went and got my nails done. They had to remind me approximately 25 times to relax my fingers. I spent the afternoon visiting a model village in the Cotswolds. I am 37 years old. Nothing really surprises me anymore. I knew it was coming. It was still strange to have it confirmed. I’m the same person. Nothing changed in the sense that I still have the same job, the same personality, the same aversion to the big light, the same need to know exactly what is happening and why, the same tendency to disappear into a research hole and come out three days later needing a shower, the same strong opinions about music. Everything changed in the sense that I suppose I can finally look backwards without seeing a crime scene. I can look at the little girl wearing her glasses upside-down and not see attention-seeking. I can look at the teenager rehearsing conversations and not see fakeness. I can look at the woman hiding in the bathroom at her own private view and not see failure. I can look at all of it and think - hey, cool, a pattern! My brain loves that.&nbsp; The day after I received my diagnosis, I had to put it on trial by going to the bin fire that is Twitter and reading hundreds of comments written by people suggesting that women like me are being diagnosed because having autism is trendy now. I don’t know why I’m such a glutton for punishment. Well, I do know why. It’s because it fuels the part of my brain I have to picture as an irritating blue spider with a squeaky voice - the one that says&nbsp;they’re right, you horrible bitch, you faked it. These things upset me because they’re untrue and unjust, but also because they make me feel vulnerable and doubtful, they stoke the fires of those old fears. I know that my diagnosis is real, NHS-commissioned and legitimate. I know I didn’t just get influenced by TikTok to believe normal quirks are a medical condition I can use as an excuse to be a dickhead, or to claim benefits. I know I never wanted to stand out or be special, that actually I would give anything to be neurotypical, to have a choice in how I react when I’m overwhelmed. I want to feel like I’m allowed to take up space, and not feel so self-conscious all the time. I’m still coming to terms with who I am. My assessor said that, while it was not in her remit to remove previous diagnoses from my record, she thought that “the question was the right one to ask” and encouraged me to enquire with my GP about that another time. When I read people saying ASD is overdiagnosed now, its like they’re telling me all the things I’m scared of - that I’m a liar, even to myself, and just a shitty person who needs to try harder and stop making excuses. I’ve tried all my life. If this was social contagion, it somehow managed to infect me in the early 90s when I was kissing pictures of clocks and standing alone on a school field pulling the lining out of my coat to make little friends. I prefer the analogy I have read that it is like saying it’s suspicious that we can see more stars since inventing telescopes. I simply finally gained access to information I didn’t know before, and, more is known now about how ASD looks and feels for certain people who have been historically overlooked. While I understand the discourse that widening the definition of ASD has made it too broad, that differences in support needs are vast, I still say there’s no ‘overdiagnosis’. If anything, its the PDs that are overdiagnosed. I have my doubts about the entire practice of psychiatry, to be honest. While it’s a logical and scientific apprach to check boxes in lists of diagnostic criteria, that can never quite do justice to each individual, complex experience. There is a part of me that wonders if BPD exists at all, or if its an outdated misreading of female neurodivergence combined with trauma and invalidation.&nbsp; You don’t seek an autism diagnosis like this without a reason. It’s just not true. It was there in the school field. It was there in the CAMHS room. It was there in the weird little performances and the rehearsed conversations and the private rules and the lists and the songs on repeat and the feeling that I was acting. It was there when I was called naughty, strange, fake, intense, aloof, cringey, cold, too much, not enough. I keep thinking about the pink mothball. Not happy, not sad, not jealous, not angry. A neutral little face with a bow. I know what to call her now. https://bexilsley.com/I-m-Still-a-Cannibal-for-the-FBI Tue, 17 Jun 2025 09:46:13 +0000 Bex Ilsley https://bexilsley.com/I-m-Still-a-Cannibal-for-the-FBI I’m Still a Cannibal for the FBI 2025 - Development notes and research for I’m Still a Cannibal for the FBI, Bex Ilsley’s new Amiga adventure game project made with Aegis Visionary (1991). <img width="1751" height="1169" width_o="1751" height_o="1169" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/958bd2b52308f045addd629525dd4900ef011e94748a968c5c1296ae8d0b6550/img001.jpg" data-mid="234860185" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/958bd2b52308f045addd629525dd4900ef011e94748a968c5c1296ae8d0b6550/img001.jpg" /> This story begins in the mid-1990s, in a Dartford bedroom with popcorn wallpaper. I have always been a little nerd who likes adventure games. I remember spending ages playing through my dad’s Ian Livingstone books as a child and drawing felt tip pictures of winged, one-eyed monsters straight from a fantasy bestiary. My own mind, for better or worse, is my theatre and my sanctuary, and it always has been. I was a little kid, maybe 5 or 6 years old, when my dad got a secondhand Amiga. I don’t remember which kind specifically. It was set up on a mock-mahogany desk in my bedroom. I do still remember the whirr, the odd yellow-grey colour of the plastic, the clunky click of the mouse. I was too small to really know how to use it, but it fascinated me. He had a hundred or so floppy disks housed in one of these cases. The kind of thing you haven’t seen in so long, you can’t remember the last time you did - if you’re even old enough to have seen one at all. <img width="900" height="675" width_o="900" height_o="675" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/d740a664f086c6bde304e5f8f626a3fc991c33f5d7f2339a006da705b480a6f2/3.5-dsktp-holder-8.jpg" data-mid="234690962" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/900/i/d740a664f086c6bde304e5f8f626a3fc991c33f5d7f2339a006da705b480a6f2/3.5-dsktp-holder-8.jpg" /> <img width="1200" height="1600" width_o="1200" height_o="1600" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/cd07dc4b07383b27aa12279eae2cb097cf14483593a2512efba7c05088645443/_57.jpg" data-mid="234690977" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/cd07dc4b07383b27aa12279eae2cb097cf14483593a2512efba7c05088645443/_57.jpg" /> I used to love the tactile sensation of flipping through these, the rhythm of the plastic, helping him pick a game. Each one had a solitary handwritten title on a generic label, so when we played, we had to choose what sounded interesting based on that alone.&nbsp; I remember particularly liking Eye of the Beholder II: The Legend of Darkmoon. I wasn’t very good at it, because I was tiny, but I loved making parties, rolling for stats and equipping weapons. I loved imagining myself as a beautiful half-elf mage, creeping through the forest.&nbsp; I liked K240 (a thrilling fusion of space combat and ... mining logistics) and Valhalla: Before the War. These two were particularly engaging to me because they talked - as in, there were speaking voices in the games. Valhalla’s protagonist would break the fourth wall and speak directly to the player. The voices were robotic and weirdly compressed, but not unsettling. Warm, somehow. The Amiga had superior audio for its time which made real sampled speech possible thanks to its built-in Paula sound chip. Mid-1990s was perhaps a little late to be blown away by this, but these were the first games I remember seeing, a little while before we’d get a Playstation, so hearing speech was a genuine thrill for me. These things imprinted themselves permanently in my memory,&nbsp;unforgettable for my little brain, soaking up as much novelty as it could find. I loved spending time with my dad. <img width="320" height="256" width_o="320" height_o="256" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/62a84efdb3d824658e89a9018003f486e4ef390d366f9bf2492dccc4e3755406/valhalla-before-the-war_10.png" data-mid="234691023" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/320/i/62a84efdb3d824658e89a9018003f486e4ef390d366f9bf2492dccc4e3755406/valhalla-before-the-war_10.png" /> <img width="320" height="256" width_o="320" height_o="256" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/fefd34f8bc3a96d660f444902ac20c877d7ba8e2d5b340672c426f2ac7eaffa8/eotb2.jpg" data-mid="234691043" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/320/i/fefd34f8bc3a96d660f444902ac20c877d7ba8e2d5b340672c426f2ac7eaffa8/eotb2.jpg" /> <img width="641" height="512" width_o="641" height_o="512" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/b3a81752c7ce9c516e8c97ebf3a32e0fd08df039d51f4da3da2721279cc5899e/eotb23.jpg" data-mid="234720899" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/641/i/b3a81752c7ce9c516e8c97ebf3a32e0fd08df039d51f4da3da2721279cc5899e/eotb23.jpg" /> <img width="1200" height="960" width_o="1200" height_o="960" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/ccc937915cc7a9965f09c5d3771660ebe8f04d3e50de164cee8b9afd60ddb659/k240-copy.jpg" data-mid="234720826" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/ccc937915cc7a9965f09c5d3771660ebe8f04d3e50de164cee8b9afd60ddb659/k240-copy.jpg" /> One of these afternoons, I remember pulling a game from the pile with a title that absolutely nobody could resist. I begged my dad to play it with me. The best title I’d ever heard, scribbled in blue ballpoint pen: I Was a Cannibal for the FBI <img width="320" height="256" width_o="320" height_o="256" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/ead36c735a89762343c31e9b8c7fb7d7ff4b28ab4f1ad198c62975296bf59773/15633116-i-was-a-cannibal-for-the-fbi-amiga-title-screen.png" data-mid="234691249" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/320/i/ead36c735a89762343c31e9b8c7fb7d7ff4b28ab4f1ad198c62975296bf59773/15633116-i-was-a-cannibal-for-the-fbi-amiga-title-screen.png" /> <img width="320" height="333" width_o="320" height_o="333" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/d560b338bd5881730f443b2e71d1e667bad6b1d7a77de429ce8c69702477bd2e/3659_preview0.jpg" data-mid="234702576" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/320/i/d560b338bd5881730f443b2e71d1e667bad6b1d7a77de429ce8c69702477bd2e/3659_preview0.jpg" /> You’d be forgiven for finding the game itself underwhelming, given the title. It’s a very short puzzle game. You are an agent working for the FBI. You wake up on an island. You have a certain number of turns to figure out how to escape before the cannibals find you and boil you in a big pot. The first iteration of the game was made in the 80s. For now, let’s try our best to overlook the, er, uncomfortable colonial overtones and ‘savage native’ stuff. It was aiming for something pulpy and camp. Here is what I recall about playing this game. We spent a long, frustrated afternoon on it. For those unfamiliar with parser text adventures from this era, you’d type commands - CLIMB TREE. PUSH BOULDER. BREAK GLASS. Sometimes you’d need to figure out which specific verb the game was looking for to perform a certain task. I distinctly remember that we never managed to finish I Was a Cannibal for the FBI because we couldn't work out how to tell the game that we wanted to get into the beached canoe and leave the cannibal-ridden island, resulting in increasingly desperate back-and-forth, like so - use canoeYou cannot do that to a canoe. step into canoeYou cannot do that to a canoe. jump into canoeILLEGAL COMMAND. Years and years later, in 2022, I was thinking about this game again. The memory of it floated back into my head like a soggy log on that cursed beach. I remember tracking down the names of the games I remembered from my childhood at some point in the early 2010’s and I’d messed around with an emulator for a couple of hours, confirming they looked the same as they did in my memory, so I knew I hadn’t dreamed it up. I looked it up again. What I discovered about it was very exciting. Okay, I know that’s subjective. I happen to think it is exciting. Aegis Visionary (1991)In 2022, thanks to the Hall of Light, I found out that this silly little cannibal game was made for a reason. One I’d had no idea about. [1] Written using Aegis' adventure writing language VISIONARY. The game was a companion to THE VISIONARY PROGRAMMER'S HANDBOOK (included as an optional extra with VISIONARY or sold separately), but was nevertheless deemed freeware by author John Olsen. The source code of I WAS A CANNIBAL FOR THE FBI is available on the original game disk. Alternatively, it can be found in Appendix A of the handbook, which includes a detailed step-by-step analysis of the source code used to create the game. It was a demonstration, an example game for an authoring system. You could buy this Visionary software and manual and make your own adventure games from scratch. Cannibal was just a helpful tool for learning the language, rather than a weird standalone release. I have no idea how we missed this information at the time, since it is plastered all over the game, but memory is funny like that. <img width="706" height="555" width_o="706" height_o="555" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/2625b0c5b2c5d5884bd6fdc9de2d6fdebed163baad2a2ad5ba6b1d593ee34b5a/Screenshot-2025-06-19-125613.jpg" data-mid="234758180" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/706/i/2625b0c5b2c5d5884bd6fdc9de2d6fdebed163baad2a2ad5ba6b1d593ee34b5a/Screenshot-2025-06-19-125613.jpg" /> <img width="711" height="552" width_o="711" height_o="552" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/aa71cbcfaf985ab19d30b504424b4b15ab4814e026110834bf80635f061589b0/Screenshot-2025-06-19-125744.jpg" data-mid="234758181" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/711/i/aa71cbcfaf985ab19d30b504424b4b15ab4814e026110834bf80635f061589b0/Screenshot-2025-06-19-125744.jpg" /> As soon as I learned this, I knew what I had to do. I had to go find some things on eBay. <img width="3024" height="4032" width_o="3024" height_o="4032" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/6d11768396f9caed685a4171aa4cbdfd0aba73e7e1e93f865e2d35d97762bae4/IMG_9441.JPG" data-mid="234721185" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/6d11768396f9caed685a4171aa4cbdfd0aba73e7e1e93f865e2d35d97762bae4/IMG_9441.JPG" /> <img width="3024" height="4032" width_o="3024" height_o="4032" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/231a55dafad1c2d34ba120576224277692875158d4abeba0c5cd8685afc4e32d/IMG_9442.JPG" data-mid="234721186" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/231a55dafad1c2d34ba120576224277692875158d4abeba0c5cd8685afc4e32d/IMG_9442.JPG" /> <img width="3024" height="4032" width_o="3024" height_o="4032" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/04002440c92ed49ae0ea51adc08c407cff641a50d48ae065822bcdb668635ca5/IMG_9445.JPG" data-mid="234721188" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/04002440c92ed49ae0ea51adc08c407cff641a50d48ae065822bcdb668635ca5/IMG_9445.JPG" /> A history lesson Aegis Development was a pioneering software company founded in 1984, known for early contributions to graphics, music editing, and animation. Aegis had been behind tools like Sonix, Animator, and Videoscape 3D (a precursor to LightWave 3D, part of the&nbsp;Video Toaster suite). They also played a central role in establishing the ANIM file format, one of the Amiga’s lasting multimedia legacies. <img width="709" height="557" width_o="709" height_o="557" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/31fe297bf8250b0dc875eff1ccf4f617e9d2022ab68c6c8a643c3d6fa6dcdefb/Screenshot-2025-06-20-134433.jpg" data-mid="234803533" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/709/i/31fe297bf8250b0dc875eff1ccf4f617e9d2022ab68c6c8a643c3d6fa6dcdefb/Screenshot-2025-06-20-134433.jpg" /> <img width="625" height="758" width_o="625" height_o="758" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/ed7383d07bac94d54412f26bb05896dd0351b2a487a8aa77d69cb515d1102946/aegis_sonix.jpg" data-mid="234722140" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/625/i/ed7383d07bac94d54412f26bb05896dd0351b2a487a8aa77d69cb515d1102946/aegis_sonix.jpg" /> <img width="703" height="554" width_o="703" height_o="554" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/ddb86566d24554bbdc443dc0b9c565d7e689da5b4d09d98c1c2ac3dc5b72c3fe/Screenshot-2025-06-20-134236.jpg" data-mid="234803531" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/703/i/ddb86566d24554bbdc443dc0b9c565d7e689da5b4d09d98c1c2ac3dc5b72c3fe/Screenshot-2025-06-20-134236.jpg" /> <img width="709" height="549" width_o="709" height_o="549" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/d0f2b0187a36c8edd1fe38042720dd2105d50a91528331ab02ceea98a6c7f58c/Screenshot-2025-06-20-161418.jpg" data-mid="234803534" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/709/i/d0f2b0187a36c8edd1fe38042720dd2105d50a91528331ab02ceea98a6c7f58c/Screenshot-2025-06-20-161418.jpg" /> <img width="745" height="930" width_o="745" height_o="930" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/4208d2d2cc82c6db86015b67f718111e2e5be1e78c6c284bf70a8a5d8ddaad15/aegis_animator.jpg" data-mid="234722143" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/745/i/4208d2d2cc82c6db86015b67f718111e2e5be1e78c6c284bf70a8a5d8ddaad15/aegis_animator.jpg" /> <img width="701" height="541" width_o="701" height_o="541" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/e533c01fa6db8d335fc13827d231a739165c679707cc088cac125f7d57087135/Screenshot-2025-06-20-161656.jpg" data-mid="234803536" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/701/i/e533c01fa6db8d335fc13827d231a739165c679707cc088cac125f7d57087135/Screenshot-2025-06-20-161656.jpg" /> <img width="750" height="908" width_o="750" height_o="908" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/45e66e9a80ffc483cc5d35abea7631c4f4f94317fda8653d5628698bb716cd5f/videoscape3d_boite.jpg" data-mid="234722141" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/750/i/45e66e9a80ffc483cc5d35abea7631c4f4f94317fda8653d5628698bb716cd5f/videoscape3d_boite.jpg" /> <img width="715" height="559" width_o="715" height_o="559" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/b010b2550c2d6ddc83db65196a5d71352cdc33ad7fa0608abfb31eddb39bb3dc/Screenshot-2025-06-20-161722.jpg" data-mid="234803537" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/715/i/b010b2550c2d6ddc83db65196a5d71352cdc33ad7fa0608abfb31eddb39bb3dc/Screenshot-2025-06-20-161722.jpg" /> Over time, internal changes and market pressures mounted, competition got the better of Aegis, and so the company sold its entire catalogue to Oxxi, Inc. in 1989, and ceased operations. Oxxi, founded in 1985, was a California-based software publisher that built its business by acquiring and distributing titles created by other developers. Oxxi re-released many of the titles under the Aegis name but they also began expanding into new software, including an ambitious adventure game development toolkit: Aegis Visionary.&nbsp; Kevin Programmer Kevin Kelm had been building the foundations of Visionary since 1987. He had grown up coding on a PET and C64, but it was a university-era encounter with a UNIX version of Colossal Cave Adventure that sparked the idea that led Kevin to build T.A.C.L. (The Adventure Construction Language) - a flexible language for building adventure games more easily. I managed to track him down a couple of months ago to ask him about it. “There was an epiphany where I realized I knew how to make my own implementation work, but the idea of hard coding everything in the software was untenable, so I wrote TACL as a game development language to write games in instead.” <img width="952" height="1312" width_o="952" height_o="1312" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/a0c1fbb68e90b8af4a788e8bb6fa90984ae1b9479ebf875bff1209da394a991e/6632_box0.jpg" data-mid="234722211" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/952/i/a0c1fbb68e90b8af4a788e8bb6fa90984ae1b9479ebf875bff1209da394a991e/6632_box0.jpg" /> <img width="884" height="1279" width_o="884" height_o="1279" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/e198c9b3ad7a3620a23c00f4d992b8659805bb22a4a40cd1fe05651124d6355f/6632_box1.jpg" data-mid="234722212" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/884/i/e198c9b3ad7a3620a23c00f4d992b8659805bb22a4a40cd1fe05651124d6355f/6632_box1.jpg" /> <img width="943" height="697" width_o="943" height_o="697" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/13e7022d717ee0c9b847eba6b0d0fd41920e3c26ac18f847de14fb1d56f92c49/Screenshot-2025-06-18-112614.png" data-mid="234722347" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/943/i/13e7022d717ee0c9b847eba6b0d0fd41920e3c26ac18f847de14fb1d56f92c49/Screenshot-2025-06-18-112614.png" /> &nbsp; T.A.C.L. was developed by Kevin and his collaborator Rhett Rodewald under the name Alternate Realities. It was produced in 1989 through Micro Momentum - a tiny publisher based out of a garage in Connecticut. It was truly born from that era’s DIY spirit. I had fun exploring the T.A.C.L. disk and compiling the example games to try them out.&nbsp; <img width="693" height="487" width_o="693" height_o="487" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/2f82b40520a2d82a150a747e7d022321aba7980f90534fe1606bdaf8b36a6c77/Screenshot-2025-06-19-111949.jpg" data-mid="234756578" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/693/i/2f82b40520a2d82a150a747e7d022321aba7980f90534fe1606bdaf8b36a6c77/Screenshot-2025-06-19-111949.jpg" /> <img width="706" height="547" width_o="706" height_o="547" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/94891af73146dd28707f12cb32da3f3d91a8e49f5d0741037abaf1e3a55f79fa/Screenshot-2026-01-22-153558.jpg" data-mid="243812273" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/706/i/94891af73146dd28707f12cb32da3f3d91a8e49f5d0741037abaf1e3a55f79fa/Screenshot-2026-01-22-153558.jpg" /> Eventually, Kevin connected with Oxxi-Aegis, who were looking to make an expanded, multimedia-rich version of T.A.C.L. for wider release. Kevin received test machines - an A500, an A2000, and others - and began working on Visionary. John Writer John Olsen came on board to help transform Visionary from a toolset into a user-friendly experience. He adapted one of his own C64 adventure games (I Was a Cannibal for the FBI) into Visionary format, adding graphics and sound, and simultaneously, he wrote The Visionary Programmer’s Handbook, a 384-page guide which walked users through the art of storytelling, design thinking, puzzle structure, and narrative craft, as well as each line of the Cannibal source code, all with warmth and clarity. <img width="3024" height="4032" width_o="3024" height_o="4032" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/053fb70f0f6072845bb3d227cf027ece7727569d8de0f35b24a78b6413299371/IMG_9444.JPG" data-mid="234721187" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/053fb70f0f6072845bb3d227cf027ece7727569d8de0f35b24a78b6413299371/IMG_9444.JPG" /> <img width="845" height="617" width_o="845" height_o="617" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/cf7321d3a2081ce2a2b4cfca55c3f30771cd3ac966bf988322f1f71a5eac5b1a/Screenshot-2026-02-09-091514.png" data-mid="244619473" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/845/i/cf7321d3a2081ce2a2b4cfca55c3f30771cd3ac966bf988322f1f71a5eac5b1a/Screenshot-2026-02-09-091514.png" /> “While I continued development and testing of the software,” Kevin explains, “John was there writing all the early test games and the user manual. We collaborated significantly to make everything more user-friendly… He was integral to the development process.” John had been writing and publishing text adventures since the early days of cassette magazines. He was also a middle school teacher who loved pulp serials, old horror radio plays and mystery cliffhangers. Early home computing gave him a way to turn those influences into playable stories, like ‘Frankenstein Adventure’ (1980) and ‘King Solomon’s Mines’ (1982). His games were full of treasures, crypts, jungles and graveyards - strange, haunted places full of danger and delight. In a 1994 interview, he described owning more than ten computers, including five Commodore 64s (one of which ran a bulletin board system nonstop for nine years), an Amiga 1000 and 500, and a then-new Macintosh LC-475. He couldn’t bear to part with any of them. By the early '90s, John had over 100 magazine articles and games published. <img width="800" height="510" width_o="800" height_o="510" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/c3c5a225ddb219603dd23be270107d1c093d5e5449669e961d8bfd122782bdbe/cloaddec1981-1.jpg" data-mid="234806383" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/800/i/c3c5a225ddb219603dd23be270107d1c093d5e5449669e961d8bfd122782bdbe/cloaddec1981-1.jpg" /> <img width="550" height="800" width_o="550" height_o="800" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/e6904ccf6bdaf5eb11b47fd97fc82c5192f9dc1319311a9f4058833f3f3d9269/18463497-frankenstein-adventure-magazine-advertisement-computing-today-un.png" data-mid="234759678" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/550/i/e6904ccf6bdaf5eb11b47fd97fc82c5192f9dc1319311a9f4058833f3f3d9269/18463497-frankenstein-adventure-magazine-advertisement-computing-today-un.png" /> <img width="839" height="613" width_o="839" height_o="613" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/9a5350fc255900467c768114320d075c388bb8f27e4407ee421466cb75f62a91/Screenshot-2026-02-09-092339.png" data-mid="244619679" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/839/i/9a5350fc255900467c768114320d075c388bb8f27e4407ee421466cb75f62a91/Screenshot-2026-02-09-092339.png" /> <img width="992" height="1498" width_o="992" height_o="1498" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/06e04e19f9844c3f44b8ccd0c3fe91c05f1cfbd397d14039350eb61d9787144d/7b759526-af91-48f0-96df-2e11503458e6-1.jpg" data-mid="247386639" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/992/i/06e04e19f9844c3f44b8ccd0c3fe91c05f1cfbd397d14039350eb61d9787144d/7b759526-af91-48f0-96df-2e11503458e6-1.jpg" /> <img width="2334" height="3238" width_o="2334" height_o="3238" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/1f5faa0e557c245758c2767a0288808c8cbf6c4de40131f1520b30ff624ace0e/Run_Issue_04_1984_Apr.png" data-mid="243776191" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/1f5faa0e557c245758c2767a0288808c8cbf6c4de40131f1520b30ff624ace0e/Run_Issue_04_1984_Apr.png" /> In late 1989, John bought a copy of T.A.C.L. and quickly wrote a trilogy of horror games with it. That enthusiasm led to his involvement in beta-testing Visionary, and later being asked to write its handbook. He wasn’t the engine underneath Visionary - that was Kevin’s - but he was the soul of it, the storyteller who showed what the tool could do for consumers. In 2025, I tried to find John. I emailed around to no avail. I sent him a letter. A real one in a black envelope with labels in Topaz font. I used Visionary syntax on the return address label. It was designed to be noticed. <img width="3024" height="4032" width_o="3024" height_o="4032" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/636ae4aed7520c940c17f13c708e336d8b6a5e9748eec0924f4e95de833d5ff4/IMG_6546-1.jpeg" data-mid="234793222" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/636ae4aed7520c940c17f13c708e336d8b6a5e9748eec0924f4e95de833d5ff4/IMG_6546-1.jpeg" /> <img width="3024" height="4032" width_o="3024" height_o="4032" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/73865a4f59a211baab6ae3282f5e1752f0b6721a7bec1e53d9474f98be5da8ad/IMG_6544-1-copy.jpg" data-mid="234793223" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/73865a4f59a211baab6ae3282f5e1752f0b6721a7bec1e53d9474f98be5da8ad/IMG_6544-1-copy.jpg" /> I told him about my memories and how I was thinking of using Cannibal&nbsp;for a project, and I asked for his blessing. Sadly, I never heard back. Maybe the address was out of date. Maybe he simply didn’t feel like replying. He’d be in his mid-seventies now. I still hope that he might see this somehow. I would love to speak with him if I could. [If anybody out there knows how to get in touch with John, please let me know!] <img width="680" height="904" width_o="680" height_o="904" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/8ebcc907deef11f1a0863a8798fc40d54800844d428fbc796942d73f6156aee3/Amiga_Format_Issue_032_1992_03_Future_Publishing_GB_0017.jpg" data-mid="242704267" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/680/i/8ebcc907deef11f1a0863a8798fc40d54800844d428fbc796942d73f6156aee3/Amiga_Format_Issue_032_1992_03_Future_Publishing_GB_0017.jpg" /> <img width="5050" height="3253" width_o="5050" height_o="3253" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/635a529c4717d29917da66a6c85be312600647ca44aa4e33c3b97a4c5c1514b9/1587_misc0.jpg" data-mid="234804084" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/635a529c4717d29917da66a6c85be312600647ca44aa4e33c3b97a4c5c1514b9/1587_misc0.jpg" /> Visionary's launch was niche but ambitious, consisting of boxed software with a full printed manual and a proprietary scripting language with 70 commands. You also got:- Visionary Interactive Editor: a full-screen editor where you can type your game code out directly and access the other tools listed below. - VCode: Encrypts your image and sound files to prevent them from being extracted and modified. - VCoord: A tool to help locate the co-ordinates of specific parts of your game screen, to make it more easy to define click zones - parts of the screen where clickable objects and buttons appear. - VComp: a custom compiler that takes all your source code and compiles it into a pair of binary files, containing your game’s logic and vocabulary, which an Amiga can process. This makes your game playable in debugging mode within the Visionary Editor. - DBug: Opens your compiled game in debugging mode to check for problems. - VLink: links the files made with VComp and turns your game into a distributable version that runs without Visionary. It was a complete toolkit for building rich, narrative games on the Amiga, but it never found a mainstream audience. As Kevin puts it, “anything programming-centric is a hard sell for the general public… more than one end user was vexed at the effort necessary to make a game.” Oxxi released a few more software titles, but officially closed in 1995, following Commodore’s collapse. Visionary may not have been a hit, but it was bold and lovingly built. It feels, to me, like a fitting swan song for the Amiga’s weirder, more imaginative era. I think it’s worth remembering and preserving. I even think it’s worth resurrecting. Closing the loop When my ebay purchases arrived, the first thing I wanted to do was solve a problem so old it could be having its own mid-life crisis. get into canoe OK. It is a comfortable fit. row canoe Not while it is beached on the sand. push canoeOK.get in canoe OK. It is a comfortable fit. row canoeUsing the shovel, you row the canoe out to the freighter. You are taken aboard and enjoy your leisurely trip back to civilization and your job at the FBI. Congratulations on escaping the island! <img width="709" height="554" width_o="709" height_o="554" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/cba56e5ad9a6bf88f85963f4a6a4521d550680a152d555a2d78580bc37437ce2/Screenshot-2025-06-19-130652.jpg" data-mid="234758072" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/709/i/cba56e5ad9a6bf88f85963f4a6a4521d550680a152d555a2d78580bc37437ce2/Screenshot-2025-06-19-130652.jpg" /> But it was so much more than that. It seems absurd that something like I Was a Cannibal for the FBI could have made such a lasting impression on me that I still thought about it thirty years later. Of course, games like this feel simplistic and dated now, relics from an innocent time. You really have to adjust to a slower and less dopamine-driven mode of engagement to enjoy them. I had been looking for a way to make things again, and I needed that to be slow. I’d grown weary of trying to respond in real-time to internet phenomena and social media trends. I’d been swallowed up and spat out by algorithms. I wanted to return to something that takes patience. I missed when I owned the things I paid for. I missed knowing they would work as long as I looked after them. I missed when the screen was a warm, familiar place I chose to go, instead of something nightmarish and addictive that follows me around. I know most of that fantasy is coloured by the pink sunset of nostalgia, I do - everybody’s childhood was a simpler time, because that is childhood. Nevertheless. I do think sometimes life gives you little signposts towards a good idea. It feels like that anyway. Finding out this game had a solution, and not only that - this game had a solution printed in black-and-white open source code in a book - felt like one such signpost. I had a way to reach back in time, grab my own loose-end and tie it up forever. A loop through time. I thought that could be a good concept to develop. I could get inside the game and intervene, I could fix it for my past self, add some more verbs to the parser, or alter the ending completely. I could use Visionary to tell a new story, maybe. I could ‘learn the video game equivalent of Latin’ as one friend put it. I could take something obsolete and forgotten and give it life. I could make something so retro that it’s borderline unplayable and do it with purpose. Kevin:&nbsp;“Those early days for me on the C64 and Amiga were filled with the warm thrill of discovery, of possibility, and a technology that was only barely out of my grasp at the time, at least in terms of how it actually worked. Today’s computers may as well be designed by aliens, as complicated as they are. But the endless hours of exploration and wonder in those days fills me with an indescribable warmth that I sort of suspect kids don’t get from it anymore (I could be wrong).” So that’s how I decided to make a game for the Amiga, using Visionary, in 2025. I knew I was getting myself into something big, long and probably infuriating. That was part of the charm. I’m Still a Cannibal for the FBI That’s the name of the sequel I have been working on. <img width="963" height="775" width_o="963" height_o="775" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/2e4cb9a524454a98ffa26ec561d363a4025f35e2329875f90bd1757e9181da9d/Screenshot-2026-02-05-104424.jpg" data-mid="244459649" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/963/i/2e4cb9a524454a98ffa26ec561d363a4025f35e2329875f90bd1757e9181da9d/Screenshot-2026-02-05-104424.jpg" /> The first thing I did was see if I could make a small change to the existing Cannibal game. I just wanted to change the intro text, or swap one of the room images for a different one. If I could do one thing successfully, I could change the whole game eventually, right? I gathered together all of Cannibal’s source code files and its images and sounds. The first thing I noticed was that the images couldn’t be opened in software that should be able to display .iff images - and they came out all corrupted when I tried to convert them to .jpg. <img width="900" height="720" width_o="900" height_o="720" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/bba1ef391ec7b55b4ef9cecbd6135c3189f4ff2e1fd1cc64ff5d9998024a49db/window.jpg" data-mid="234847307" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/900/i/bba1ef391ec7b55b4ef9cecbd6135c3189f4ff2e1fd1cc64ff5d9998024a49db/window.jpg" /> I realised this was because they’d been encoded with Visionary’s VCode utility. How this works: you run VCode from the command line interface by typing something like this:vcode image.iff password image2.iffVCode runs and produces an encoded image (that Visionary can still understand and display), saving it under the second filename.So - no matter, I thought. You define the password for your game elsewhere in your source code, so I can just use John’s password in his code - jroj - to decode them again. Right? Nope. They must have been encoded with a different password, to stop people like me from doing exactly what I was doing.** So, I had no choice but to... respect the author’s wishes and leave them alone? Or... reverse engineer VCode and figure out how it works and what it does to encode files. It took me two days. A cryptography lesson I learned that every image file was scrambled using a type of obfuscation called XOR. If we think of a file as a brick wall, it’s made up of long lines of bricks called bytes. In an IFF-ILBM image (the format used on the Amiga), the first few hundred bricks make up the header. This tells the computer things like the image’s width, height, number of colours, and how the rest of the data should be read. This first part was left untouched. Then, starting from the BODY chunk, everything was flipped using a single-byte XOR key. For John’s images, it was 0xE2.&nbsp;Hexadecimal: 0xE2 Decimal: 226 Binary: 11100010 The XOR process takes each byte (a sequence of eight binary digits - ‘bits’) and compares it to the key. Each bit is flipped (0 becomes 1, 1 becomes 0) only if the corresponding bit in the key is 1. Original byte: 00000011 XOR key: 11100010 Result:&nbsp;11100001 And so when you do this a second time, it switches everything back, like using the same key to both lock and unlock a door. It’s just enough to keep tinkerers out. For 34 years, it did. I was able to unmangle the original images, and though I won’t be using them in my sequel, it’s really useful to be able to zoom in and see exactly how they were drawn and what the global palette looks like. <img width="320" height="256" width_o="320" height_o="256" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/d4dfc4520ad3102a5b80ca33dc287df372ecb786b2712699951ff1ce951bc414/window_old.png" data-mid="234811957" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/320/i/d4dfc4520ad3102a5b80ca33dc287df372ecb786b2712699951ff1ce951bc414/window_old.png" /> <img width="320" height="200" width_o="320" height_o="200" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/50c006d688b2e4c0e7793f41d2a238574439f665926f35408624f06b81a9ac7f/buttons_old.png" data-mid="234811940" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/320/i/50c006d688b2e4c0e7793f41d2a238574439f665926f35408624f06b81a9ac7f/buttons_old.png" /> <img width="228" height="119" width_o="228" height_o="119" 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data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/906cda1aa1603f0410fefd562420f616a54bbd1f30e9df178658f5c23e942be8/loc5_decoded_E2.png" data-mid="234811945" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/228/i/906cda1aa1603f0410fefd562420f616a54bbd1f30e9df178658f5c23e942be8/loc5_decoded_E2.png" /> <img width="228" height="119" width_o="228" height_o="119" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/c30672392270f9948877775c493b81c95aff17a39c86da2df92a916ec6d17846/loc6_decoded_E2.png" data-mid="234811946" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/228/i/c30672392270f9948877775c493b81c95aff17a39c86da2df92a916ec6d17846/loc6_decoded_E2.png" /> <img width="228" height="119" width_o="228" height_o="119" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/b4aae40aee55b55cd509d63c6e4398b807f8873d8822b2f35ba9be48f49f2862/loc8_decoded_E2.png" data-mid="234811948" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/228/i/b4aae40aee55b55cd509d63c6e4398b807f8873d8822b2f35ba9be48f49f2862/loc8_decoded_E2.png" /> <img width="228" height="119" width_o="228" height_o="119" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/6b7ba59532c19ffa82be72950d798b4a59bfbcc4b915effaaac1fccd957065b9/loc11_decoded_E2.png" data-mid="234811951" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/228/i/6b7ba59532c19ffa82be72950d798b4a59bfbcc4b915effaaac1fccd957065b9/loc11_decoded_E2.png" /> <img width="228" height="119" width_o="228" height_o="119" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/6ed788b88104646855d894e86b5b5e510aa658a10047afa8c6510bff6c1bfb17/loc12_decoded_E2.png" data-mid="234811952" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/228/i/6ed788b88104646855d894e86b5b5e510aa658a10047afa8c6510bff6c1bfb17/loc12_decoded_E2.png" /> <img width="228" height="119" width_o="228" height_o="119" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/e192c32c7a988576935b930459b20d386ddf3115253da6d8b0d118443e1a2e79/loc10_decoded_E2.png" data-mid="234811950" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/228/i/e192c32c7a988576935b930459b20d386ddf3115253da6d8b0d118443e1a2e79/loc10_decoded_E2.png" /> You might think after this little diversion, I’d be off to a running start, and you’d be dead wrong. You are on the west end of the beach I made one small tweak to the code and changed the first bit of text that pops up when you start the game. I touched nothing else. I recompiled it, and something really odd happened. I couldn’t leave the first area (west_end_of_beach). Entering a direction command to move rooms just returned me to the room I was already in, printing the room description text, like so -&nbsp; <img width="604" height="360" width_o="604" height_o="360" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/1d1dc5a892348b1d6f145ad298ec4a082887bad3de8ed9682de3125cef216f69/Screenshot-2025-04-16-140138.jpg" data-mid="234805006" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/604/i/1d1dc5a892348b1d6f145ad298ec4a082887bad3de8ed9682de3125cef216f69/Screenshot-2025-04-16-140138.jpg" /> I am not sure this game wants me to close any loops. It seems to really like loops. This drove me absolutely insane. I spent days and days on it. The problem persisted, even when I compiled the game from the original, untouched source code directly from the disk. It’s what led to me to find Kevin, so I could ask him for help. I thought it was perhaps a problem caused by using emulators, but I had tried lots of different settings and approaches, and this result was the same every time. What is especially puzzling is that every single other aspect of the game works as intended. All the other commands - examine, get, dig - worked perfectly. It even behaved properly for exits that didn’t exist, for example: W You can't go West from here. Since everything else was working and the parser could recognise actions, I couldn’t put the error down to some weird encoding compatibility issue in emulation. It didn’t seem to be something that might have changed between versions of Visionary. It was bizarre. I checked the .rooms file, where the code that should make this work lives, and all seemed to be in order: room west_end_of_beachattrib started N ForcedReturn N endattrib default s sand_dunes e east_end_of_beach n unused enddefault So I thought, perhaps it’s just an issue with Cannibal. If I try to recompile a different Visionary example game (there are two more - The Magic Potion and Catacoombs), would the same thing happen again? If I tried it with even the most basic of test games, a single room linked to another, could I move? <img width="589" height="439" width_o="589" height_o="439" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/b4a09c685af42c029dc338231c1261839a995619fc3596eebb35c6002ec1eeba/Screenshot-2025-04-16-140156.jpg" data-mid="234842404" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/589/i/b4a09c685af42c029dc338231c1261839a995619fc3596eebb35c6002ec1eeba/Screenshot-2025-04-16-140156.jpg" /> Aaaaaaarrrrrgh! Let’s just take a second now, to enjoy the unearthed graphics from those games though, because the digital archeology aspect of this obsession is really amusing for me. A delight to see the name&nbsp;Jim Sachs! <img width="1200" height="960" width_o="1200" height_o="960" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/92584c517b0d4a73935aa0946017a7674ad4067cd70875830f043016d0cf769f/title.png" data-mid="234842412" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/92584c517b0d4a73935aa0946017a7674ad4067cd70875830f043016d0cf769f/title.png" /> <img width="496" height="254" width_o="496" height_o="254" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/697d19a7023130ccae5e3fb9b7ff853b8baefd7090a9a483e8a055a3be8094b0/scenes.png" data-mid="234842411" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/496/i/697d19a7023130ccae5e3fb9b7ff853b8baefd7090a9a483e8a055a3be8094b0/scenes.png" /> <img width="900" height="563" width_o="900" height_o="563" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/82e0a7bdd2ad9fe46fe9bfea63be2da2fe73c9ff05f5878e2af802705d8bdcfe/buttons2-copy.png" data-mid="234842834" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/900/i/82e0a7bdd2ad9fe46fe9bfea63be2da2fe73c9ff05f5878e2af802705d8bdcfe/buttons2-copy.png" /> <img width="800" height="500" width_o="800" height_o="500" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/e59a532d24d644d374235ed6170104df5cea393050b0d700136a4b184f309217/about-copy.png" data-mid="234842588" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/800/i/e59a532d24d644d374235ed6170104df5cea393050b0d700136a4b184f309217/about-copy.png" /> <img width="900" height="563" width_o="900" height_o="563" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/8b9de93a51e0c3085d825280bf1e5320ced85fe8dd8ed05fd09af213ac334e2c/brushes-copy.png" data-mid="234842590" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/900/i/8b9de93a51e0c3085d825280bf1e5320ced85fe8dd8ed05fd09af213ac334e2c/brushes-copy.png" /> <img width="900" height="563" width_o="900" height_o="563" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/d35ec849b38934baf86c0df1f21d7d9ad57c00892e16672b8497a6789e3ba6e0/floors-copy.png" data-mid="234842591" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/900/i/d35ec849b38934baf86c0df1f21d7d9ad57c00892e16672b8497a6789e3ba6e0/floors-copy.png" /> <img width="800" height="485" width_o="800" height_o="485" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/0656dbc4924781ad7dade6823a295d4ab41555e0b3a652169f71b59bd3af75b9/monster-copy.png" data-mid="234842594" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/800/i/0656dbc4924781ad7dade6823a295d4ab41555e0b3a652169f71b59bd3af75b9/monster-copy.png" /> <img width="667" height="800" width_o="667" height_o="800" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/83855723e5b2a4670b56d3e72549864e374cd70e6eb28b93ac967df5a4138932/monster-2-copy.png" data-mid="234842593" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/667/i/83855723e5b2a4670b56d3e72549864e374cd70e6eb28b93ac967df5a4138932/monster-2-copy.png" /> I tried so many things. In the end, I found a hacky fix. You can add custom vocabulary to Visionary games. I added one for the word ‘warp’, which would tell the game to take me to another area. This worked. action warp go sand_dunes endact&nbsp; From there, I was still unable to move, so I knew it wasn't a problem exclusive to the initial room.&nbsp; The way I finally got it working was by adding the direction commands as custom actions in my vocabulary file, just like my test above. I had to fiddle around a bit to sort out some conditional stuff involving a ladder and a boulder, but I now have an editable game that functions as closely to the original as I could get. action e, east, go east, move east if player in west_end_of_beach then&nbsp; go east_end_of_beach elsif player in in_the_shack then&nbsp; go meadow elsif player in meadow then&nbsp; go top_of_the_cliff elsif player in by_the_boulder then&nbsp; if boulder is moved then&nbsp; &nbsp;go in_the_cave&nbsp; else&nbsp; &nbsp;$tx := "You can't go East from here."&nbsp; &nbsp;call print&nbsp; endif else&nbsp; $tx := "You can't go East from here."&nbsp; call print endifendact I really hate unsolved mysteries though (not the TV show, I LOVED that). It doesn’t make any sense to me. How could the original, untouched Cannibal source code, fresh from the disk, produce a game with broken directions? Visionary is supposed to handle this automatically. Kevin said it was ‘strangely vexing’.&nbsp; People did successfully make games with Visionary in the 90s. Michael Zerbo made quite a few (all quite scary!). I wonder if he had any of these problems. His source code isn’t public as far as I can tell. It would be useful to see that. Perhaps I’ll track him down next. Still, I really can’t see it being a bug in the compiler that nobody noticed during testing, or in the years that followed. That seems very unlikely to me. <img width="708" height="555" width_o="708" height_o="555" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/8afd9fed711908e54d78a1e5359d91e558239a28bc10ed32bd2b7eeb0a2a6fa4/Screenshot-2025-06-21-212554.jpg" data-mid="234846391" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/708/i/8afd9fed711908e54d78a1e5359d91e558239a28bc10ed32bd2b7eeb0a2a6fa4/Screenshot-2025-06-21-212554.jpg" /> <img width="719" height="554" width_o="719" height_o="554" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/b461898e697e63247df2f25e1d74a6d7419a88cb0c4a2c860cccdcca108a3ae0/Screenshot-2025-06-21-212714.jpg" data-mid="234846393" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/719/i/b461898e697e63247df2f25e1d74a6d7419a88cb0c4a2c860cccdcca108a3ae0/Screenshot-2025-06-21-212714.jpg" /> <img width="710" height="563" width_o="710" height_o="563" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/8e9987d57b8da13c935024caf8c5b79c031a59b700901ce4d9009d71a2e8ae95/Screenshot-2025-06-21-213519.jpg" data-mid="234846395" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/710/i/8e9987d57b8da13c935024caf8c5b79c031a59b700901ce4d9009d71a2e8ae95/Screenshot-2025-06-21-213519.jpg" /> <img width="707" height="552" width_o="707" height_o="552" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/901867e6da71acf8e5de43721ad160896ab1a77532decda61fb44617cda9f3b9/Screenshot-2025-06-21-213218.jpg" data-mid="234846394" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/707/i/901867e6da71acf8e5de43721ad160896ab1a77532decda61fb44617cda9f3b9/Screenshot-2025-06-21-213218.jpg" /> The ultimate test would be to buy myself an actual working Amiga and compile Cannibal on that, the old school way, but that is a daunting, expensive job for another day.&nbsp; If you actually read all this, my sincere thanks for sticking with me! Especially through the XOR stuff. Well done! My work on I’m Still a Cannibal for the FBI continues, and I won’t say anything about the plot. I’m hoping to have it done by the end of this year. It’s relaxing knowing there’s no pressure to get it out quickly. It’s already taken me decades, in a sense. Bye for now! Bex 24/06/25: You are walking through the sand dunes (at last!) <img width="709" height="550" width_o="709" height_o="550" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/91b720c630d0548990e043b51fa1e9fd02bbdd1d3882aa8b0bfeb21e65df7638/Screenshot-2025-06-24-141530.jpg" data-mid="234970294" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/709/i/91b720c630d0548990e043b51fa1e9fd02bbdd1d3882aa8b0bfeb21e65df7638/Screenshot-2025-06-24-141530.jpg" /> Very kindly, Amiga expert Ed Brindley has solved this mystery for me. It turns out I’ve been using a corrupted version of Visionary all along. It was the only one I could find online (in here), and I didn’t want to risk spending money on a floppy drive, since there’s no way of knowing what kind of state my eBay disks are in. I don’t know where they’ve been living all these years. Probably next to a giant magnet, knowing my luck. Ed pointed me towards a different disk image, and just like that, no more broken directions. I get why it went against my instincts to assume it was something like this.&nbsp;I’d dismissed the thought that my version of Visionary might be wonky, because after all, more complex aspects of the game worked fine, surely something as simple as navigating around the map would be the last thing to break, not the first? I’ve realised now that this kind of bug doesn’t really obey logical expectations. It seems more like a scratched record where all the tracks play beautifully except that one little part that jumps, wherever that part happens to be. There’s a lesson in here about not blindly trusting a beginner’s instincts when they’re based on very little.It feels SO good to be working clean at last. Thanks Ed!! ** Another note - ‘jroj’ totally does work as the password to decode Cannibal’s images with vcode. It always bothered me that the password in John’s .adv file didn’t work on his images, because that actually shouldn’t be possible. I tried again much later and it worked just fine. I have NO idea what I was doing wrong at the start... Still, so great to know all of the time spent on these problems was ~*completely unnecessary*~! Fantastic! 08/01/2026: Kent’s ancient woes Hi! I’m still alive and I’m still working on this. It’s taking much longer than I had anticipated, although, that is more to do with my time management than it is to do with technical issues. A 2026 resolution: say no to socialising, say yes to entire weekends lit only by the screen, hyperfocusing on passion projects. It’s for my health!! 🍏 There are things going on in the background that I’m keeping secret for now, but, one little crazy surprise I wanted to share today is this.As I said before, digging and discovering the history and hearing stories from the people involved in the Cannibal game is just as important to me as (if not more than) what my sequel plays like. It’s as if the concept of doing this - the journey itself - takes some precedent over the end product, and so I still spend time researching Visionary and coming up with new ways to learn old things. This means I end up doing odd stuff, like, browsing ancient archived newsgroups at 2am when I can’t sleep. Last night, I found this.Kent Dalton, back then a young employee of NCR Microelectronics in Fort Collins, CO, wrote the following in comp.sys.amiga.programmer on 29th April, 1992.I finally got some more time to play around with Visionary. I figured my first goal would be to get the demo game that comes with it, Magic Potion, to compile. This was my first mistake. I ran into very serious problems, that lead me to believe that either the demo is bug-ridden, Visionary setup is brain dead, or Visionary does not work on 68030/OS 2.04 (in which case it is brain dead. :^). If anyone out there has gotten this to work, even if you don't have time to read the rest of this message, please at least hit the reply key and let me know that you did get it to work. (Even a terse reply like, "Worked fine on my setup running: 'CPU_Type' and OS 'OS_Version', using Visionary 'Vis_version'" would be a great help.) My setup: Visionary 1.2, AmigaOS 2.04, CPU: 68030 (A3000), running off of HD. I compiled and linked, and everything appeared ok. When I run it everything comes up and initializes properly, (I get the picture of the palm tree, I can look at objects in the room, etc, etc), BUT I can't leave the room! There is supposed to be an exit to the west to the room defined as ByShack. Visionary recognizes the fact that the direction west is available but when I try to go west leaves me by the tree and gives me the "you are standing by a large palm tree" message again! Going north, etc, gives me the standard "You can't go that way." error message. For debugging purposes, I tried to add a new room, like so: room dbug_room defaults ByTreeenddefault code$tx := "You are in the debug room"call printendcodeendroom And then I updated the directions in the startup subroutine: directions ByTree, n w And updated the ByTree room: defaultn dbug_roomw ByShacku InTreeTopenddefault Again it compiles and links fine, recognizes attempts to go north as valid actions now, but puts me back by the tree. When running in the debugger, none of the objects defined in rooms other than ByTree are accessible. The jump command to rooms other than ByTree do not work. Turning on the menu and scrollbar in MP source code (to help dbug) does not work either. The XRF file indicates that the new rooms ARE being generated,the program just won't let me visit them. Has anybody gotten this thing to work? Is Visionary, as a programming language, completely broken? Is the demo, as a demo, completely broken? or What? I wasted several hours on this last night (up til 2am, argh :-( trying to get this nutty thing to work. Any help is *greatly* appreciated. *** I mean, wow. Here is an unanswered cry for help from someone 34 years before me, experiencing what sounds like the exact same problem I had with my own tangles with Visionary in 2025. How eerily similar his written frustrations sound to my own, right down to the way he writes, the style. I could have written this. I’m not going to say it sent chills down my spine or anything, but it delighted me. It’s funny and it’s vindicating. It’s finally catching a distant signal from a ship, seeing a dot on the horizon, after being stuck on the beach for so long. The work is a kind of digital performance art now, a piece about time and loose ends.&nbsp;It also raises a question about my own conclusions above. Kent wouldn’t have been using a contemporary emulator. Kent was on his Amiga in 1992 having this problem. So, was there a bugged release that nobody reported to Oxxi? Nah. I’m not going to insult Kevin by suggesting it. More likely a corrupted version floating around since day one, bootlegged and shared from disk to disk with errors. I guess it doesn’t really matter. I’m just blown away to find evidence of one other person in this world, with the same open tab, that I can help close a half-lifetime later.Kent works for Apple now. I’ve tried to reach out to tell him I can finally respond to his old self, if he’s interested in finishing his game. Obviously that’s a joke, but still. Feels good and strange.Back to the code for now. See you again soon! 21/01/26: Digital clippings I never realised, until today, how easy it is to search the full text contents of archive.org’s treasure trove of digitised historical magazines. Every now and then I need a break from my self-inflicted screen buffer hell, so I went digging once more, and look what I found!&nbsp;Here’s a selection of articles and reviews I found related to T.A.C.L. and Visionary. There are some fantastic additions to my online scrapbook here. It was so exciting to find and read through them. I feel at home with the visual language of these old magazines. I feel I’m in good company, however outdated, finding all this evidence that other people have explored the same disks I have and published their pictures and reviews. There’s only one that is negative, from Amiga Action’s Boggit’s Domain... but as I understand it, that was The Boggit’s entire deal.* Aren’t they beautiful? I wonder how many I can find real-life copies of.&nbsp; <img width="2338" height="3228" width_o="2338" height_o="3228" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/75050e520550fc9505770c5477205e063dcde84c29fc332e57a985dae2aae39b/info_Issue_47_1992-02.info_Publications_US.png" data-mid="243776181" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/75050e520550fc9505770c5477205e063dcde84c29fc332e57a985dae2aae39b/info_Issue_47_1992-02.info_Publications_US.png" /> <img width="5751" height="4069" width_o="5751" height_o="4069" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/1a3061c9452cf53bac0a458966c2c5d042531612c2931598ae875dbdd5072a1d/CUAmiga_027_May_1992-1.png" data-mid="243776183" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/1a3061c9452cf53bac0a458966c2c5d042531612c2931598ae875dbdd5072a1d/CUAmiga_027_May_1992-1.png" /> <img width="2940" height="3972" width_o="2940" height_o="3972" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/e1b543423c0887406369aad0378311dada02ccf8150bed1997e0409baed165db/Amiga_Computing_Issue_044_Jan_92.png" data-mid="243776185" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/e1b543423c0887406369aad0378311dada02ccf8150bed1997e0409baed165db/Amiga_Computing_Issue_044_Jan_92.png" /> <img width="704" height="730" width_o="704" height_o="730" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/bc11f2ce96e2f41e57424d3faed5871e70edafee01f143d639f8ced366db9dd8/Screenshot-2026-01-21-202823.png" data-mid="243776188" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/704/i/bc11f2ce96e2f41e57424d3faed5871e70edafee01f143d639f8ced366db9dd8/Screenshot-2026-01-21-202823.png" /> <img width="10732" height="7250" width_o="10732" height_o="7250" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/fd0d47fd58b759f6588bb42acfa3712cb3d479a27b39fb79b3ea4167b40e9c4c/Amiga_Shopper_Issue_17_1992-09_Future_Publishing_GB_text-1.png" data-mid="243776186" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/fd0d47fd58b759f6588bb42acfa3712cb3d479a27b39fb79b3ea4167b40e9c4c/Amiga_Shopper_Issue_17_1992-09_Future_Publishing_GB_text-1.png" /> <img width="2688" height="3500" width_o="2688" height_o="3500" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/4cc2f0e4e29018db03056dea2d1360c076ed77779743e2afcba2428559d7a4ca/Amiga-Action-28-January-1992_text.png" data-mid="243776180" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/4cc2f0e4e29018db03056dea2d1360c076ed77779743e2afcba2428559d7a4ca/Amiga-Action-28-January-1992_text.png" /> <img width="4992" height="2936" width_o="4992" height_o="2936" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/d7523d80b2a13c5b33230c24ec373e84db6d21093b524578fc43536a6d244301/Australian_Commodore_and_Amiga_Review_The_Volume_10_Issue_2_1993-02_Saturday_Magazine_AU_text-1.png" data-mid="243776182" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/d7523d80b2a13c5b33230c24ec373e84db6d21093b524578fc43536a6d244301/Australian_Commodore_and_Amiga_Review_The_Volume_10_Issue_2_1993-02_Saturday_Magazine_AU_text-1.png" /> <img width="2823" height="4031" width_o="2823" height_o="4031" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/8e8f97ab33cd973562ee6d6cd4d5df189a21748deaa16b0bda0b10144e2b088f/CUAmiga022-Dec91.png" data-mid="243791783" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/8e8f97ab33cd973562ee6d6cd4d5df189a21748deaa16b0bda0b10144e2b088f/CUAmiga022-Dec91.png" /> <img width="2966" height="3008" width_o="2966" height_o="3008" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/d274c7173913885d211e3cdddb27268879e9b223fd1e73b0a50cb64b2d52c7a9/Amiga_World_Vol_08_07_1992_Jul-2.png" data-mid="243776187" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/d274c7173913885d211e3cdddb27268879e9b223fd1e73b0a50cb64b2d52c7a9/Amiga_World_Vol_08_07_1992_Jul-2.png" /> <img width="2309" height="3189" width_o="2309" height_o="3189" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/80dbeb72217ce0058c4bb296da055ca1113100bfc18efaf6873ceb8de7cfc787/Amazing_Computing_Vol_05_01_1990_Jan.png" data-mid="243776190" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/80dbeb72217ce0058c4bb296da055ca1113100bfc18efaf6873ceb8de7cfc787/Amazing_Computing_Vol_05_01_1990_Jan.png" /> <img width="1578" height="1143" width_o="1578" height_o="1143" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/5a1766b313891c2990c867b03eebc0ef55a586210d95575b6b518c9cb8ea2311/amiga-joker-01-1993.png" data-mid="243776192" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/5a1766b313891c2990c867b03eebc0ef55a586210d95575b6b518c9cb8ea2311/amiga-joker-01-1993.png" /> <img width="594" height="818" width_o="594" height_o="818" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/28ba614f536b6dbebe69f184a15e49a38ecdb11dc43d599895ed72722b70ad50/Screenshot-2026-01-21-202727.png" data-mid="243776189" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/594/i/28ba614f536b6dbebe69f184a15e49a38ecdb11dc43d599895ed72722b70ad50/Screenshot-2026-01-21-202727.png" /> *I can write whatever I want here so, I thought it was funny that the Boggit, real name Andy Mitchell, also wrote under the name Vampyra for CU Amiga. In the magazine, Vampyra was a Temu-Elvira portrayed by none other than a pre-fame&nbsp;Geri Halliwell... and of course we’ll never like her, because she stole the phrase ‘girl power’ from the best band in the world.&nbsp; Anyway... The Sorcerer’s Den This one, I did already know about, but it seems worthwhile to add these here. Enchanted Realms was a US-based, independently published magazine dedicated to Amiga adventure games, produced every two months by Chuck Miller between 1990 and 1992. John wrote a column for Enchanted Realms - The Sorcerer’s Den - which was essentially a highly condensed, serialised version of the Visionary Programmer’s Handbook. Starting in issue 8 (Sep - Oct ‘91), John shared the most essential advice he had for getting started (”Cheeseburgers just don’t belong in a dungeon adventure!”). He also answered a couple of questions from curious would-be programmers before it all came to a sudden end. Here’s Chuck Miller in his own words, lifted from mocagh.org (an amazing resource from Howard Feldman - I could not have lived without his pdf version of John’s book these last 6 months.) Enchanted Realms was a labor of love that I self-published in my apartment just before I joined the staff at the now-defunct Computer Gaming World. The publication did end abruptly (at issue #11). It was very costly to produce and while I didn’t take a loss on each issue, I only broke even. Too small of a subscriber base to keep self-publishing it and too big a gamble going through traditional magazine channels. If I had known Issue 11 was the last, I would have done a farewell edition in it. <img width="2444" height="3238" width_o="2444" height_o="3238" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/c6b639443f85fc025f32b3c9cc9e34164311549b83f011da5d5564ff2a4ebc91/enchantedrealms8.png" data-mid="243779411" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/c6b639443f85fc025f32b3c9cc9e34164311549b83f011da5d5564ff2a4ebc91/enchantedrealms8.png" /> <img width="2411" height="3255" width_o="2411" height_o="3255" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/179fc0cf9900f847bc36686a17adfb67787f89f01267d1df544e55632e18c5ee/enchantedrealms9.png" data-mid="243779410" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/179fc0cf9900f847bc36686a17adfb67787f89f01267d1df544e55632e18c5ee/enchantedrealms9.png" /> <img width="2382" height="3256" width_o="2382" height_o="3256" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/552d5be5962cf712c0f1c3be71aca0138df6629b7c2831a6c26ddfd39b8d6a08/enchantedrealms10.png" data-mid="243779409" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/552d5be5962cf712c0f1c3be71aca0138df6629b7c2831a6c26ddfd39b8d6a08/enchantedrealms10.png" /> <img width="2427" height="3253" width_o="2427" height_o="3253" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/5b690e4ef13fe88454a99c6de619ca105789cabeac0362807a9cc88302ad63b6/enchantedrealms11.png" data-mid="243779408" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/5b690e4ef13fe88454a99c6de619ca105789cabeac0362807a9cc88302ad63b6/enchantedrealms11.png" /> There’s more to come, I am sure of that. I’m determined to finish this thing. <img width="707" height="560" width_o="707" height_o="560" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/c61b13f2d0b18a1d476ed18db23c1577f783b4e4d4d46e1ffb833efe82dcfca5/Screenshot-2025-06-19-123031.jpg" data-mid="234758288" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/707/i/c61b13f2d0b18a1d476ed18db23c1577f783b4e4d4d46e1ffb833efe82dcfca5/Screenshot-2025-06-19-123031.jpg" /> <img width="678" height="549" width_o="678" height_o="549" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/cf845f37c2ffedd9ccb399cc67c93cc4b88f421794beb90772e8ad3ee7fb8f7b/Screenshot-2026-02-05-110008.jpg" data-mid="244459844" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/678/i/cf845f37c2ffedd9ccb399cc67c93cc4b88f421794beb90772e8ad3ee7fb8f7b/Screenshot-2026-02-05-110008.jpg" /> { "@context": "https://schema.org", "@type": "BlogPosting", "headline": "I'm Still a Cannibal for the FBI", "description": "Development notes and research for I’m Still a Cannibal for the FBI, Bex Ilsley’s new Amiga adventure game project made with Aegis Visionary (1991).", "author": { "@type": "Person", "name": "Bex Ilsley", "url": "https://bexilsley.com" }, "url": "https://bexilsley.com/I-m-Still-a-Cannibal-for-the-FBI", "mainEntityOfPage": "https://bexilsley.com/I-m-Still-a-Cannibal-for-the-FBI" } https://bexilsley.com/Are-You-Still-Watching Sat, 07 Jun 2025 16:17:50 +0000 Bex Ilsley https://bexilsley.com/Are-You-Still-Watching Are You Still Watching? 2015 - 2020 <img width="2500" height="3534" width_o="2500" height_o="3534" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/68aba71152a23e26f1c4283babb073866c6418273c3ab62f921cff9fb8ec6555/1ti.jpg" data-mid="234290043" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/68aba71152a23e26f1c4283babb073866c6418273c3ab62f921cff9fb8ec6555/1ti.jpg" /> <img width="2500" height="3534" width_o="2500" height_o="3534" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/3128ce7f71920b1f80efb3255691a3322e9b7aa73059820dd6a96c1692f2f716/2ti_1.jpg" data-mid="234290014" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/3128ce7f71920b1f80efb3255691a3322e9b7aa73059820dd6a96c1692f2f716/2ti_1.jpg" /> <img width="1500" height="2124" width_o="1500" height_o="2124" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/a6af6c9c0c27621d96c939871d11a6ffc19d445428eaa7e75d05964167d7d08c/CB2jas.jpg" data-mid="234290146" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/a6af6c9c0c27621d96c939871d11a6ffc19d445428eaa7e75d05964167d7d08c/CB2jas.jpg" /> <img width="1500" height="2124" width_o="1500" height_o="2124" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/aec474ce78d9e9d4d90e6c17d42fc50004d3fe6454b024028766929e147cb814/CB11jas.jpg" data-mid="234290151" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/aec474ce78d9e9d4d90e6c17d42fc50004d3fe6454b024028766929e147cb814/CB11jas.jpg" /> I’ve spoken a little in my last two posts about what came next in my work. It’s a thread I followed for a long time, so this one will be about everything I did from 2015 up to the pandemic, and it’s going to be long. It’s a reflection written with the benefit of distance. It’s taken a long time to reach this point, and I want to tell it properly, so... buckle up, I guess. --- I was really into Father John Misty at the start of the 2010s. The album Fear Fun was lush, absurd and self-aware. I liked how Josh Tillman spoke in Interview magazine. For context, it’s about the idea of alter-ego and the difference between his older solo work, under the name J. Tillman, and his new Father John Misty name. It’s basically the mask quote from The Picture of Dorian Gray for the Pitchfork generation, a knowingly artificial persona that somehow made space for deeper honesty. “It’s a mask. I know that’s a loaded word for people and it implies that I’m lying, but I’m trying to be forthright about the fact that these personas give me a foil. Here’s this bizarre mask. Now I’m going to give you everything about me.” I have always felt that I live one step removed from the person I am inside my own head, like a puppeteer operating a marionette around the workplace and the supermarket and the pub. I know now that this behaviour is literally called masking, and it’s a survival tactic, one that has allowed me to fly under the radar. It’s the reason I’ve always felt like a secret agent reporting my observations back to the head office inside my brain. It’s the eye that observes the people around me and copies them. It’s the way I code-switch depending on who I’m speaking to. It’s how much I choose to let my estuary accent come through. It’s the constant inner voice that coaches me through every interaction. We have to make eye contact now. No, that’s too much. Don’t answer ‘how are you?’ honestly, remember - it’s a script, not a question. Don’t forget to ask questions back. Try to say something funny but don’t try too hard. Oh, shit, they’ve said something sad. Do the sad face. Fuck, am I doing it right? When I get it wrong, I can feel the red subtraction symbols appearing above my head like a Sim. Of course I was drawn to the idea of telling the truth through a mask - it made intuitive sense to me. As I built my ~*~Instagram identity~*~, the barricade between me and the comments and likes, it struck me that, actually, it was the most honest thing I could do. A lot was said, at the time, about the dangerous artifice of social media, but I felt it was only as fake as the construction of identity in the ‘real’ world already was. Why keep trying to be ‘myself’, when that self was only ever an echo anyway, a reactive reflection of whatever space I occupied? Why not step into the mirror and embrace the hollow flatness of objecthood? Its honesty was in its inauthenticity, because I felt like an inauthentic empty vessel all the time anyway. <img width="1000" height="1000" width_o="1000" height_o="1000" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/690322755ed962c4418e4da2d3d184165962c7a3275d54f14678a72c048b08b3/IMG_7113.JPG" data-mid="234295112" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/690322755ed962c4418e4da2d3d184165962c7a3275d54f14678a72c048b08b3/IMG_7113.JPG" /> <img width="960" height="960" width_o="960" height_o="960" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/77b5376da9abbef54a9848380b9fb41df5845c06231ea4a5c5241d402fb5601d/SFBL9774.JPG" data-mid="234295115" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/960/i/77b5376da9abbef54a9848380b9fb41df5845c06231ea4a5c5241d402fb5601d/SFBL9774.JPG" /> <img width="922" height="922" width_o="922" height_o="922" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/1fca8baf8015090c06ff3577206b5db66e76d38967c4b6ba8ddacd72cbf1b15f/CDSF0336.JPG" data-mid="234295113" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/922/i/1fca8baf8015090c06ff3577206b5db66e76d38967c4b6ba8ddacd72cbf1b15f/CDSF0336.JPG" /> One of my favourite pieces of writing on this subject - Hito Steyerl’s A Thing Like You and Me, became a core point of reference for the work I started to develop. It became about a kind of voluntary objecthood. I called it ‘responding to the predicament of being seen’. I read Baudrillard and Goffman and&nbsp;Haraway and Braidotti and more in between. I referred back to this interview with Kate Durbin and this conversation between Jesse Darling, Molly Soda and Rosemary Kirton. I chose ways to contextualise what I was doing, but I still struggled to pin down my own position. Which target was I aiming for? I do like theory and thinking about things, but often it felt a bit forced. I wanted to leave all the questions open. I didn’t necessarily want clarity of purpose. I had an inkling then that art degrees - so often seen as indulgent or unnecessary because they rarely lead to lucrative careers - are expected to justify themselves academically this way, find ways to prove it’s a valid discipline, worthy of a place in institutions increasingly biased toward STEM subjects. Learning that language was another form of masking, a way to pass. The work got questioned in relation to feminism a lot, of course it did. That was an important critical lens to view it through. It was a conversation I couldn’t detach the work from, because of who I am and the body I inhabit… but I didn’t have easy answers to questions about whether the work was feminist or not, or if auto-objectification - mimicking the Big Bad Thing - was damaging to women. I wasn’t even sure I felt like a human being. I was taking the things I had learned to use to perform personhood and making them look as uncomfortable as they had always felt. That discomfort was already in conversation with systems of gender performance in many ways, but I wasn’t trying to make a feminist stand. I was only trying to visualise the fragmentation I felt. The questions that came out of that were just signs the work provoked discussion. That felt like enough. --- 2015 The first images I made and posted to Instagram that felt like ‘pieces’ that could stand alone, instead of only working as part of a continuous feed, were the three below. Probably because this was the first time I used body paint. It didn’t feel like a picture of me. These were posted to Instagram but they also became prints, bringing them back into the physical plane. I liked to send images on a journey into the virtual and back again, flickering between presences. <img width="3365" height="3365" width_o="3365" height_o="3365" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/35ce0610f77d7e8b82f7598741f781371f389bcc47d0cf0eb3baadaff1a457a3/hmdwm_2.jpg" data-mid="234290258" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/35ce0610f77d7e8b82f7598741f781371f389bcc47d0cf0eb3baadaff1a457a3/hmdwm_2.jpg" /> <img width="3681" height="3681" width_o="3681" height_o="3681" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/2c54e8cc4f579d18387f143a271d05e05924b16bd92046f8f692374da14c27c5/greeeeeeeen.jpg" data-mid="234290257" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/2c54e8cc4f579d18387f143a271d05e05924b16bd92046f8f692374da14c27c5/greeeeeeeen.jpg" /> <img width="3365" height="3365" width_o="3365" height_o="3365" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/e3fa9eb347f19db02a2d21740cbe35353a7d26385e87e3d2c4410ab5bbc120c2/bloo3.jpg" data-mid="234290259" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/e3fa9eb347f19db02a2d21740cbe35353a7d26385e87e3d2c4410ab5bbc120c2/bloo3.jpg" /> Josh Tillman again: “Part of the problem with searching for realness, and there is some searching involved, is that you have to just end up back where you started. There’s no glory. You think you’re going to be a conquering hero or something, but you just have to be able to live with the cosmic joke that, at the end of it, you just get to be yourself.” <img width="2560" height="1440" width_o="2560" height_o="1440" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/71b060a32a9ad7d000a53a8557c315287efee412277958199c7ebf105bf02730/twisthead_2560.jpg" data-mid="234311785" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/71b060a32a9ad7d000a53a8557c315287efee412277958199c7ebf105bf02730/twisthead_2560.jpg" /> I liked exploring the idea of the ‘loop’ in relation to all this too, having previously been a very serious teenager who listened to Okkervil River and read The Unbearable Lightness of Being. I thought about circularity and return so much that I got a circle tattooed on my arm. It seemed to sum up the whole mess of life. The heaviest weight, the clumsiest shape. The stuckness of the loading-wheel between free will and fate, never quite becoming one thing or another. This thinking led to incorporating elements of repeated movement in the images, so they existed as seconds-long videos with still and moving parts - like cinemagraphs - that played on loop. I took my face and mapped it onto a Cinema 4D generated metaball to make this video, which was shown in The New Flesh at VIVO Media Arts Centre in Vancouver, part of 2015’s The Wrong Biennale. <img width="681" height="1024" width_o="681" height_o="1024" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/04445969092297149b45316c4b9c71c6f829e44610c84c14830b210a47f13ebf/New-Flesh-20151114-56-681x1024.jpg" data-mid="234290660" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/681/i/04445969092297149b45316c4b9c71c6f829e44610c84c14830b210a47f13ebf/New-Flesh-20151114-56-681x1024.jpg" /> <img width="681" height="1024" width_o="681" height_o="1024" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/37372d9ce916cc4d95cebe114e62ea3a1743518dd25d9107b8e7d0c7fbc6be4d/New-Flesh-20151114-81-681x1024.jpg" data-mid="234290661" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/681/i/37372d9ce916cc4d95cebe114e62ea3a1743518dd25d9107b8e7d0c7fbc6be4d/New-Flesh-20151114-81-681x1024.jpg" /> I also started to play with livestreaming around this time, all facilitated through the connections I’d made with other artists online. It’s rough, sketchy, studenty stuff, but it was a phase worth mentioning. They were erratic experiments fuelled by a deep need to stay visible. The first was an overnight live show I did from my living room in Manchester in front of a green screen curtain, where I made a sponge cake and some blob sculptures on camera. Psychedelic live backgrounds were provided by Fever Dream Interactive, and this feed was projected onto a white dome cake at an event at The Moon&nbsp;in Grand Rapids, Michigan, so I could be consumed, too. <img width="2026" height="2026" width_o="2026" height_o="2026" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/67df103306dbee1e46f882deb9cb59ef21f84c1e40560094f42107d896b7da46/IMG_0127.JPG" data-mid="234291362" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/67df103306dbee1e46f882deb9cb59ef21f84c1e40560094f42107d896b7da46/IMG_0127.JPG" /> <img width="2448" height="2448" width_o="2448" height_o="2448" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/3bdc06dc29111949f6abb90c1b536949e0ccfa04fb868e440aa844e82c002bb1/IMG_0078.JPG" data-mid="234291363" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/3bdc06dc29111949f6abb90c1b536949e0ccfa04fb868e440aa844e82c002bb1/IMG_0078.JPG" /> <img width="853" height="640" width_o="853" height_o="640" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/793f8689a1745e8527147c94100c77039ca9b95ab34954267a0991558a70b984/IMG_0105.JPG" data-mid="234295041" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/853/i/793f8689a1745e8527147c94100c77039ca9b95ab34954267a0991558a70b984/IMG_0105.JPG" /> <img width="720" height="720" width_o="720" height_o="720" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/0585dd58f566bc9f1b4f0aa2babfac8830a03745673867f7d301bb95db90a0e0/12341639_10207494635467091_5413175358201057516_n.jpg" data-mid="234295043" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/720/i/0585dd58f566bc9f1b4f0aa2babfac8830a03745673867f7d301bb95db90a0e0/12341639_10207494635467091_5413175358201057516_n.jpg" /> <img width="387" height="284" width_o="387" height_o="284" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/739d77631950ca7b30b3ca85c92fd8b53e0adddcfe1a6f412add2665d1f135ed/Screenshot-2015-11-30-09.26.41.png" data-mid="234295042" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/387/i/739d77631950ca7b30b3ca85c92fd8b53e0adddcfe1a6f412add2665d1f135ed/Screenshot-2015-11-30-09.26.41.png" /> There was also a short-lived stint I did with a collective - ROBOTGIRL.TV, formed by internet legend Ana Voog, along with artists Raquelle Jac and Brooke Kelty. I’d applied to work with Dean Brierley of Caustic Coastal through a university programme in early 2016, and he curated a show of student work from successful applicants in a hotel room at the Manchester Britannia. ROBOTGIRL.TV streamed a Google Hangout - entitled ‘Room Service’ - &nbsp;from our respective homes to the TV in the room, and we invited people to call us on my phone. I’d been reading Theresa Senft and looking at work by people like Leah Schrager. I was thinking about erotic labour, about what camgirls do. What people do in hotel rooms. I was wearing a black dress in the bath. I didn’t yet have the tools to handle the vulnerability it demanded. I panicked immediately after, overwhelmed and humiliated in cold bathwater, ruminating all the mistakes, as if every minor stumble was a public failure, as if every misstep was The End. <img width="992" height="995" width_o="992" height_o="995" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/58c7366297d3cb4d42cb0b47d5ff91eb91b6289189fd56992ca6420f67bd9d58/DSC_0092.jpg" data-mid="234295033" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/992/i/58c7366297d3cb4d42cb0b47d5ff91eb91b6289189fd56992ca6420f67bd9d58/DSC_0092.jpg" /> <img width="600" height="338" width_o="600" height_o="338" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/78451aef486c52af58d376185497b6324171567cb7186e4aace76d7852598ade/efbilf.gif" data-mid="234294978" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/600/i/78451aef486c52af58d376185497b6324171567cb7186e4aace76d7852598ade/efbilf.gif" /> <img width="1080" height="1080" width_o="1080" height_o="1080" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/c7593542b2e36edcbcca781f3527682649d20338d8a44432499efedd5657f332/28430671_346551572498058_1444086541717602304_n.jpg" data-mid="234295040" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/c7593542b2e36edcbcca781f3527682649d20338d8a44432499efedd5657f332/28430671_346551572498058_1444086541717602304_n.jpg" /> --- 2016I took @bexilsley to Madrid with my student loan, inspired by Juno Calypso’s body of work The Honeymoon, which I adored. I stayed overnight in the Silken Puerta America hotel and took pictures of myself on the floors designed by Zaha Hadid and Plasma Studio, wearing LED wings. I wanted to look like the past’s dream of a lonely and sterile future, some spirit left over after the mass-upload, still plugged into the hub. <img width="5000" height="3333" width_o="5000" height_o="3333" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/e106c950b873e1cd6bca2aab229ce15289c12f384aae528694a73b92dd69d994/IMG_0099_o.jpg" data-mid="234290734" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/e106c950b873e1cd6bca2aab229ce15289c12f384aae528694a73b92dd69d994/IMG_0099_o.jpg" /> <img width="5000" height="3333" width_o="5000" height_o="3333" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/03ee6d7199d85e622f5dba78eb40d48c90590228a9ea1887b619fae74eac585e/0A4A3943_o.jpg" data-mid="234290741" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/03ee6d7199d85e622f5dba78eb40d48c90590228a9ea1887b619fae74eac585e/0A4A3943_o.jpg" /> <img width="5000" height="3333" width_o="5000" height_o="3333" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/4016497726878943bd7e8ec95e31e67be115ffa5bea4561f181b174ca346945f/0A4A4033_o.jpg" data-mid="234290742" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/4016497726878943bd7e8ec95e31e67be115ffa5bea4561f181b174ca346945f/0A4A4033_o.jpg" /> <img width="5000" height="3333" width_o="5000" height_o="3333" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/5cb951c265ae8a5744e2e0b958a1ac6e520a9c7c5f83288b3e51228699330df4/0A4A4135_o.jpg" data-mid="234290740" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/5cb951c265ae8a5744e2e0b958a1ac6e520a9c7c5f83288b3e51228699330df4/0A4A4135_o.jpg" /> Before the end of my third year at art school, I was invited by my friend, professor Natalie Wetzel, to Grand Rapids, Michigan, to work with students at KCAD, give a talk, and collab on a video (based on an illustration from Luigi Serafini’s Codex Seraphinianus)&nbsp;with Bokeh Monster and the art students there. I met Natalie through the Flaming Lips extended universe. This was such an amazing opportunity, I couldn’t believe I was being paid to do something like that when I was still a student myself. I still think back on it as one of the best weeks of my life. I remember being quizzed on arrival in the USA by a border officer about why I was travelling. He googled me during the interview and asked me what my parents thought of me being topless on the internet. I told him I didn’t care. Moments like that reminded me how thin the line between empowerment and subjugation can be. It turns out my skin was a bit thinner outside the art school bubble. It’s easy to #freethenipple when you’re just posting, when you’re among friends.With that in mind - I know most people would not happily lie around naked in front of a bunch of people, but at the time I was making this work, I felt almost entirely seperate from my body. It was just a medium. It was a ship I was piloting and the thing that was really ‘me’ was the crew of Beano Numskulls crawling around my brain. It was just... nothing to do with me. At least not in the moment. I think that’s what I did to cope with my insecurities. I just floated away from my physical self until I saw it as nothing but meat. I do remember being asked by somebody during this shoot if I’d ever thought about hitting the gym and toning up. Thanks dude, very cool. &nbsp; <img width="1024" height="683" width_o="1024" height_o="683" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/c51dfbfd6d68b32f4cfabeec35cc18d17d5247ec562da4904b0fbb74bdb22fdb/160407__MG_9959-XL.jpg" data-mid="234290842" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/c51dfbfd6d68b32f4cfabeec35cc18d17d5247ec562da4904b0fbb74bdb22fdb/160407__MG_9959-XL.jpg" /> <img width="1024" height="683" width_o="1024" height_o="683" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/62626a7e7061a95a0444cfdf6e63c9da05c225572e6151520eb3c271c368e053/160407__MG_9898-XL.jpg" data-mid="234295045" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/62626a7e7061a95a0444cfdf6e63c9da05c225572e6151520eb3c271c368e053/160407__MG_9898-XL.jpg" /> <img width="1024" height="683" width_o="1024" height_o="683" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/7cd61d71821a041c01f724af63a3f967a7482fa1c6619bf63fc2e64a10ebb3da/160407__MG_9931-XL.jpg" data-mid="234295046" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/7cd61d71821a041c01f724af63a3f967a7482fa1c6619bf63fc2e64a10ebb3da/160407__MG_9931-XL.jpg" /> <img width="1920" height="1080" width_o="1920" height_o="1080" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/5ababbeb8e8e5894207ff4a5e921495931946b75ee666a58af35fb26c6aa0dd4/codex4.jpg" data-mid="234290844" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/5ababbeb8e8e5894207ff4a5e921495931946b75ee666a58af35fb26c6aa0dd4/codex4.jpg" /> <img width="1920" height="1080" width_o="1920" height_o="1080" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/11cf08b9d60f016ea13bec9b48bfc5ad3dd6d586ed69eae0310e5e4a527f9d74/codex3.jpg" data-mid="234290845" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/11cf08b9d60f016ea13bec9b48bfc5ad3dd6d586ed69eae0310e5e4a527f9d74/codex3.jpg" /> <img width="1920" height="1080" width_o="1920" height_o="1080" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/efe13b2b5d93ddd2dc97efe55e872b989441ac0ebf1a335c2ee8c45938866c06/codex5.jpg" data-mid="234290841" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/efe13b2b5d93ddd2dc97efe55e872b989441ac0ebf1a335c2ee8c45938866c06/codex5.jpg" /> At KCAD, I had the opportunity to have my head captured in three dimensions with an Artec Eva 3D light scanner, because Natalie liked to create busts of every visiting artist. I went home with a digital 3D copy of myself. I used Meshmixer to carve up the .obj file and turn it into a proper mask of my own face, which I then had 3D printed at MMU. I mounted it on an acrylic disc with floating hemispheres which could be hair, or ears, or something else. <img width="1080" height="1080" width_o="1080" height_o="1080" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/e8180cbbf84056d9f99bc811c06b95163458b6ceb0d3c364a7f479a0d99788b8/39953299_2129423513974546_8862732712570519552_n.jpg" data-mid="234295108" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/e8180cbbf84056d9f99bc811c06b95163458b6ceb0d3c364a7f479a0d99788b8/39953299_2129423513974546_8862732712570519552_n.jpg" /> <img width="3024" height="3024" width_o="3024" height_o="3024" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/da11fb95d3fac4eb565a02d2767995432ffe79359f990fe1337baf0b2889b25b/IMG_5270.JPG" data-mid="234295110" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/da11fb95d3fac4eb565a02d2767995432ffe79359f990fe1337baf0b2889b25b/IMG_5270.JPG" /> <img width="3024" height="3024" width_o="3024" height_o="3024" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/ba361812840cfad2e02ab9aaf08264a17a6dcc1075763ef5b98f464e5ea3207d/IMG_5278.jpg" data-mid="234291039" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/ba361812840cfad2e02ab9aaf08264a17a6dcc1075763ef5b98f464e5ea3207d/IMG_5278.jpg" /> I used this piece for my degree show, marking the end of my time at university. I created a VR environment in Unity using the same mask file. The final piece was this virtual-reality space, viewed on a phone with a Gear VR headset, and the wall-mounted mask piece, accented by neon strip lights. <img width="1358" height="620" width_o="1358" height_o="620" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/58e78c45c55974b562b617327cdba6ad3dc925cbcd8ad1c00b6da8479ffc1309/22.png" data-mid="234295186" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/58e78c45c55974b562b617327cdba6ad3dc925cbcd8ad1c00b6da8479ffc1309/22.png" /> <img width="1363" height="627" width_o="1363" height_o="627" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/56fdfac76b0fdc5a3f136719c76efa474c025db698add1fc7d6ae546afb700e6/11.png" data-mid="234295188" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/56fdfac76b0fdc5a3f136719c76efa474c025db698add1fc7d6ae546afb700e6/11.png" /> <img width="5000" height="2813" width_o="5000" height_o="2813" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/165aa5e3f4187e221b055fd63caab772184583ba6f0cb6c79e146b627b2116b0/_1000141_o.jpg" data-mid="234295190" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/165aa5e3f4187e221b055fd63caab772184583ba6f0cb6c79e146b627b2116b0/_1000141_o.jpg" /> <img width="640" height="640" width_o="640" height_o="640" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/bfcb9cabf58a4a0b60ae4ade8615ad0e56e53d3f9e0352fa01209aec15ac639d/IMG_5813.JPG" data-mid="234295220" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/640/i/bfcb9cabf58a4a0b60ae4ade8615ad0e56e53d3f9e0352fa01209aec15ac639d/IMG_5813.JPG" /> <img width="900" height="1200" width_o="900" height_o="1200" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/787860f0a84e1d5f2db3d617fae8156d162144befc5e8020fc8326ca8c197233/ycwsf_5.jpg" data-mid="234295189" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/900/i/787860f0a84e1d5f2db3d617fae8156d162144befc5e8020fc8326ca8c197233/ycwsf_5.jpg" /> <img width="1100" height="1100" width_o="1100" height_o="1100" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/93085972eb555cda00c4f33f5070a6d5c3ba00d54ed674ab4113ba831f5682b2/IMG_5816.JPG" data-mid="234295221" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/93085972eb555cda00c4f33f5070a6d5c3ba00d54ed674ab4113ba831f5682b2/IMG_5816.JPG" /> &nbsp; I submitted this to the Woon Prize in 2016, along with the Telepresences videos and prints from the hotel photos. To my astonishment, I was shortlisted and I came third. I won £6000 and spent some of it on a new top-of-the-range camera, lenses and tripod, since I wouldn’t have access to those through uni anymore. The rest went on new work, rent, and living costs. Christine Borland, who was on the judging panel that year, commented that she saw my work as sculptural, because I had made myself the sculptural object. That - as well as seeing one of my best friends win the first prize fellowship on the same night - made me so happy during a time that things in my life outside of artmaking were pretty much all tumultuous and horrid. It might feel like a tonal pivot to dip back into the darker parts here, but in the few years after university, I was struggling and dysregulated, a state that shaped how I moved through the world, both socially and professionally. I was burnt out but still trying to commit to every show and submit lots of applications, because it was all I felt I had. I was abysmally skint and my living situation was less than ideal. I was in a constant state of terror and urgency, back and forth between the South, the North and the Midlands, flailing with family problems, self-esteem issues and no permanent address. I had to think of ways to keep going, despite it all, out in the real world. In the summer of 2016 after I graduated, I moved to Liverpool and started working at a jeweller, up in the cash office. I was invited to make something for Platform Projects’ Recent Graduates booths at the Affordable Art Fair in London. We had some meetings. They liked the performance-related aspects of my practice, and we agreed I’d stage a live-streamed performance from my box room in a 9-bed shared house in Toxteth to a booth at the fair in Battersea.We were plagued by logistical difficulties, problems with equipment rental, all compounded by me being so far from the site and not being able to travel easily (work, money). My stream was projected into the booth and there was an iPad so people could message me directly through Facebook messenger. I’d type back and react on screen to whatever they said. I said I would talk to anyone about anything they wanted. I streamed for 37.5 hours across 5 days, only breaking to go to the toilet. It was a lot. The concept came together very quickly, and wasn’t as sharp as I’d hoped, but I was so, so afraid to lose momentum, let people down, or squander these great post-university opportunities I’d been offered. I constantly pushed myself beyond my capacity, then crumbled in private. I thought that’s what it took to succeed.&nbsp; <img width="1277" height="660" width_o="1277" height_o="660" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/bb7e87c3f64e3e46b88c1716408c0fdd996a1c87b308d6a67c25a3cb1810de50/fs2.jpg" data-mid="234295455" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/bb7e87c3f64e3e46b88c1716408c0fdd996a1c87b308d6a67c25a3cb1810de50/fs2.jpg" /> <img width="1357" height="800" width_o="1357" height_o="800" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/0e800854cd9651903187c25fac6b522a806968a9f8409e673c8932f0dc38801a/aafchat.jpg" data-mid="234295286" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/0e800854cd9651903187c25fac6b522a806968a9f8409e673c8932f0dc38801a/aafchat.jpg" /> --- 2017 ROBOTGIRL.TV streamed together once more - a 2-hour conversation shown live at the launch for the first issue of isthisit? magazine. It was just an honest conversation between friends, a public catch-up, not a performance. I think, for me, it was about what it could be like to live in public, as my collaborator Ana Voog had done in the past with Anacam. What would it feel like to put everything out there without any shame? I was in my dad’s living room, having moved back to my birthplace in Kent from Liverpool in the wake of a traumatic break-up. I was in a very fragile state, following a year of emotional abuse from an ex-partner. The effect this had on me can’t be overstated. I was genuinely traumatised. Some shame wouldn’t have gone amiss, looking back now. Perhaps I wish I’d had a clearer sense of when I was performing and when I was just exposing things I’d regret saying. Being open wasn’t the same as being fearless, and I blurred the lines too much, letting all my problems leak out. Not every idea was a winner. <img width="521" height="395" width_o="521" height_o="395" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/400690a6916b87aed66a84311732b2ac9046d5e82df600057f6ad5eba7608a21/25d9ea_ec8bcf29fc30464ebb66044b7ba7bfc4mv2_d_1738_1319_s_2-copy.jpg" data-mid="234295467" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/521/i/400690a6916b87aed66a84311732b2ac9046d5e82df600057f6ad5eba7608a21/25d9ea_ec8bcf29fc30464ebb66044b7ba7bfc4mv2_d_1738_1319_s_2-copy.jpg" /> I was unable to find work in Gravesend that would have allowed me to move out of my Dad’s flat and live anywhere near my hometown, so in May of 2017, I went back to Manchester and took a friend’s spare room. I got a job working for a wholesale handbag company in Cheetham Hill. I had to come up with female names for each handbag style, so I bought a book of baby name ideas from Amazon. I joked that it was the most spinstery thing I’d ever done. I’d been offered my first solo show - I called it ‘Emotional Processing’ - in Warrington. I had two months to make something for it. While I was in Kent, I’d been making Y2K / rave flyer inspired 3D worlds (one was with Neon Saltwater, whose work I love so much). They were all acid gradients and plastic gloss... <img width="1920" height="1080" width_o="1920" height_o="1080" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/dde01b6d39813c920984a8eb51713265298070f5f69697e17322a486f536da6c/nswb3.jpg" data-mid="234295470" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/dde01b6d39813c920984a8eb51713265298070f5f69697e17322a486f536da6c/nswb3.jpg" /> <img width="4096" height="2304" width_o="4096" height_o="2304" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/f21141c186204ed773af0a1806599d5013f10147a6c17d2e0b17ac26866ebe14/pas11.jpg" data-mid="234295564" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/f21141c186204ed773af0a1806599d5013f10147a6c17d2e0b17ac26866ebe14/pas11.jpg" /> <img width="5000" height="2812" width_o="5000" height_o="2812" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/a114e2993a4738790cb6d8a6acf306d37cb1baf80a5e78751a6c24384d03a8f5/pyraur_o.jpg" data-mid="234295471" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/a114e2993a4738790cb6d8a6acf306d37cb1baf80a5e78751a6c24384d03a8f5/pyraur_o.jpg" /> <img width="5000" height="2812" width_o="5000" height_o="2812" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/aa0fa2304d422ca70db16b69623bdd55476d7faf99ed6c0f4ee8e027ea57fde3/02bg_3_o.jpg" data-mid="234295563" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/aa0fa2304d422ca70db16b69623bdd55476d7faf99ed6c0f4ee8e027ea57fde3/02bg_3_o.jpg" /> ...but I missed working with physical things, so I did what any totally sane person would do, and I wrote to someone on the board of directors of a property development firm, on pastel children’s stationery. I introduced myself and asked if there were any unused spaces under development that I could move into for a couple of months to make artworks. Somehow, this worked, and I gained access to an entire empty railway arch in what would become Depot Mayfield. <img width="750" height="1334" width_o="750" height_o="1334" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/1e0356ccc702794a6f9ca6fe0ade37a3d0711fbda7267a9d0d12f679286fc98a/IMG_2703.PNG" data-mid="234317481" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/750/i/1e0356ccc702794a6f9ca6fe0ade37a3d0711fbda7267a9d0d12f679286fc98a/IMG_2703.PNG" /> <img width="3024" height="1830" width_o="3024" height_o="1830" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/bdcf3b736d3251e2de84884ce765c254b701d2b999133dbcb3cbe6fdecad87c2/IMG_3051.JPG" data-mid="234317482" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/bdcf3b736d3251e2de84884ce765c254b701d2b999133dbcb3cbe6fdecad87c2/IMG_3051.JPG" /> <img width="1170" height="1160" width_o="1170" height_o="1160" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/f606239cadb2a8a4fc8d00aa939daca38e7655087cd5e71fb9088426754b8dd4/IMG_8947.PNG" data-mid="234317497" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/f606239cadb2a8a4fc8d00aa939daca38e7655087cd5e71fb9088426754b8dd4/IMG_8947.PNG" /> <img width="750" height="530" width_o="750" height_o="530" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/925091bfa7fd721d1126c03ed3cde4f3c800e25b3979d622dbe89ff4609bde42/IMG_3370.PNG" data-mid="234317496" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/750/i/925091bfa7fd721d1126c03ed3cde4f3c800e25b3979d622dbe89ff4609bde42/IMG_3370.PNG" /> <img width="3024" height="4032" width_o="3024" height_o="4032" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/8636103439db2fc825791d12b83f4685f003727afb5d519a1e75114415b38877/IMG_8891.JPG" data-mid="234318496" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/8636103439db2fc825791d12b83f4685f003727afb5d519a1e75114415b38877/IMG_8891.JPG" /> <img width="1536" height="2048" width_o="1536" height_o="2048" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/6ca1b23b3a2ee568993d32a0e0ec807a48d926f598bbf1dcad879e8a3975b12f/IMG_8923.jpeg" data-mid="234318087" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/6ca1b23b3a2ee568993d32a0e0ec807a48d926f598bbf1dcad879e8a3975b12f/IMG_8923.jpeg" /> <img width="3024" height="4032" width_o="3024" height_o="4032" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/47b6e86d07d04aa64ba3d2fbf6b7ec712dcb203727e583bf04bd25f8cb3a7ffa/20170718_182500.jpg" data-mid="234318490" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/47b6e86d07d04aa64ba3d2fbf6b7ec712dcb203727e583bf04bd25f8cb3a7ffa/20170718_182500.jpg" /> I made video works and displayed them on screens that were part of larger pieces assembled from various existing objects and custom-made parts. The response from visitors was lukewarm, but I understood why. Perhaps I hadn’t fully considered how it might land in that space. Even partial readymades are still a hard sell.&nbsp; I still like two of the four. <img width="1447" height="2048" width_o="1447" height_o="2048" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/af9215ef920ca165d80dce0063e6f2424de641802f7d92d34e9921ff68fca329/unnamed.jpg" data-mid="234318655" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/af9215ef920ca165d80dce0063e6f2424de641802f7d92d34e9921ff68fca329/unnamed.jpg" /> <img width="2000" height="3000" width_o="2000" height_o="3000" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/b8a1c62d487618e6db4a1eb688fd0997fb2005a002b78c065b247ed6097bf237/cb11s_6.jpg" data-mid="234317529" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/b8a1c62d487618e6db4a1eb688fd0997fb2005a002b78c065b247ed6097bf237/cb11s_6.jpg" /> <img width="720" height="720" width_o="720" height_o="720" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/a35f2c4dd5ac995349c75319059a9fd2b54e1fe2661069e861fdc121d0e88d5a/cbvid.gif" data-mid="234318376" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/720/i/a35f2c4dd5ac995349c75319059a9fd2b54e1fe2661069e861fdc121d0e88d5a/cbvid.gif" /> <img width="960" height="960" width_o="960" height_o="960" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/c3b1632879e4c87f64814684a9c250915a359c3bcf9b5c72a0ac0f0d6f39306a/IMG_8943.jpeg" data-mid="234318706" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/960/i/c3b1632879e4c87f64814684a9c250915a359c3bcf9b5c72a0ac0f0d6f39306a/IMG_8943.jpeg" /> ‘Character Building’, above, began with an MDF base and two bent metal tubes I designed to mimic a ladder from a type of playground climbing frame. I added mannequin legs and a TV with a built-in DVD player, which showed a looped video of the same mask from the 2016 degree show piece. <img width="1080" height="1080" width_o="1080" height_o="1080" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/c4027e92df6f636b169153537fdcc37fda466e5bf8a77271bf6885e56489a1e9/49616194_772282926460797_9275925317118462_n.jpg" data-mid="234318292" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/c4027e92df6f636b169153537fdcc37fda466e5bf8a77271bf6885e56489a1e9/49616194_772282926460797_9275925317118462_n.jpg" /> <img width="1080" height="1080" width_o="1080" height_o="1080" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/0882ee023145f0c19ff9873a335c402b17439f147cfa29ff228d3dc893843dcb/50943487_237607713783599_8889246978734513376_n.jpg" data-mid="234318293" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/0882ee023145f0c19ff9873a335c402b17439f147cfa29ff228d3dc893843dcb/50943487_237607713783599_8889246978734513376_n.jpg" /> <img width="2432" height="2432" width_o="2432" height_o="2432" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/abffd53dad6ebd3c0034f5c24f9c0bfda0b8d7291e96b5cdcb7fdeb200ac2569/EM1.jpg" data-mid="234318500" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/abffd53dad6ebd3c0034f5c24f9c0bfda0b8d7291e96b5cdcb7fdeb200ac2569/EM1.jpg" /> <img width="720" height="720" width_o="720" height_o="720" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/3fe81649a4d6d4c567c2cb7125e84aa7226fc09f9ef162e624b725de40c200fb/EM2.jpg" data-mid="234318577" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/720/i/3fe81649a4d6d4c567c2cb7125e84aa7226fc09f9ef162e624b725de40c200fb/EM2.jpg" /> <img width="600" height="600" width_o="600" height_o="600" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/a4e24b666e21eaf4bccd6576592d83f865c8f3ff32c3e3f43047a228ea787343/hweight.gif" data-mid="234318477" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/600/i/a4e24b666e21eaf4bccd6576592d83f865c8f3ff32c3e3f43047a228ea787343/hweight.gif" /> ‘The Heaviest Weight’ was a wall-based piece consisting of print I’d made from an old photo of ink, oil, and milk, affixed to a Perspex disc. I attached a painted mannequin arm to that, which could hold an iPad playing a video of my face, as if I was trapped in the device. A kids’ hula hoop acted as a frame, along with a painted model of serotonin’s molecular structure. I also ripped out the bed of a trampoline and replaced it with a mirror. I mounted a nail technician’s training hand on the handlebar to hold a selfie stick, which cradled a phone playing another face video. I made a table by painting a plinth and placing a lazy susan on top of it, with a novelty stress ball in the shape of a tit and a pipe with an eyeball attached to it. Not my favourite, but I liked its spinny absurdity. I’d still use it as a table. &nbsp; <img width="852" height="1136" width_o="852" height_o="1136" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/2bfd3e4f5c6010b624f2560e5197fba233a93ff08fe6c49c0807e58688464d30/IMG_9958.JPG" data-mid="234318512" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/852/i/2bfd3e4f5c6010b624f2560e5197fba233a93ff08fe6c49c0807e58688464d30/IMG_9958.JPG" /> <img width="720" height="960" width_o="720" height_o="960" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/1adb4caed5bef385e64f03ea8c6f2054ac87064327bdfa1ea2000a379afc89f4/IMG_8924.jpeg" data-mid="234318571" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/720/i/1adb4caed5bef385e64f03ea8c6f2054ac87064327bdfa1ea2000a379afc89f4/IMG_8924.jpeg" /> <img width="720" height="960" width_o="720" height_o="960" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/41eea92f01602d251c71210d2c18fcd518d551329e2d15fd2cb279653d1874f8/2b.jpg" data-mid="234318508" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/720/i/41eea92f01602d251c71210d2c18fcd518d551329e2d15fd2cb279653d1874f8/2b.jpg" /> <img width="720" height="960" width_o="720" height_o="960" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/ffe2fa391a94f29627709ea080fb7ddbf6946a32d1d9fe63bbad82364afdb785/IMG_8929.jpeg" data-mid="234318600" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/720/i/ffe2fa391a94f29627709ea080fb7ddbf6946a32d1d9fe63bbad82364afdb785/IMG_8929.jpeg" /> <img width="720" height="960" width_o="720" height_o="960" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/eacc5401c075b1ef64e885a76ecea3531b818d29049ad5efca60b58310f2960c/2a.jpg" data-mid="234318507" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/720/i/eacc5401c075b1ef64e885a76ecea3531b818d29049ad5efca60b58310f2960c/2a.jpg" /> <img width="960" height="960" width_o="960" height_o="960" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/4d1d9da95fd4e7d25c37b41e09fbba64fddfc1de25796704e4bf3bed2290f787/1b.jpg" data-mid="234318504" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/960/i/4d1d9da95fd4e7d25c37b41e09fbba64fddfc1de25796704e4bf3bed2290f787/1b.jpg" /> I tried to frame it all with an overwritten statement, of course. At the time, I said this: ‘Emotional Processing’ refers to processing as a computing term, a nod to our lives as data, the mediation of intimacy, vulnerability within a superficial feedback loop. It also refers to watching my own internal responses to trauma and anxiety. It’s the body torn up and mangled by commodification, commercial colour palettes, screens and mirrors, self-conscious looking. I use looped video and circles because the search for personhood feels, to me, circular. Some of the playfulness refers to a temptation towards regression. We live in a simulated, simplified world. Perhaps debates about authenticity are useless now. What parts of us are new, and what parts have always been? Which cycles can be broken? --- By August 2017, I was living in a tiny room near Strangeways prison that only locked from the outside, with a creepy landlord who wrote me unsettling poems when I helped him edit pictures of workwear for his website. When I viewed the place, there were several people living there. A week later, they had all mysteriously vanished so it was just me and this one guy who owned the house. I didn’t feel safe there. Then, there was a death in my family, which was my breaking point. I couldn’t outrun fear and burnout layered with grief. I packed everything in and went to live in Leamington Spa with my mum. Yet another new start. --- 2018 I started a temp job at Warwickshire County Council, scanning old social services files (amazing job for the nosy) and I finally had enough income to rent a proper studio space at Meter Room in Coventry. I began working towards my second solo show -&nbsp;boom + bust - at Goldtapped in Newcastle’s Newbridge Project. <img width="3425" height="4837" width_o="3425" height_o="4837" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/0e2865359de410e608511cca468a25ac7b0eedcafd25f6699302ae8441302f9f/Boom-and-Bust-Talk-TBC-white-ace-logo.png" data-mid="234318666" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/0e2865359de410e608511cca468a25ac7b0eedcafd25f6699302ae8441302f9f/Boom-and-Bust-Talk-TBC-white-ace-logo.png" /> Being back at my mum’s house in my twenties, spending more time with family (my young half-sister in particular), started to raise questions for me about why things had gone the way they had. I drew comparisons between the inevitability of generational trauma, inherited through genetic code, and, as Mark Fisher described in Capitalist Realism,&nbsp;the widespread belief that capitalism is the only viable economic system in a cultural atmosphere so saturated by neoliberalism that even imagining an alternative feels futile. I thought about living in a world where we’ve internalised the idea that change isn’t possible, where any meaningful sense of agency has been reduced to regressive aesthetic gestures. I pictured an unbroken, fluctuating wave through time - unstoppable turbulence I felt powerless against. I painted a red line on the gallery walls like a sine wave. It was a way of saying that emotional volatility can feel as inevitable as the rises and crashes of the markets, and equally outside our control. <img width="2000" height="1326" width_o="2000" height_o="1326" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/0fe8b27ddeed6896f619e68f5730005e616a00939edd3776807051a250e7e3d3/6I0A3143_o.jpg" data-mid="234318685" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/0fe8b27ddeed6896f619e68f5730005e616a00939edd3776807051a250e7e3d3/6I0A3143_o.jpg" /> I’d also gone down a deep Youtube rabbit-hole of so-called ‘Elsagate’ videos, off the back of James Bridle’s essay&nbsp;Something is wrong on the internet. It describes how YouTube’s kids' content ecosystem had become a grotesque feedback loop, churning out thousands of disturbing, nonsensical nursery-rhyme videos, many of them detached from intention or authorship. Bridle's point was about the systems that facilitated this flood of weird bot-generated content. How algorithms produce monetised slop at scale, designed to keep us watching, regurgitating our worst tendencies, and flattening everything into marketable fragments. He called it “infrastructural violence”. <img width="1366" height="768" width_o="1366" height_o="768" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/0b0bf9d29d5bf91dceaef37c465fbfd17a1169f450fac7b7e266d065e81a682a/IMG_8919.jpeg" data-mid="234318696" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/0b0bf9d29d5bf91dceaef37c465fbfd17a1169f450fac7b7e266d065e81a682a/IMG_8919.jpeg" /> I made my own ‘Finger Family’ video. It’s me in a latex bodysuit with inflated cartoonish breasts, each fingertip replaced with a miniature version of my own head. It wasn’t satire so much as a weary surrender to the pile, a replication of the genre, a gesture towards collapse. Bridle: “This is content production in the age of algorithmic discovery - even if you’re a human, you have to end up impersonating the machine.” I also made lightbox portraits of myself as this character, and of my ten year old sister, wearing the same outfit. It’s one of those pieces I’m still not sure if I’m comfortable with because it could so easily be mistaken for endorsement. So, if her image disturbs you, you must understand that was the point. Where are the lines between mimicry and complicity? What are we doing to innocent young brains when we give them iPads? I’d been thinking about that since I saw her try to scroll down on a paperback with her finger at age two. <img width="2339" height="3311" width_o="2339" height_o="3311" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/541fde49461749a0205294f910f76a985745b71aa1123e7a7adb3ac18898b593/f1_3.jpg" data-mid="234318754" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/541fde49461749a0205294f910f76a985745b71aa1123e7a7adb3ac18898b593/f1_3.jpg" /> <img width="1600" height="2265" width_o="1600" height_o="2265" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/121cbb05e529ff7b3da964533d395d0c494d57856ab4e36123368d04ba75c8cf/f2s_4.jpg" data-mid="234318751" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/121cbb05e529ff7b3da964533d395d0c494d57856ab4e36123368d04ba75c8cf/f2s_4.jpg" /> The centrepiece was a playground swing I’d made -&nbsp;Mood Swing. I replaced the seat with a mirrored metal sphere on a chain. It was a half-nod back to Miley’s wrecking ball, a joke about our old connection, but she was also a woman mid-meltdown who got aestheticised into a meme. <img width="2000" height="1326" width_o="2000" height_o="1326" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/6ea44b89990b9de5b6677551632a54ad80c6f9a3cd942bf5211102d644cecc95/6I0A3209-copy_o.jpg" data-mid="234318686" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/6ea44b89990b9de5b6677551632a54ad80c6f9a3cd942bf5211102d644cecc95/6I0A3209-copy_o.jpg" /> <img width="5476" height="3681" width_o="5476" height_o="3681" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/6c14eb91f2553392ddbfd116af984ea8f78d3066ba7372e94ac3dad4ef300fa8/6I0A3043-1-1.jpg" data-mid="234318784" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/6c14eb91f2553392ddbfd116af984ea8f78d3066ba7372e94ac3dad4ef300fa8/6I0A3043-1-1.jpg" /> <img width="539" height="960" width_o="539" height_o="960" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/4c05f217848244b87e960fc47cca970e25437ac6d1ab3ad34fe59081e6159292/IMG_7945_539.JPG" data-mid="234362696" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/539/i/4c05f217848244b87e960fc47cca970e25437ac6d1ab3ad34fe59081e6159292/IMG_7945_539.JPG" /> <img width="670" height="893" width_o="670" height_o="893" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/18d0d8fe0c847aa392c98d320937c0ecee7022e84aabc8c776ff653a8b1d4e62/IMG_7946_670.JPG" data-mid="234362697" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/670/i/18d0d8fe0c847aa392c98d320937c0ecee7022e84aabc8c776ff653a8b1d4e62/IMG_7946_670.JPG" /> <img width="540" height="960" width_o="540" height_o="960" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/6f811c108d41b1571b1f42763e9a2560c8121df06aa31c07c13aed5e0b814af7/IMG_7944_540.JPG" data-mid="234362695" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/540/i/6f811c108d41b1571b1f42763e9a2560c8121df06aa31c07c13aed5e0b814af7/IMG_7944_540.JPG" /> <img width="670" height="893" width_o="670" height_o="893" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/a91bae16fffcc493d6d6e7b599e2d2cba4a1fe0049a5e7d63455fadc7e64b839/IMG_7947_670.JPG" data-mid="234362694" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/670/i/a91bae16fffcc493d6d6e7b599e2d2cba4a1fe0049a5e7d63455fadc7e64b839/IMG_7947_670.JPG" /> --- 2019 I stayed temping at the local council and making work at Meter Room when I could. I moved out of my mum’s place. I joined Birmingham’s Black Hole Club at Vivid Projects so I could find fresh creative connections in a different scene. I participated in 2019’s Coventry Biennial. All of this was still difficult in places, I still had time and energy constraints, but life was stabilising. My third solo show - SPLITS - at Odox, Birmingham, was scheduled for June. <img width="1440" height="1440" width_o="1440" height_o="1440" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/5cfb9709bf1e0ac0bf5571cb1b4065188c327f960c966766900094bfc507348c/61268786_194816261505178_1899848681878601805_n.jpg" data-mid="234409264" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/5cfb9709bf1e0ac0bf5571cb1b4065188c327f960c966766900094bfc507348c/61268786_194816261505178_1899848681878601805_n.jpg" /> <img width="750" height="1067" width_o="750" height_o="1067" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/6b90a620d491da7baac3b92b581c1c582d455427c93c0bcf69b9592246f37345/poster2splits.jpg" data-mid="234409319" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/750/i/6b90a620d491da7baac3b92b581c1c582d455427c93c0bcf69b9592246f37345/poster2splits.jpg" /> The first thing I made was this image (below left), splitting myself into colourful facets - self-mythology as parts of a whole. I saw them like a warped team of post-transformation magical girls from a mahou shoujo manga, like if the Sailor Senshi were all phone-addicted. Sailor Moon (right) was one of my first hardcore special interests, at age 11. I spent my lunchtimes at primary school copying Naoko Takeuchi’s drawings and teaching myself Japanese instead of playing outside with other kids. This one got printed up onto fabric, something like a wall hanging in a fan’s bedroom, like something I would have worshipped as a kid. <img width="750" height="1061" width_o="750" height_o="1061" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/20b22036ae5e078020bd780da9eddc29d8205e772ba99b6dd2592ec6f436708a/512.jpg" data-mid="234409255" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/750/i/20b22036ae5e078020bd780da9eddc29d8205e772ba99b6dd2592ec6f436708a/512.jpg" /> <img width="1184" height="1734" width_o="1184" height_o="1734" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/18a8dcfcfda778c0bd1f1e03929137102855abbec2badb9ca122256740ea6d7f/sailormoon-artbook-1-38.jpg" data-mid="234323844" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/18a8dcfcfda778c0bd1f1e03929137102855abbec2badb9ca122256740ea6d7f/sailormoon-artbook-1-38.jpg" /> I made a video called Compassionate Other. The audio track was an AI voice reading the transcript of a bizarre CFT exercise I had to do in therapy (recorded in secret). I thought the exercise was a bit silly at the time, but, I also recognised that I had been othering myself to process things for... well, quite some time. I thought about the potential there was for artificial intelligences to become a form of therapist in the near future, and whether that felt unnerving or not. It brushed up against my own attempts to turn myself into a cipher, a space for service. Can AI help shame-filled people to love themselves? <img width="1920" height="1080" width_o="1920" height_o="1080" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/9d91ecb89d9fdb7da37e3e1037225a29dfc4c94ec70beec6a996d30ab7bf10a1/Untitled-3.jpg" data-mid="234383892" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/9d91ecb89d9fdb7da37e3e1037225a29dfc4c94ec70beec6a996d30ab7bf10a1/Untitled-3.jpg" /> <img width="1920" height="1080" width_o="1920" height_o="1080" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/4846d0230800292cd03a70656d5064b196912b2b738076fb1a66488cbf8fe53f/Untitled-1.jpg" data-mid="234383891" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/4846d0230800292cd03a70656d5064b196912b2b738076fb1a66488cbf8fe53f/Untitled-1.jpg" /> I made some more loops to be shown on screens, and some more body objects. I named the ball-jointed doll legs in the birdcage ‘Hansel’, just for myself, after a stunningly 1980s clock tower in my childhood home town which used to play a disturbing mechanical Hansel and Gretel show every hour back in the 90s. The Hansel figure would sit with his legs dangling out of a cage much like this one, while Gretel pushed the witch into a tiny oven in one jerky, robotic lurch. You could see the witch’s little feet kicking. I loved that fucking clock. <img width="700" height="394" width_o="700" height_o="394" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/dee7e6ce1bcf8f394169e43ecb6cf119ba10512de16e097ae193d904299d9987/seedloop.gif" data-mid="234382803" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/700/i/dee7e6ce1bcf8f394169e43ecb6cf119ba10512de16e097ae193d904299d9987/seedloop.gif" /> <img width="1920" height="1080" width_o="1920" height_o="1080" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/71d47b839a9b04ceef298b3815fe8a25991d700b32c4f895b4bb1b3718523acc/Untitled-2.jpg" data-mid="234470667" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/71d47b839a9b04ceef298b3815fe8a25991d700b32c4f895b4bb1b3718523acc/Untitled-2.jpg" /> <img width="3000" height="2000" width_o="3000" height_o="2000" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/4e1c21c6ab1161fa236b07801e21198f220668c370cf734cf216a0126069c212/h11.jpg" data-mid="234323110" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/4e1c21c6ab1161fa236b07801e21198f220668c370cf734cf216a0126069c212/h11.jpg" /> <img width="3000" height="2000" width_o="3000" height_o="2000" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/c901eaa3f6720553d277dff6947845800046cddb981ef344eb6d43d412d896c8/h22.jpg" data-mid="234323109" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/c901eaa3f6720553d277dff6947845800046cddb981ef344eb6d43d412d896c8/h22.jpg" /> <img width="1080" height="1080" width_o="1080" height_o="1080" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/ee51b8910394c7e357cc84c52e7831a82af1691b6a3ce1746dde5f5b8366bb38/Photo-Feb-28--5-05-52-PM-2.jpg" data-mid="234323112" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/ee51b8910394c7e357cc84c52e7831a82af1691b6a3ce1746dde5f5b8366bb38/Photo-Feb-28--5-05-52-PM-2.jpg" /> <img width="1080" height="1080" width_o="1080" height_o="1080" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/c1f67ff2f7e73f15b2f8311a53b3812676daa03817664db3c57bd46ae5aaa556/Photo-Feb-28--5-05-52-PM.jpg" data-mid="234323111" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/c1f67ff2f7e73f15b2f8311a53b3812676daa03817664db3c57bd46ae5aaa556/Photo-Feb-28--5-05-52-PM.jpg" /> <img width="1080" height="1080" width_o="1080" height_o="1080" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/fbe536e92882ca140ae2c44b6d240c4deeac9748c7dc2044b5db4ff84b0a63e2/Photo-Feb-28--5-05-52-PM-1.jpg" data-mid="234385191" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/fbe536e92882ca140ae2c44b6d240c4deeac9748c7dc2044b5db4ff84b0a63e2/Photo-Feb-28--5-05-52-PM-1.jpg" /> The piece I liked the most (by far) was a touchscreen-interactive video I made with the help of a relative in the games industry. I’d filmed a video of myself (4 minutes, 44 seconds) as one of these character facets. Over the course of the video, I smile, I dance, I wave, I check you’re still watching, I tap on the glass, I grow more desperate, I hit myself in the head and I scream and I fall to the floor. The soundtrack is a layered cacophony of retro midi music and arcade coin sounds. The video was split into many seconds-long clips. The only way you could watch the full video in one smooth sequence, without it glitching out and going back to the start (a ‘press play’ prompt screen), was by repeatedly tapping a big heart-shaped ‘like’ button as fast as you could. The repetitive tapping was meant to start aching by the end of the sequence. It’s a familiar&nbsp;statement about social media, but I really loved how I’d made it. I still do! I bought a 23” Iiyama touch monitor to show it on. The work was compiled onto a single connected computer. I called it ‘Are You Still Watching?’, like the message you see when you binge too many episodes on Netflix. <img width="937" height="937" width_o="937" height_o="937" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/87664a4f9297de499ac9430a7f0e17a732417baa3191dc82129d9768a2161983/LOVE.png" data-mid="234385882" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/937/i/87664a4f9297de499ac9430a7f0e17a732417baa3191dc82129d9768a2161983/LOVE.png" /> <img width="709" height="214" width_o="709" height_o="214" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/9f23e9214cf8dd875410177dcfeb4ffeca839d20418468f72afe5c08548d4af9/PLAY.gif" data-mid="234384114" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/709/i/9f23e9214cf8dd875410177dcfeb4ffeca839d20418468f72afe5c08548d4af9/PLAY.gif" /> <img width="937" height="937" width_o="937" height_o="937" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/87664a4f9297de499ac9430a7f0e17a732417baa3191dc82129d9768a2161983/LOVE.png" data-mid="234385882" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/937/i/87664a4f9297de499ac9430a7f0e17a732417baa3191dc82129d9768a2161983/LOVE.png" /> <img width="250" height="444" width_o="250" height_o="444" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/64f5f2655b4b100434e75306baeaa8389cd9a1d157d87c52c35f231fb84d1ba2/start_4.gif" data-mid="234384042" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/250/i/64f5f2655b4b100434e75306baeaa8389cd9a1d157d87c52c35f231fb84d1ba2/start_4.gif" /> <img width="250" height="444" width_o="250" height_o="444" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/87f25c35e55ab3dfc4b6e23067b80eb59a5a53e2d71812d46223c1f017958e0d/ezgif-6-034d3532bbf1.gif" data-mid="234384031" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/250/i/87f25c35e55ab3dfc4b6e23067b80eb59a5a53e2d71812d46223c1f017958e0d/ezgif-6-034d3532bbf1.gif" /> <img width="250" height="444" width_o="250" height_o="444" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/574bb8ffe9122a6adfff558158a28d08b0fd95c4ade2617df8a1ce2305ad22a8/ezgif-6-c9b88afa4ca5.gif" data-mid="234383994" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/250/i/574bb8ffe9122a6adfff558158a28d08b0fd95c4ade2617df8a1ce2305ad22a8/ezgif-6-c9b88afa4ca5.gif" /> <img width="250" height="444" width_o="250" height_o="444" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/be330e6599ea0569486a521c5e10aa64ac4d796c675e10f69de2939e962d8d21/end_3.gif" data-mid="234383944" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/250/i/be330e6599ea0569486a521c5e10aa64ac4d796c675e10f69de2939e962d8d21/end_3.gif" /> <img width="540" height="540" width_o="540" height_o="540" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/7bdf658a007c4bde169896b89da2a64baf11c4360934d08b3c9f7ad790750541/demo1.gif" data-mid="234386864" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/540/i/7bdf658a007c4bde169896b89da2a64baf11c4360934d08b3c9f7ad790750541/demo1.gif" /> <img width="1080" height="1080" width_o="1080" height_o="1080" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/455553e710315e20710eb0231a952be641d24605b595bde0ebe49e7def8eee51/s.jpg" data-mid="234385901" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/455553e710315e20710eb0231a952be641d24605b595bde0ebe49e7def8eee51/s.jpg" /> <img width="300" height="300" width_o="300" height_o="300" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/195668aec37f34fa704b1f732807009c12338b84477d9ca7811e76f8d509e670/demo2.gif" data-mid="234386865" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/300/i/195668aec37f34fa704b1f732807009c12338b84477d9ca7811e76f8d509e670/demo2.gif" /> --- 2020&nbsp; Do you have a favourite art gallery? I do. Annka Kultys Gallery shows work I really, really love. I am such a big Signe Pierce fan. It was the first place I saw Molly Soda’s work in a real-life setting. AKG has always supported the kind of forward-thinking, technology-focused work that really resonates with someone like me. When I was offered a week-long show at Annka Kultys Gallery as part of CACOTOPIA 04, it felt like an arrival at the apex, like the climax of the story, because secretly, showing there was my ultimate goal, like, the fantasy goal. It had been for years. It would be a proper sign I had Made It. I used to dream the same about one day living in a semi-detached house with a round window when I was a kid (so I could pretend I was on a boat). Now it was happening. It happened. I was thrilled. <img width="768" height="1152" width_o="768" height_o="1152" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/70f52fa3d3cb525cd7edfbc080300a038bdc085583f820a03d2bb021866b785a/Bex_Ilsley_001_SPLITS_156x111cm2019_web.jpg" data-mid="234387506" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/768/i/70f52fa3d3cb525cd7edfbc080300a038bdc085583f820a03d2bb021866b785a/Bex_Ilsley_001_SPLITS_156x111cm2019_web.jpg" /> <img width="1200" height="800" width_o="1200" height_o="800" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/68d85553ca317df56f908a270cdbe895ca5e7d2fa8494c5afb4586d174437b45/Installation_View_2020_Bex_Ilsley_CACOTOPIA_04_Annka_Kultys_web_2.jpg" data-mid="234387538" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/68d85553ca317df56f908a270cdbe895ca5e7d2fa8494c5afb4586d174437b45/Installation_View_2020_Bex_Ilsley_CACOTOPIA_04_Annka_Kultys_web_2.jpg" /> <img width="1200" height="800" width_o="1200" height_o="800" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/ece93a899a5750f4fc16b94a05dfde5111071917067ee45bb38e4bae5c3c4c48/akg2.jpg" data-mid="234387700" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/ece93a899a5750f4fc16b94a05dfde5111071917067ee45bb38e4bae5c3c4c48/akg2.jpg" /> <img width="800" height="1200" width_o="800" height_o="1200" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/e14232a72a6b54d325aed018a9933d1e048c9490613df28feb129d13d43d2322/akg3.jpg" data-mid="234387729" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/800/i/e14232a72a6b54d325aed018a9933d1e048c9490613df28feb129d13d43d2322/akg3.jpg" /> <img width="800" height="1200" width_o="800" height_o="1200" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/11f7c8c6156bec33af5c81494272af588040e44777b7187f7742c1fb18b6f5a2/Installation_View_2020_Bex_Ilsley_CACOTOPIA_04_Annka_Kultys_web_9.jpg" data-mid="234387539" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/800/i/11f7c8c6156bec33af5c81494272af588040e44777b7187f7742c1fb18b6f5a2/Installation_View_2020_Bex_Ilsley_CACOTOPIA_04_Annka_Kultys_web_9.jpg" /> <img width="1200" height="800" width_o="1200" height_o="800" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/52a63026eac7b1f8c751cd7d423cb6781b8f617d6ca4b133469041c171040196/Installation_View_2020_Bex_Ilsley_CACOTOPIA_04_Annka_Kultys_web_7.jpg" data-mid="234387507" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/52a63026eac7b1f8c751cd7d423cb6781b8f617d6ca4b133469041c171040196/Installation_View_2020_Bex_Ilsley_CACOTOPIA_04_Annka_Kultys_web_7.jpg" /> Because life is life, I fell over in the shower and broke my arm, so I couldn’t go to the opening. <img width="960" height="540" width_o="960" height_o="540" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/4e3036e44961f6d7875933b35132bb499ede9ea409b742a7cc5701cb136e6420/IMG_9011.jpeg" data-mid="234388503" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/960/i/4e3036e44961f6d7875933b35132bb499ede9ea409b742a7cc5701cb136e6420/IMG_9011.jpeg" /> --- The End When I came out of surgery with bones bolted together and my arm in a cast, I went down to AKG to see my show and pick up some unused work. I arrived to find that the only existing build of ‘Are You Still Watching?’ was no more. Something had happened to the computer, and it wouldn’t turn on. The screen was black and a single red light blinked at me from the tower. Since it wasn’t even my computer, I wasn’t sure what to do, so I hauled it home to Leamington and left it with the relative who owned it to take it over to a repair shop and get it assessed. That was February 2020. Guess what happened next?&nbsp;Lockdown measures meant I couldn’t access the computer while it was at somebody else’s house, and that it wasn’t too easy to find a way to get the computer looked at by a professional. Time passed. I wanted to know what we were dealing with before I said anything. The pandemic wasn’t over as soon as any of us would have liked. Eventually, it felt like too much time had passed to ask AKG about the loss of my work. Much later, I learned it was probably a power surge, so that was a lesson learned for me about surge protector bars. I may still try to recreate that piece one day, perhaps as an app, but it doesn’t feel quite as relevant as it used to anymore, so maybe I won’t. I’ve always had this weird thing where, if I lose the last piece of work that felt valuable to me, it’s like someone has come along with scissors and cut the thread I was holding onto, so I can’t find my way back in the dark. The last time this happened to me was when I couldn’t collect two giant paintings from Warwickshire College after my foundation year (2008) due to lack of transport, so they destroyed them. It took me four years to make anything after that. Losing the touchscreen piece felt like being cut off from my own practice. I can’t really explain why. Nevertheless, there are silver linings to these things. Losing it, coupled with living through Covid, forced me to stop and take a break. I had one show lined up for 2020, but it was cancelled. I’d already made it to the walls of my dream gallery anyway, where else to go next, but bed? Taking five years out has been really restorative for me. I desperately needed it. I stepped away from the constant pressure to produce and worked on laying the foundations I should have had in place before I’d tried to build upwards. I started getting paid to maintain websites. I went to Glastonbury Festival. I went to Yellowstone. I played 935 blissed-out hours of Baldur’s Gate 3. I got married! We converted our upstairs spare room into a studio for me, a place to house my old things. My husband made a sign for the door. <img width="1024" height="768" width_o="1024" height_o="768" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/4dc09ac06b3a6b09190bcfd536c22efcf78a13ee997277ce7eea39aa976a9cad/291834354_10166403888380023_8331367009805429528_n.jpg" data-mid="234407409" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/4dc09ac06b3a6b09190bcfd536c22efcf78a13ee997277ce7eea39aa976a9cad/291834354_10166403888380023_8331367009805429528_n.jpg" /> <img width="2048" height="1536" width_o="2048" height_o="1536" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/3fd1d141f136f0a73f6551464c103f638d618f3c1d38029aec66e85b7c4d9fc5/IMG_9012.jpeg" data-mid="234388592" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/3fd1d141f136f0a73f6551464c103f638d618f3c1d38029aec66e85b7c4d9fc5/IMG_9012.jpeg" /> <img width="1536" height="1536" width_o="1536" height_o="1536" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/5cb563dc63d86ca18fd24f2849dbfea4ebd1be6f6eedc386210c97b879d53475/459342631_10169287613070023_6042917328709151138_n.jpg" data-mid="234407407" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/5cb563dc63d86ca18fd24f2849dbfea4ebd1be6f6eedc386210c97b879d53475/459342631_10169287613070023_6042917328709151138_n.jpg" /> <img width="3024" height="3024" width_o="3024" height_o="3024" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/ee39ccc155c4f045b1a31ce00449c502281c84895c45409cd979865a11855a1d/studio.jpg" data-mid="234407413" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/ee39ccc155c4f045b1a31ce00449c502281c84895c45409cd979865a11855a1d/studio.jpg" /> --- Onward I will write about the future next time, but I believe that this body of work has run its course. The only thing left to do now, in a world that only got faster and more fractured while I was resting, is to make slow work, not terminally-online work. I can’t respond any more to a world that has already moved on by the time I’ve opened Adobe Creative Cloud. I don’t want to think about microtrends, or generative AI, or TikTok auto-scroll (okay, maybe a little, when I’m doing the washing up). That’s the reason I’m making a sequel to a 34 year old game in a forgotten language for an obsolete platform (more on that later). No deadline. It’s the reason I am fucking blogging right now. I had to exorcise all this first though. Not for pity - it’s cathartic, yes - but more than that, I want to show the truth of what it meant to be a promising young artist in the 2010s who left university with plenty of momentum, but no foundation, savings or safety net. I was trying so hard to ‘emerge’ in the right way despite that, in the right spaces, without ever faltering. It’s not easy. If you’re in that space now - broke and exhausted and trying to make something real from it - I want you to know: It’s not you. The system is rigged. It’s gatekept and the odds are stacked against us. You should keep fighting, but you should remember to rest when you need to. The world will still be here when you wake up. I promise it will. If you knew me back in the dark years, I might have seemed unreliable and erratic. Hard to pin down. I know there were things I promised to do I pulled out of at the last minute. There were social situations I fumbled horribly. I want to be honest about that. I don’t need absolution. I’m aiming for context. I had survived things I didn’t yet have language for, trying to work secretly in shared houses where I didn’t feel comfortable enough in my own skin to even prepare food in front of other people, so I went to sleep for dinner instead - a quiet workaround for poverty and something I couldn’t yet name. I want to go back and hug that version of me. I want to help her carry her bag. I want to tell her she’s doing great. I want to tell her that she will get out and discover a safe and stable life again.&nbsp; I think about how many talented people must fall through the cracks because they are not born into networks that teach them to believe they can belong. I think about how mental health language is weaponised. I think about how the line between ‘visionary’ and ‘liability’ is so often a question of class. I think about how we reward resilience only after it becomes palatable, when it can be folded into a good story. I think about how many people will never be given the grace to become a good story.You could just write your own. B <img width="720" height="960" width_o="720" height_o="960" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/02b0b6f18bf7aa25a02dcdc41ed3737fb2bd516d392c7fb9473a83b4f92c3355/IMG_8725.JPG" data-mid="234406363" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/720/i/02b0b6f18bf7aa25a02dcdc41ed3737fb2bd516d392c7fb9473a83b4f92c3355/IMG_8725.JPG" /> <img width="300" height="400" width_o="300" height_o="400" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/0dfc5ebc9fb6b7e710b46a93bb4c23cc262b4827b6eec21ed67a2813b9192dd6/IMG_2269.JPG" data-mid="234406374" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/300/i/0dfc5ebc9fb6b7e710b46a93bb4c23cc262b4827b6eec21ed67a2813b9192dd6/IMG_2269.JPG" /> <img width="1080" height="1417" width_o="1080" height_o="1417" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/551fb8e702187a8d0252bae4f70f99d0946be636a60ec098160e434c8bd56f78/IMG_1485.JPG" data-mid="234406487" border="0" 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data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/b0c0b3b79a1a38ed23c0fa17a717f06670e30a9ad488b2c566be23a9cf3af6cd/IMG_9357.JPG" data-mid="234406364" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/b0c0b3b79a1a38ed23c0fa17a717f06670e30a9ad488b2c566be23a9cf3af6cd/IMG_9357.JPG" /> <img width="1000" height="1390" width_o="1000" height_o="1390" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/ac27f8cfcf8fdcd919794e614fc7226cfc1be63c87b33c7c23dd1c3477c9e441/IMG_7493.JPG" data-mid="234406360" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/ac27f8cfcf8fdcd919794e614fc7226cfc1be63c87b33c7c23dd1c3477c9e441/IMG_7493.JPG" /> <img width="720" height="960" width_o="720" height_o="960" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/97dad1a4817b500b06f7134917584d48e6b14a43d0d7fc946046560d9571e3e2/49801161_10161257856200023_2111027355706195968_n.jpg" data-mid="234407408" border="0" 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data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/0b7cbb6230adabfb4e52c4725b2837708e7620078d95398e4986cce1d6c2e2ff/ab193d08-a5ad-4b34-8d81-77b7d22141bf.jpg" data-mid="234472848" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/0b7cbb6230adabfb4e52c4725b2837708e7620078d95398e4986cce1d6c2e2ff/ab193d08-a5ad-4b34-8d81-77b7d22141bf.jpg" /> <img width="1263" height="1263" width_o="1263" height_o="1263" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/ef402fe3637ee88551883a078346220324358d381ca244a73fd369e9b3a9aac8/IMG_1752.JPG" data-mid="234406368" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/ef402fe3637ee88551883a078346220324358d381ca244a73fd369e9b3a9aac8/IMG_1752.JPG" /> <img width="960" height="720" width_o="960" height_o="720" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/100aad95d3bc763f2fb489102150962a412cc0036d41297f3f16136ef53139d9/471818961_10170354524385023_5010071111471278206_n.jpg" data-mid="234407410" border="0" 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data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/f85104d7d08317d332cc90a556ead7ae350e55670ec579314f207789ea51b597/IMG_9085.JPG" data-mid="234406371" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/720/i/f85104d7d08317d332cc90a556ead7ae350e55670ec579314f207789ea51b597/IMG_9085.JPG" /> <img width="3024" height="4032" width_o="3024" height_o="4032" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/586586dd1c015a217f19e2f6ca930d6c382f71fd3b764bb23b9a92eaf0bdcea0/IMG_2246.JPG" data-mid="234406373" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/586586dd1c015a217f19e2f6ca930d6c382f71fd3b764bb23b9a92eaf0bdcea0/IMG_2246.JPG" /> <img width="750" height="882" width_o="750" height_o="882" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/56db94b3d4edab3fd1b0dd8f8f97a17469767cb0ba022154792b97e31d6d3af5/IMG_3626.JPG" data-mid="234406392" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/750/i/56db94b3d4edab3fd1b0dd8f8f97a17469767cb0ba022154792b97e31d6d3af5/IMG_3626.JPG" /> <img width="1080" height="1440" width_o="1080" height_o="1440" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/9012aa46f32f5b38d60c98b211b004ab67fa14dee22a8d2598cb362be146099c/IMG_3565.jpg" data-mid="234406409" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/9012aa46f32f5b38d60c98b211b004ab67fa14dee22a8d2598cb362be146099c/IMG_3565.jpg" /> <img width="768" height="1024" width_o="768" height_o="1024" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/e8165bf95de143e3d55981d4419521b66d0c1b2a74394ff257e64bbf33a48191/IMG_1239.JPG" data-mid="234406366" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/768/i/e8165bf95de143e3d55981d4419521b66d0c1b2a74394ff257e64bbf33a48191/IMG_1239.JPG" /> <img width="542" height="908" width_o="542" height_o="908" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/945ba776ab34b028a911c9fb1d759cf2ccd26639fb0d3e9666c8c21e8218177c/IMG_3811.PNG" data-mid="234406393" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/542/i/945ba776ab34b028a911c9fb1d759cf2ccd26639fb0d3e9666c8c21e8218177c/IMG_3811.PNG" /> <img width="2947" height="2947" width_o="2947" height_o="2947" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/42e533ae46f8ad9e246527e2477984627b3933bbada6363fd22a087ef10ceab5/IMG_7410.JPG" data-mid="234407196" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/42e533ae46f8ad9e246527e2477984627b3933bbada6363fd22a087ef10ceab5/IMG_7410.JPG" /> <img width="1000" height="1500" width_o="1000" height_o="1500" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/93a5c3c821159d5e7cbe8edab15e60418aed6ab24dd7f18de0f9b8ccb8f843e7/GJ5A1907.jpg" data-mid="234415992" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/93a5c3c821159d5e7cbe8edab15e60418aed6ab24dd7f18de0f9b8ccb8f843e7/GJ5A1907.jpg" /> <img width="2320" height="3088" width_o="2320" height_o="3088" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/bcfe2b5125574a3398357ed4ccbcc7a4107a9ef4e67f7a2958ae6ec27067957f/IMG_2356.JPG" data-mid="234406550" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/bcfe2b5125574a3398357ed4ccbcc7a4107a9ef4e67f7a2958ae6ec27067957f/IMG_2356.JPG" /> https://bexilsley.com/Blobshop-2 Wed, 04 Jun 2025 18:21:45 +0000 Bex Ilsley https://bexilsley.com/Blobshop-2 Blobshop (Pt.2) 2015 <img width="884" height="884" width_o="884" height_o="884" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/a0188e0bfe8c005b793c76eaf52103d923504897809daf8437777ac8314be47e/IMG_0104.JPG" data-mid="234179115" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/884/i/a0188e0bfe8c005b793c76eaf52103d923504897809daf8437777ac8314be47e/IMG_0104.JPG" /> <img width="1536" height="2048" width_o="1536" height_o="2048" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/fb0d8c9fc2dc70188fedbff3f95826b4acd7a17f2f92f1139202208edd8e5635/IMG_0506.JPG" data-mid="234179201" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/fb0d8c9fc2dc70188fedbff3f95826b4acd7a17f2f92f1139202208edd8e5635/IMG_0506.JPG" /> <img width="640" height="640" width_o="640" height_o="640" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/1d1e6d506418468a2e32a7be90890ef7e8e02a28bc689cf91c37b52b246374b2/IMG_0503.JPG" data-mid="234179525" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/640/i/1d1e6d506418468a2e32a7be90890ef7e8e02a28bc689cf91c37b52b246374b2/IMG_0503.JPG" /> Read Part 1 here (you’ll need context!) I’ve been looking at my files so I could follow up my last post with some behind-the-scenes pictures from the blob era. Unretouched ones I didn’t post back then. I never deleted a single thing. That gives me an incredible archive to draw from, but it also means I have to sift through screenshots of every direct message that made me uncomfortable and every mean comment I was too thin-skinned to ignore. It reminded me of the times I got in my own way, the things I could have handled better if I’d thought them through. It’s a funny thing, revisiting the past. There is no escaping the fact that I may well live in many other people’s minds, forever, as a version of myself I wouldn’t choose now. Art school is meant to be a time for fucking up, trying out things that don’t work, and learning. It isn’t meant to be time for opportunity to arrive suddenly, like a taxi with the engine running. I had to make the most of it even if I was underprepared. What if the window closed, never to be opened again? I’d said no to Miley and I wasn’t going to make that mistake again. At its peak, my follower count reached around 35000 people. That number doesn’t sound huge now, but in 2015, the feed was chronological and followers actually saw what you posted. We didn’t have reels, there were no suggested posts and none of that algorithmic churn. Instagram wasn’t optimised as a growth machine yet, but it encouraged me to become one myself. Every time I shared something, it felt like speaking to a stadium. What I didn’t share, of course, is that I’d started to fall apart. Bex Ilsley, the human, was broke and not feeling well, but that didn’t matter one bit, because @bexilsley was built to be an unstoppable machine! 💪 I promised myself I would say yes to every single opportunity I was offered in the future, like I was Danny Wallace in fucking Yes Man. No matter how mismatched, big, or messy, no matter how hard it was to follow through. I actively sought out open calls, competitions and collaborations. I started doing promotions for brands and other creators. The goal was to build up a long CV for credibility at-a-glance, and I thought if I wasn’t everywhere all the time, I’d vanish. I told myself it was performance art. I was ironically playing at being an influencer. A fake influencer. A spy. I said yes to it all because that was content. Content gave me attention. Attention gave me value. One photo of me in a wig wasn’t art, but a hundred was. I didn’t even care if I liked the clothes I was sent, @bexilsley says yes and always takes the brand deal. Please like and share!! <img width="1166" height="1166" width_o="1166" height_o="1166" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/e47ac062e67461041d86f2f1b8364365a9bdbd703e2f04fa723203a2d1289092/IMG_7601.JPG" data-mid="234181137" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/e47ac062e67461041d86f2f1b8364365a9bdbd703e2f04fa723203a2d1289092/IMG_7601.JPG" /> <img width="640" height="640" width_o="640" height_o="640" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/155af0f51006e9daa1e262c42f705cd62d321b8354c4e3e6ee93547e6453fdd2/IMG_7603.JPG" data-mid="234181149" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/640/i/155af0f51006e9daa1e262c42f705cd62d321b8354c4e3e6ee93547e6453fdd2/IMG_7603.JPG" /> <img width="1124" height="1124" width_o="1124" height_o="1124" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/f7a262c9b4014307fe6c4d89326550bccd1b11c4bfa7e77aeaadd06d2558b03b/pr.jpg" data-mid="234181151" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/f7a262c9b4014307fe6c4d89326550bccd1b11c4bfa7e77aeaadd06d2558b03b/pr.jpg" /> You might be thinking that this is insane behaviour. If I had no money and was feeling overwhelmed and unwell, I should probably have taken care of that before I committed to exhibitions and commissions, because surely the work is going to suffer? And you’d be totally right. I write this not to whinge or pity myself, but just to illustrate the cultural moment this story came from. The hyper-accelerated ecosystem I was in, powered by validation metrics, didn’t reward actual self-care, even if it claimed it did. What was rewarded was constant visibility and performance. I had this poisonous grindset mentality. I saved memes in my phone that said things like ‘if you can’t stop thinking about it, don’t stop working for it’ and took that as literally as possible. If I stayed up all night hyper-fixating on a project, if I cried myself breathless, it just meant I was dedicated to my craft. If things felt unmanageable, it’s because I wasn’t manifesting hard enough. If I started to feel like I was losing my mind, I just needed to ‘trust the process’. Peace and positive vibes! 🌈☀️🌴✌️ I stopped eating because all I could think about was work. One of my tutors commented on my weight loss when I came back for my third year in September 2015. I took it as a win. It meant I was in control. I thought it was probably better for engagement. I thought maybe I won’t have to agonise over every photo of myself online, if I’m skinny. I could be a statue, a tower, a cyborg, a thing. Maybe the Miley kids will stop commenting that I’m ugly. The thoughts were gross and insidious and decidedly un-feminist. It’s hard to look back at it. <img width="1972" height="1972" width_o="1972" height_o="1972" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/9b0a2dd0e4a25613d16c3de16f19f5f1d75757d1f99d5295f9ffe5d9d4d15c09/IMG_3587.JPG" data-mid="234179271" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/9b0a2dd0e4a25613d16c3de16f19f5f1d75757d1f99d5295f9ffe5d9d4d15c09/IMG_3587.JPG" /> --- Sometime in early 2015, Wayne Coyne commented on one of my posts and suggested he wanted me to come to Oklahoma City and pour a blob on his roof. He had some existing metal domes with some melted-looking elements dripping down the side, but that they simply weren’t blobby enough for him. I could see what he meant. The idea was so exciting. I wanted to do it so much. There wasn’t a plan, there were no real parameters. It was just ‘do what you do, but come do it here‘. Enthusiasm is a wonderful thing, but I’m fuelled by anxiety. I remember thinking okay - how do you pour a sculpture on someone’s roof? What if it goes wrong? What if it’s not weather-proof? Isn’t that like, tornado country? What if I fuck up his house?? <img width="640" height="1173" width_o="640" height_o="1173" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/83f9dabd407f1eb2a0c07b78cc7787df221683e9fe5889a783605fc66f41f522/IMG_3002.PNG" data-mid="234179193" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/640/i/83f9dabd407f1eb2a0c07b78cc7787df221683e9fe5889a783605fc66f41f522/IMG_3002.PNG" /> I told him I didn’t want to commit without testing it at home first, so I proposed making a trial version with a view to repeating the process onsite once I was sure I’d get it right. He told me the real thing was six feet wide. I made one as big as I could, using what I had, to make sure I was on the right track. Wayne invited me to Sound City festival in Liverpool where the Flaming Lips were headlining that May, to talk about it more. It was an amazing day, getting to see how the shows work behind the scenes. <img width="640" height="633" width_o="640" height_o="633" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/6b03303905913efa8cdcc935a63bb67bea6e756eca47cba61a3adf6cd61a58e8/IMG_3005.PNG" data-mid="234178263" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/640/i/6b03303905913efa8cdcc935a63bb67bea6e756eca47cba61a3adf6cd61a58e8/IMG_3005.PNG" /> <img width="640" height="2362" width_o="640" height_o="2362" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/d603d23fc874a3b7b9f6979b55dc64f0101585da25ef30c1ad01c63de4e2d090/IMG_4783-copy.jpg" data-mid="234178897" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/640/i/d603d23fc874a3b7b9f6979b55dc64f0101585da25ef30c1ad01c63de4e2d090/IMG_4783-copy.jpg" /> <img width="1212" height="1212" width_o="1212" height_o="1212" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/839393e02b362cb253ce71d9babdfc61fe70ec49c06e283cbd175eaf7186f7cd/IMG_4786.JPG" data-mid="234178239" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/839393e02b362cb253ce71d9babdfc61fe70ec49c06e283cbd175eaf7186f7cd/IMG_4786.JPG" /> <img width="2448" height="3264" width_o="2448" height_o="3264" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/3df49b7065de29d9b0310f988d3742c09aa7af65214af8e2e5ac38a73ecbbd47/IMG_4952.JPG" data-mid="234178234" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/3df49b7065de29d9b0310f988d3742c09aa7af65214af8e2e5ac38a73ecbbd47/IMG_4952.JPG" /> <img width="2448" height="3264" width_o="2448" height_o="3264" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/ce819504b52df0d624bf6cd963e961761e3cafe394284ca3a6233e03a8073a02/IMG_5002.JPG" data-mid="234178233" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/ce819504b52df0d624bf6cd963e961761e3cafe394284ca3a6233e03a8073a02/IMG_5002.JPG" /> <img width="1280" height="1280" width_o="1280" height_o="1280" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/08d78370a37131706696999796d90f1b3a69ec8c0808616271646a21c5aa436d/IMG_5900.JPG" data-mid="234177332" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/08d78370a37131706696999796d90f1b3a69ec8c0808616271646a21c5aa436d/IMG_5900.JPG" /> <img width="3264" height="2448" width_o="3264" height_o="2448" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/b17ebcccb366bd7e5d9f58458916db7fe4767c1cf862166ea4f505dbe86fc2dd/IMG_4965.JPG" data-mid="234178232" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/b17ebcccb366bd7e5d9f58458916db7fe4767c1cf862166ea4f505dbe86fc2dd/IMG_4965.JPG" /> <img width="2448" height="2448" width_o="2448" height_o="2448" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/c318c1b912b1c4c3003ba99f5adc5a294448bfb49ddb22ab7c02b6bf8ba5940e/IMG_4974.JPG" data-mid="234180465" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/c318c1b912b1c4c3003ba99f5adc5a294448bfb49ddb22ab7c02b6bf8ba5940e/IMG_4974.JPG" /> <img width="2448" height="3264" width_o="2448" height_o="3264" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/5b99a22eec96b126716c7e26450440cc2584d653d2fdbe5b0c167508c9957f67/IMG_4995.JPG" data-mid="234178231" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/5b99a22eec96b126716c7e26450440cc2584d653d2fdbe5b0c167508c9957f67/IMG_4995.JPG" /> <img width="640" height="890" width_o="640" height_o="890" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/da7a15a2980773dd9ce16afdc7f0d3ce016a420fb37c09816c34007d148c68d6/IMG_5076.PNG" data-mid="234178898" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/640/i/da7a15a2980773dd9ce16afdc7f0d3ce016a420fb37c09816c34007d148c68d6/IMG_5076.PNG" /> After that, he sent me £650 to buy materials and figure it out, which was amazing. I went shopping. I bought a 60” diameter water balloon, two 10 litre kits of polyurethane foam, a long stick, 5 litres of epoxy resin, several bags of mirror tiles, a few cans of silver spray paint, tarps, packs of Modroc plaster bandages, a big box of hot glue sticks, two glue guns and several mixing buckets. The art school studios were closed for the summer, so I filled the balloon with air in my living room and used plaster bandages to make a dome from it. I thought back to the last time I did this - a childhood papier mâché project, only huge this time. That was my base. When I got access to the studios again in early September, I put it in the boot of a taxi and took it down Oxford Road to uni. I covered the floor in tarps and stacked two desks on top of one another with the dome on top. I stood on a chair and started pouring foam all over it. I cut pieces away and tried again when it went wrong. I sprayed it silver and glued mirror tiles on, one by one, to create the melted disco ball effect Wayne wanted. <img width="2448" height="2448" width_o="2448" height_o="2448" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/969f613eb8a4e02e46462744a512cc5b52a032f0f1e08d7e978f34d03368b32b/IMG_7829.JPG" data-mid="234179685" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/969f613eb8a4e02e46462744a512cc5b52a032f0f1e08d7e978f34d03368b32b/IMG_7829.JPG" /> <img width="2448" height="3264" width_o="2448" height_o="3264" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/c5fa3170384532fb71ae54933046d08da05419e10171173d43d1f301a5cf4764/IMG_7834.JPG" data-mid="234179686" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/c5fa3170384532fb71ae54933046d08da05419e10171173d43d1f301a5cf4764/IMG_7834.JPG" /> <img width="3264" height="2448" width_o="3264" height_o="2448" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/34f2f9c1f34e6639646fb3ab38dde1b0c7766c34d0c4d717f751544378d1ed99/IMG_8259.JPG" data-mid="234179687" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/34f2f9c1f34e6639646fb3ab38dde1b0c7766c34d0c4d717f751544378d1ed99/IMG_8259.JPG" /> <img width="2448" height="2448" width_o="2448" height_o="2448" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/3903391d036dea2ef7a562d336aea6aa190e969a055cc353675b4424ce920d5a/IMG_8472.JPG" data-mid="234179688" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/3903391d036dea2ef7a562d336aea6aa190e969a055cc353675b4424ce920d5a/IMG_8472.JPG" /> <img width="2048" height="2048" width_o="2048" height_o="2048" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/ee45586201a40373a51bf9edf5168675379773d594406b95141477a87d4eda68/IMG_8534-1.jpeg" data-mid="234179691" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/ee45586201a40373a51bf9edf5168675379773d594406b95141477a87d4eda68/IMG_8534-1.jpeg" /> <img width="2448" height="3264" width_o="2448" height_o="3264" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/17b96bf0d416a1f2ae7998e72f53132860f144f347f758f2ad5c6572755b68b2/IMG_8432.JPG" data-mid="234180544" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/17b96bf0d416a1f2ae7998e72f53132860f144f347f758f2ad5c6572755b68b2/IMG_8432.JPG" /> <img width="2319" height="2319" width_o="2319" height_o="2319" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/e208bb6a0993b06523b67f9df33f5b9a9e20fdc3f2edbeff00ada706d2498c0a/IMG_8672.JPG" data-mid="234179690" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/e208bb6a0993b06523b67f9df33f5b9a9e20fdc3f2edbeff00ada706d2498c0a/IMG_8672.JPG" /> <img width="2448" height="3264" width_o="2448" height_o="3264" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/1e0bca24c0153ad2f9643f7243a76f5faa5dacd8aaa3eb743f3da0a3a468246f/IMG_8687.JPG" data-mid="234180545" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/1e0bca24c0153ad2f9643f7243a76f5faa5dacd8aaa3eb743f3da0a3a468246f/IMG_8687.JPG" /> <img width="640" height="452" width_o="640" height_o="452" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/bdc8ec1355dbf4f14e89be4d77b75ef4b0e9f36195c92ce00813d6769d2ca70c/love.jpg" data-mid="234179787" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/640/i/bdc8ec1355dbf4f14e89be4d77b75ef4b0e9f36195c92ce00813d6769d2ca70c/love.jpg" /> It was a little difficult to get the tiles looking right on such an uneven surface, and when I sent a few pics, Wayne wasn’t keen on the size of them or the pattern I’d placed them in (he was right). I’d already spunked the budget by then and I couldn’t afford more, so I sat for hours hand-cutting each of the big ones into quarters with tile nippers. <img width="2448" height="2448" width_o="2448" height_o="2448" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/9f5d0c9bd0bec0e994a4eb55b1c1de9e5c8beda5f39991309155fe8b7c4564cb/IMG_9915.JPG" data-mid="234179803" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/9f5d0c9bd0bec0e994a4eb55b1c1de9e5c8beda5f39991309155fe8b7c4564cb/IMG_9915.JPG" /> <img width="450" height="800" width_o="450" height_o="800" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/362f19f3e93768f9b0a575ecf8534f82e2d005a6e6db3232dcf80abdb352dc35/sparkle.gif" data-mid="234180053" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/450/i/362f19f3e93768f9b0a575ecf8534f82e2d005a6e6db3232dcf80abdb352dc35/sparkle.gif" /> <img width="2448" height="2448" width_o="2448" height_o="2448" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/eddb8d73cabed2a96f43353f6d035dccdb6144efdcc91bca3465570ac9e079de/IMG_8979.JPG" data-mid="234180049" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/eddb8d73cabed2a96f43353f6d035dccdb6144efdcc91bca3465570ac9e079de/IMG_8979.JPG" /> I sent more pictures. He said it looked great and that I should cover the whole thing. I had nowhere near enough tiles for that, and I was confused, because I didn’t think that was necessary for a trial run. I told him I was broke and that hundreds more mirror tiles would cost a lot. He suggested I could ship him the one I’d made, but it wouldn’t even fit through the studio doors at that point. I think the size of the domes he had installed at home changed from six to ten feet, and that kind of negated everything I’d done so far, too. Things broke down and fizzled out after that. We didn’t fall out, but it was just too complicated. I had so much else going on. My work was changing, I was trying to figure out what I really wanted to say with it. I had a dissertation to write. My personal life was in shreds and things were going on behind the scenes that were really fucking with my head. I know Wayne didn’t mean any harm. He’s a visionary thinker who likes to take a big idea and just get it done. I like to take on big ideas and let them consume me. I think the mistake I made was that I’d always come back to him with questions and barriers. I didn’t realise I was meant to work it out with my own ingenuity and come back with magic. I wasn’t supposed to weigh the dream down with hesitations. I wasn’t equipped. I wish I had been. I was a student artist being asked to make a large-scale sculpture for a rock star across international distance by text. I think it’s worth reflecting on because it’s the kind of uneven dynamic I imagine happens more often than we admit in creative industries. It’s the kind of structural mismatch that appears when you’re young and hungry and trying to meet lofty ambitions with no buffers. It’s the reason so many of us fall through the cracks. I was offered something glittering but there was no scaffolding beneath it so it just collpased, and I know I’m not the only one.&nbsp;You’ve got to look after yourself. --- The best part of early Instagram was the way it felt like real intimacy. There really were strangers who became friends and collaborators. Sometimes they became lifelines to me. I’m still in touch with a few now. The worst part was how quickly attention came and how stressful it felt when I didn’t know how to handle it. Eventually, the feed stopped being chronological, a lot of those connections thinned and fell away and I think something essential got lost, or it certainly got colder. Blobshop faded like yesterday’s dream, like a pop song that never made the final cut. A hulking mirrored dome in a borrowed room I had to saw into pieces to dispose of. I try not to think about the waste. <img width="2448" height="3264" width_o="2448" height_o="3264" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/7695c1e86088f4ffe1e87633061ded3352033f6ad75c68f96f563f314c440dcd/IMG_8673.JPG" data-mid="234180221" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/7695c1e86088f4ffe1e87633061ded3352033f6ad75c68f96f563f314c440dcd/IMG_8673.JPG" /> <img width="640" height="795" width_o="640" height_o="795" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/11bfe9126f3199fc56b8e161ab6ee469bc16e51db39e1bcb22b9c9585f557dff/IMG_9132.PNG" data-mid="234180403" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/640/i/11bfe9126f3199fc56b8e161ab6ee469bc16e51db39e1bcb22b9c9585f557dff/IMG_9132.PNG" /> <img width="640" height="1136" width_o="640" height_o="1136" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/8e1b4b54e7f87be7a9f070dde773756df76cccc66d25245c0abc44ee19ad3276/IMG_8699.JPG" data-mid="234180219" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/640/i/8e1b4b54e7f87be7a9f070dde773756df76cccc66d25245c0abc44ee19ad3276/IMG_8699.JPG" /> <img width="960" height="1280" width_o="960" height_o="1280" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/cc257f72c95a22934be5b6333b3feab2bf93c73d410070c1c9e60a1e4f5f44d3/IMG_6181.JPG" data-mid="234180218" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/960/i/cc257f72c95a22934be5b6333b3feab2bf93c73d410070c1c9e60a1e4f5f44d3/IMG_6181.JPG" /> <img width="2448" height="3264" width_o="2448" height_o="3264" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/3e9c06e38b3a89faa78e2e26194e5ee42b94bdc868f91538911856ee1fcb4203/IMG_9189.JPG" data-mid="234180220" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/3e9c06e38b3a89faa78e2e26194e5ee42b94bdc868f91538911856ee1fcb4203/IMG_9189.JPG" /> <img width="1266" height="845" width_o="1266" height_o="845" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/966a1e4e9ca0e1b84d328f8cb77c92223aca0fed8d5eb7dcd46fee436bb9fc61/IMG_3382.PNG" data-mid="234180239" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/966a1e4e9ca0e1b84d328f8cb77c92223aca0fed8d5eb7dcd46fee436bb9fc61/IMG_3382.PNG" /> <img width="3024" height="4032" width_o="3024" height_o="4032" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/145708893c0648075f0d65f8587be956947ea90a06df811f4e1f40d0e858a04a/IMG_0957.JPG" data-mid="234180238" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/145708893c0648075f0d65f8587be956947ea90a06df811f4e1f40d0e858a04a/IMG_0957.JPG" /> <img width="640" height="746" width_o="640" height_o="746" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/ed474e335114df13932eeab85c85f0d8296e19d2f9865d5b79cc6cd2b157af09/IMG_0007.PNG" data-mid="234180237" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/640/i/ed474e335114df13932eeab85c85f0d8296e19d2f9865d5b79cc6cd2b157af09/IMG_0007.PNG" /> <img width="1627" height="1627" width_o="1627" height_o="1627" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/628abd4e2325f132115d08345801e7b03a18ca4a8a98b94af6d0b365b4d829cf/EQZM1705.JPG" data-mid="234180396" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/628abd4e2325f132115d08345801e7b03a18ca4a8a98b94af6d0b365b4d829cf/EQZM1705.JPG" /> <img width="544" height="394" width_o="544" height_o="394" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/f732624e5ddafcc58e4f950e37cda757190fccd26e612d4091def7ab1554e0f1/IMG_6371.JPG" data-mid="234180241" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/544/i/f732624e5ddafcc58e4f950e37cda757190fccd26e612d4091def7ab1554e0f1/IMG_6371.JPG" /> <img width="2448" height="3264" width_o="2448" height_o="3264" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/7a1fa36e80415f6fdd09110cf9d1ba1247c51924d9a0d6c9b7e653df881f6e76/IMG_3822.JPG" data-mid="234181226" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/7a1fa36e80415f6fdd09110cf9d1ba1247c51924d9a0d6c9b7e653df881f6e76/IMG_3822.JPG" /> <img width="3264" height="2448" width_o="3264" height_o="2448" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/a4ba3e7467b10caccac0542a014e92a0c185a7afea9bd555ab71bebc5d80b284/IMG_3880.JPG" data-mid="234181227" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/a4ba3e7467b10caccac0542a014e92a0c185a7afea9bd555ab71bebc5d80b284/IMG_3880.JPG" /> <img width="2448" height="3264" width_o="2448" height_o="3264" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/b6cb0b732bcd4dc9d32302b6044704ce5eed13376ee3bfa5ee3fe387845f3eb1/IMG_5948.JPG" data-mid="234181229" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/b6cb0b732bcd4dc9d32302b6044704ce5eed13376ee3bfa5ee3fe387845f3eb1/IMG_5948.JPG" /> <img width="1936" height="1936" width_o="1936" height_o="1936" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/a2abc1a5acbaf907bb514931ae857449820fe904a42c5bb341387d3c9679d6d5/IMG_3741.JPG" data-mid="234181225" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/a2abc1a5acbaf907bb514931ae857449820fe904a42c5bb341387d3c9679d6d5/IMG_3741.JPG" /> <img width="1080" height="720" width_o="1080" height_o="720" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/061997bfa5221fbc921ac68215a0e171b7fec8c47a2c44b7bc895300cf034015/Photo-on-13-04-2015-at-15.42.jpg" data-mid="234180242" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/061997bfa5221fbc921ac68215a0e171b7fec8c47a2c44b7bc895300cf034015/Photo-on-13-04-2015-at-15.42.jpg" /> https://bexilsley.com/Blobshop-1 Fri, 23 Apr 2021 13:09:42 +0000 Bex Ilsley https://bexilsley.com/Blobshop-1 Blobshop2013 - 2016 / 2022 - 2022 <img width="1869" height="1663" width_o="1869" height_o="1663" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/f0b4ceddc495ae6e790747db3ccce516fa94a65d4bb566399ccd5554af93338c/5.png" data-mid="123699281" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/f0b4ceddc495ae6e790747db3ccce516fa94a65d4bb566399ccd5554af93338c/5.png" /> <img width="948" height="1276" width_o="948" height_o="1276" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/b5844e6b9f2a8e1805a6b9882cb1688c30876694d52680e4ab58fbe063fa0a3f/Untitled-2.jpg" data-mid="233923773" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/948/i/b5844e6b9f2a8e1805a6b9882cb1688c30876694d52680e4ab58fbe063fa0a3f/Untitled-2.jpg" /> <img width="720" height="520" width_o="720" height_o="520" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/b1a9d5a46af32e9c8e7bfbbf394eabb6411bffdcd281967d537a8fb4c5f5250b/bs2.png" data-mid="123939347" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/720/i/b1a9d5a46af32e9c8e7bfbbf394eabb6411bffdcd281967d537a8fb4c5f5250b/bs2.png" /> <img width="1756" height="1823" width_o="1756" height_o="1823" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/a2fba36085f369653e2cec9776fb5f98312e0d014da1df8964c725ea693094ac/7.png" data-mid="123699274" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/a2fba36085f369653e2cec9776fb5f98312e0d014da1df8964c725ea693094ac/7.png" /> <img width="2004" height="1833" width_o="2004" height_o="1833" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/cbe71fe38b177b45a62db4e0dc71085a879bdf9eecdaae84c309a5262e01ef80/13.png" data-mid="123699279" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/cbe71fe38b177b45a62db4e0dc71085a879bdf9eecdaae84c309a5262e01ef80/13.png" /> What was Blobshop?Between 2014 and 2016, I ran an online shop called Blobshop where I sold small blob sculptures I made - fluorescent, gooey, psychedelic forms - for £20–£25 each. They were made from expanding foam, pigments, and resin. They sat somewhere between artwork and ornament, between pop sculpture, merchandise, and post-internet artefact. I did this during my time at Manchester School of Art, and for a brief, surreal period, it kind of exploded. My work was shared by The Flaming Lips and Miley Cyrus, re-edited into fan memes, and caught up in a chaotic little corner of early 2010s social media art culture. This is a personal reflection on that time - what it meant, what it cost, what I learned. I’m writing it down because I want the story to live somewhere outside my head. If you were there, or if you’re just curious, here it is. The Beginning In the Autumn of 2013 I began my first year of art school at Manchester School of Art. I’d started with making poured paintings and photographic experiments with liquid after seeing similar works I liked on tumblr - in particular, this one by Destiny Womack, though there were others too. I liked it because it was psychedelic, chance-based, and I’d just had a big 60’s oil-wheel-acid-art phase in 2012 when I was building my application portfolio. <img width="640" height="640" width_o="640" height_o="640" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/97edb6af76af49c5592079702b201b52c25e5df0832037e785920fb8b257f607/1799842_1471305809749456_520646711_n.jpg" data-mid="233924019" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/640/i/97edb6af76af49c5592079702b201b52c25e5df0832037e785920fb8b257f607/1799842_1471305809749456_520646711_n.jpg" /> <img width="4000" height="3000" width_o="4000" height_o="3000" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/79172883a93ccad160227aec1cc403af8e13f62d33779b2cd76c20e4aaef90ec/P1030545.jpg" data-mid="233924031" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/79172883a93ccad160227aec1cc403af8e13f62d33779b2cd76c20e4aaef90ec/P1030545.jpg" /> <img width="608" height="610" width_o="608" height_o="610" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/57bbf178723f8e62cae607f7d4b580a13c70162d25b44ccb30f492c8ce5eadc9/Screenshot-2014-11-27-18.33.58.png" data-mid="233926155" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/608/i/57bbf178723f8e62cae607f7d4b580a13c70162d25b44ccb30f492c8ce5eadc9/Screenshot-2014-11-27-18.33.58.png" /> <img width="768" height="768" width_o="768" height_o="768" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/7c103bcb2b0a9f4c2f8491a1964cc51dbc7bfc8e63a3ef8ba10e4b5b98d10568/02.jpg" data-mid="233926152" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/768/i/7c103bcb2b0a9f4c2f8491a1964cc51dbc7bfc8e63a3ef8ba10e4b5b98d10568/02.jpg" /> <img width="640" height="640" width_o="640" height_o="640" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/91f617792bc9033699fcca39a22de8363e79cd91761ecca90385a6e984957993/IMG_8510.jpeg" data-mid="233924060" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/640/i/91f617792bc9033699fcca39a22de8363e79cd91761ecca90385a6e984957993/IMG_8510.jpeg" /> <img width="4000" height="3000" width_o="4000" height_o="3000" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/12202e7df48b4fc331fea6e553f6fdd5597b50dde3988ef98969a5e3dfe07457/P1030496.jpg" data-mid="233924035" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/12202e7df48b4fc331fea6e553f6fdd5597b50dde3988ef98969a5e3dfe07457/P1030496.jpg" /> <img width="768" height="768" width_o="768" height_o="768" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/4b134826508a172f4a1711cd7c7ee051756b1f386b6634e2eeeaac3e40510d53/IMG_3978.JPG" data-mid="233972624" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/768/i/4b134826508a172f4a1711cd7c7ee051756b1f386b6634e2eeeaac3e40510d53/IMG_3978.JPG" /> <img width="4000" height="3000" width_o="4000" height_o="3000" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/7528aba7c77c20b1ee35e97ad4050e3d6e13bee5409a49ec2726c54752fd18f7/P1030593.jpg" data-mid="233924033" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/7528aba7c77c20b1ee35e97ad4050e3d6e13bee5409a49ec2726c54752fd18f7/P1030593.jpg" /> I spent many hours trying to work out how to do this as organically as possible, finding the right materials to use. I wanted gravity to do its thing and reveal beauty to me, freezing a moment of fluid movement in time, on canvas or wood or metal. I began to tire of them pretty quickly. They didn’t really say a lot, especially not anything new.&nbsp; While I was leaving a certain amount down to chance in those paintings, I still felt limited by flat surfaces that I had to tilt and tip and intervene on. I started to think -&nbsp;what if I could pour in three dimensions instead? I had seen Lynda Benglis’ ‘Quartered Meteor’ at the Tate of course, I am not going to pretend she didn’t influence me hugely - and I’d seen Roxy Paine’s Scumak works and&nbsp;Louise Zhang’s sculptures online. I decided that was the direction I needed to go in. I made my first blob sculpture in my studio space at art school in November 2013, using 2-part expanding foam and UV powder pigment so it would glow softly under blacklight. I’m not sure if I’d seen Benglis’ ‘Phantom’ yet or not. The UV fascination came more from my interest in 1960’s posters and 1990’s rave aesthetics. I’ve always been into garish stuff. <img width="640" height="640" width_o="640" height_o="640" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/c2489a859ef9fdf4bed57182f0177f95764a39bb448c490cbd6a70dc08b08560/unnamed.jpg" data-mid="233919132" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/640/i/c2489a859ef9fdf4bed57182f0177f95764a39bb448c490cbd6a70dc08b08560/unnamed.jpg" /> <img width="600" height="600" width_o="600" height_o="600" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/af6d1938dd3f86c888a17a7de9696ee37e3026774ba0802cee385409394d62ff/10153510171990023.jpg" data-mid="233919145" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/600/i/af6d1938dd3f86c888a17a7de9696ee37e3026774ba0802cee385409394d62ff/10153510171990023.jpg" /> &nbsp; After the winter break, I made more. I made a few, all about 2ft tall, or thereabouts. They were created by mixing fluorescent pigments into the foam itself, or sprayed with chameleon car paint. I would then pour and paint on a layer or two of epoxy resin to make them glossy and seal the colour. I’d thought of that because I’d seen resin poured onto paintings - ones by Alex Echo in the window of my local Castle Fine Art in Leamington Spa - in 2012 before I moved to Manchester. I loved how it made it look shrinkwrapped, laminated, impossibly shiny. <img width="600" height="600" width_o="600" height_o="600" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/b4ca7886b915df56d653fb518a01e172af17165162115692f75598c301c5f5d9/10153766119595023.jpg" data-mid="233919148" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/600/i/b4ca7886b915df56d653fb518a01e172af17165162115692f75598c301c5f5d9/10153766119595023.jpg" /> <img width="600" height="600" width_o="600" height_o="600" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/57689253684300e69113e8959fab23a999a872e1ad69027d049f2b01f71bd941/10153794148445023.jpg" data-mid="233919149" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/600/i/57689253684300e69113e8959fab23a999a872e1ad69027d049f2b01f71bd941/10153794148445023.jpg" /> <img width="600" height="600" width_o="600" height_o="600" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/c0fc53e7f384c4dbfad574e19fe48c0c229d739f0f203f6d3dbac1e636e24d26/10153793982815023.jpg" data-mid="233919153" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/600/i/c0fc53e7f384c4dbfad574e19fe48c0c229d739f0f203f6d3dbac1e636e24d26/10153793982815023.jpg" /> <img width="640" height="640" width_o="640" height_o="640" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/1ed30251880bd00634fd9bd1e4d28d1a350b989123b1bf8264138858188316a7/IMG_8492.JPG" data-mid="233919210" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/640/i/1ed30251880bd00634fd9bd1e4d28d1a350b989123b1bf8264138858188316a7/IMG_8492.JPG" /> <img width="640" height="640" width_o="640" height_o="640" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/684dd5958db08127b8144b35b45ec91dfd38687bd6db4750069926b1fc53d180/IMG_8489.JPG" data-mid="233919211" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/640/i/684dd5958db08127b8144b35b45ec91dfd38687bd6db4750069926b1fc53d180/IMG_8489.JPG" /> <img width="640" height="640" width_o="640" height_o="640" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/af673d23145e4f1396e9a8dc213a124abc1af8b1507d272b66b2cbdb2de36dde/42169576_237019853834045_4010763193990250496_n.jpg" data-mid="233919183" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/640/i/af673d23145e4f1396e9a8dc213a124abc1af8b1507d272b66b2cbdb2de36dde/42169576_237019853834045_4010763193990250496_n.jpg" /> At the same time, I was building up a little Instagram following, modest but engaged. A lot of that was to do with integrating myself into a community of artists and creative people surrounding the band The Flaming Lips, a band I love. I had a lot of valuable exchanges this way and a lot of inspiration. We’d do art trades and collaborations. I can’t list it all here, I’m not sure I could even remember now, but all of us liked and used lurid colour, all of us looking at the gooey, the splashy and the strange. &nbsp;In late 2013 or early 2014, Andy Holden gave a talk at my uni and showed us his Totems for Thingly Time. I’m going to steal the description from the Arts Council’s collection: The sculpture Totem for Thingly Time (IV) has been described by the artist as ‘part cake, part stalagmite, part pastel hangover’. Formed of dripping plaster, Holden explains that this work was an attempt to make an object that ‘revealed the time of its own construction’. He sees it as ‘something heavy, ambiguous, fallen out of the cartoon landscape, but related to place in the same way that a bird’s nest is.’ &nbsp; Naturally, I found these fascinating and beautiful and drew parallels with what I was trying to achieve. In the last image on Andy’s site, you can see smaller versions of these large pieces. He told us he used leftover plaster to pour over glass beer bottles and he sold them out the back of his van at the private view - ‘original multiples’. I loved that - how it circumvented the opaque world of gallery sales, a world that seemed completely unreachable and convoluted to me as a student. It was a cheeky and cool little comment on exiting through the gift shop. An accessible, affordable souvenir.&nbsp; I was thinking too about the difference between the physical ‘sculpture’ and its representation online, the flat backlit image of it on the Instagram feed. It becomes something else then, doesn’t it? So, inspired by Andy’s ideas, I made smaller blobs, 5 or 6 inches tall - just the right size for a desk or a bookshelf. I figured it could supplement my student income and make me less skint. I launched Blobshop online via social media and Bigcartel in February of 2014. They sold out, to online and offline friends and fellow artists around the world. <img width="2048" height="2048" width_o="2048" height_o="2048" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/1a0710624171ea412b8b20624343997d15a074dd158783349f8cde18bcf08627/462427903_8432018430251418_8098513228611478629_n.jpg" data-mid="233921125" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/1a0710624171ea412b8b20624343997d15a074dd158783349f8cde18bcf08627/462427903_8432018430251418_8098513228611478629_n.jpg" /> <img width="2048" height="2048" width_o="2048" height_o="2048" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/d899c57278325f0a56b5151bdb4e9ef72c78c0f70af8b15e8dbb3b984760ca90/462458299_8432018446918083_1289957102375791366_n.jpg" data-mid="233921126" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/d899c57278325f0a56b5151bdb4e9ef72c78c0f70af8b15e8dbb3b984760ca90/462458299_8432018446918083_1289957102375791366_n.jpg" /> In May of 2014, I went to see The Flaming Lips play in Manchester and I took a gold glitter blob with me to give to Wayne Coyne. I think he’d already seen my work online at that point. He started following me on Instagram, which was a dream come true. This time in my life was really exciting. I felt like I’d finally found my language and my place. Over the start of that summer, I made more. Further ‘drops’ happened throughout the first half of 2014 and they sold well. I was building a little following, bolstered by the support from Wayne, and it was helping me through school. <img width="1280" height="1280" width_o="1280" height_o="1280" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/2e214c8a95f181575c389463e3802295137f205e5e77b043960335acb682789a/IMG_0988.JPG" data-mid="233922508" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/2e214c8a95f181575c389463e3802295137f205e5e77b043960335acb682789a/IMG_0988.JPG" /> <img width="1684" height="1684" width_o="1684" height_o="1684" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/75a6c2c690d0a92b7059902e335ee91c5f3c18e2190bd351af0acb2ac3b27130/IMG_0047.JPG" data-mid="233922488" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/75a6c2c690d0a92b7059902e335ee91c5f3c18e2190bd351af0acb2ac3b27130/IMG_0047.JPG" /> <img width="1000" height="1000" width_o="1000" height_o="1000" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/46291d3920accb824fe651a81f76a5bd4d91ede9162b68b1c63fa1b33a310f89/IMG_1298.JPG" data-mid="233922530" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/46291d3920accb824fe651a81f76a5bd4d91ede9162b68b1c63fa1b33a310f89/IMG_1298.JPG" /> <img width="1280" height="1280" width_o="1280" height_o="1280" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/0c5d878401419b69ab0cb7b3afe4161ecb739d811ed2bf415c3c199277baf74b/IMG_1101.JPG" data-mid="233922526" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/0c5d878401419b69ab0cb7b3afe4161ecb739d811ed2bf415c3c199277baf74b/IMG_1101.JPG" /> The Middle In August 2014, I sent some white blobs to artist Oliver Hibert, who I’d connected with over Instagram. He painted some signature eyeballs on them as a little collaborative fun-thing-to-do. I would seek these kinds of opportunities out for connection and reach - mutual support. I liked to arrange trades. I received a lot of artwork from others in exchange for blob sculptures. <img width="1279" height="1279" width_o="1279" height_o="1279" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/13576bd8c9f44bc6c1e38bdf3a30a982ab1037430376ac58f8e7ee0486d02602/IMG_0970.JPG" data-mid="233922503" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/13576bd8c9f44bc6c1e38bdf3a30a982ab1037430376ac58f8e7ee0486d02602/IMG_0970.JPG" /> <img width="1279" height="1279" width_o="1279" height_o="1279" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/8ad20da0de4c29783c8e724d1c188c1bc896ecd1ae3e9b379b46c7959c702c47/IMG_0818.JPG" data-mid="233922536" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/8ad20da0de4c29783c8e724d1c188c1bc896ecd1ae3e9b379b46c7959c702c47/IMG_0818.JPG" /> My memory is hazy, but I think Miley Cyrus - who was already collaborating with the Flaming Lips at this time (Oliver created the artwork for With a Little Help from My Fwends, the Lips’ Sgt Pepper’s cover album that Miley leant vocals to) was following Oliver on Instagram already, and this collaboration is what led her to see my stuff. On 11th August, I woke up early because my phone was going insane. I could hear notifications coming through every second and I didn’t understand what was happening. Through half-stuck sleepy eyes, I realised Miley Cyrus had followed me on Instagram, along with 7500 others. 15000 new eyeballs. Everything had changed. I went for a shower. I was scared. I came back to a direct message. &nbsp;<img width="595" height="513" width_o="595" height_o="513" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/66c6e30ab2aa045ecbb5070cfd66324e1adf96a4de3e205940a60d677ec49977/miley1stmsg.jpg" data-mid="233926225" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/595/i/66c6e30ab2aa045ecbb5070cfd66324e1adf96a4de3e205940a60d677ec49977/miley1stmsg.jpg" /> So I asked for her address and I returned to art school for my second year, as very&nbsp;serious student and self-appointed queen of the Grosvenor building. I was trying to think about what all this meant and how it could be used, what I was going to say in crits. I’d already been thinking about the process a sculpture goes through when a photo is taken and uploaded online, from object to representational image. I was thinking about the difference, or the grey area, between proper art and mere&nbsp;décor.&nbsp;Mostly though, I was thinking about all of those new eyes on me - more and more each day. The first thing I did was take my photos of my little blobs and made them into repeating patterns to be used on merchandise - cheap extras I could upsell. Stickers, pins, posters and compact mirrors.&nbsp; A looped, regurgitated journey from matter to data and back again. I also uploaded the patterns to Print All Over Me so I could sell blob prints on clothes. <img width="1840" height="1840" width_o="1840" height_o="1840" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/70e423e824c1e4aa18c6cbb0da766e08b4ca5fdbb59775824244e94fc06ebd02/IMG_1965.JPG" data-mid="233923697" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/70e423e824c1e4aa18c6cbb0da766e08b4ca5fdbb59775824244e94fc06ebd02/IMG_1965.JPG" /> <img width="600" height="800" width_o="600" height_o="800" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/dd16c873595713ddb8571ff8044b1dca7019b1504380216e16d2e139ad51f7c3/483a774148dfa7769474354ee417b24a.gif" data-mid="123653156" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/600/i/dd16c873595713ddb8571ff8044b1dca7019b1504380216e16d2e139ad51f7c3/483a774148dfa7769474354ee417b24a.gif" /> <img width="785" height="1026" width_o="785" height_o="1026" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/5c9b587980eda6dc87e10eea6576287171c023f056c4d8178294a685f53f2cfd/Untitled-3.jpg" data-mid="233923937" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/785/i/5c9b587980eda6dc87e10eea6576287171c023f056c4d8178294a685f53f2cfd/Untitled-3.jpg" /> <img width="640" height="640" width_o="640" height_o="640" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/851291ed752b868850588cdd30be7439e8a52d78c82450590d291ff83dc4b46b/IMG_8509.jpeg" data-mid="233923965" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/640/i/851291ed752b868850588cdd30be7439e8a52d78c82450590d291ff83dc4b46b/IMG_8509.jpeg" /> I got a box together for Miley - some blob sculptures and extras, a t-shirt or two. She stuck the stickers on her laptop and she posted photos of the blobs. She sent me photos of her biting them. By December of 2014, she’d taken my poster print and had it made into a repeating pattern and then WALLPAPERED HER BATHROOM WITH IT. She emailed me photos two days before Christmas. This was surreal for me. It still is! <img width="960" height="1280" width_o="960" height_o="1280" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/4ea25e8f3829dca8b5f048b9fc4555065254489f39026b40a5ea435c639d054f/FullSizeRender.jpg" data-mid="233926289" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/960/i/4ea25e8f3829dca8b5f048b9fc4555065254489f39026b40a5ea435c639d054f/FullSizeRender.jpg" /> <img width="640" height="859" width_o="640" height_o="859" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/2ccefb303554ff8d0adef45b1e90e6289fbeb575635cec4ee1c49295c8a892cb/IMG_0630.PNG" data-mid="233926474" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/640/i/2ccefb303554ff8d0adef45b1e90e6289fbeb575635cec4ee1c49295c8a892cb/IMG_0630.PNG" /> <img width="1033" height="1033" width_o="1033" height_o="1033" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/c17bcdff5caeca55814041313880bb2b053cde744260d419f7c94b14eab39647/IMG_3580.JPG" data-mid="233926226" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/c17bcdff5caeca55814041313880bb2b053cde744260d419f7c94b14eab39647/IMG_3580.JPG" /> <img width="640" height="640" width_o="640" height_o="640" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/750961529b78495f84447f80589bb94c10386c2d91322bb909e006786b8d1260/IMG_5419.JPG" data-mid="233926419" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/640/i/750961529b78495f84447f80589bb94c10386c2d91322bb909e006786b8d1260/IMG_5419.JPG" /> <img width="640" height="1136" width_o="640" height_o="1136" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/9f1837637869e161d32ab63d891be16385201a1a700f9f52adef8fddd6bbc6a0/IMG_1425.PNG" data-mid="234157384" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/640/i/9f1837637869e161d32ab63d891be16385201a1a700f9f52adef8fddd6bbc6a0/IMG_1425.PNG" /> Every time she posted, I was flooded with comments from her young fanbase. They would ask what are these? how do you make them? what do they do? why do they exist, if they’re useless? I got so many I printed them out and made them into wallpaper - like Miley had done in her bathroom - for one of my second year assessments. <img width="2048" height="1361" width_o="2048" height_o="1361" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/98fc42e9ced6fe4fab0876c5b6aeb77bb5d0dd655b69a11673caba6a2e828167/10945873_10155184858140023_5284930070773373449_o.jpg" data-mid="233924913" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/98fc42e9ced6fe4fab0876c5b6aeb77bb5d0dd655b69a11673caba6a2e828167/10945873_10155184858140023_5284930070773373449_o.jpg" />Then, there was this amazing symbiotic thing that would happen. Miley would post, and her fans - ‘smilers’ - would make ‘edits’. They’d include things they knew she liked, references to her visual world at the time - it was all a kind of hodgepodge, maximalist, 2010’s post-Internet, seapunk-adjacent, weed-pizza-unicornpoolfloat-core aesthetic. Collages made quickly with apps. Stickers, gifs, acid smileys. She would sometimes post her favourites, so she would get tagged in hundreds of them. My work - and later my face - would appear in these remixes too. This was both amazing and disturbing to me - my work so far removed from it’s original form that it was truly something else entirely. It was a fan culture meme now, eaten and regurgitated a hundred times over. <img width="640" height="827" width_o="640" height_o="827" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/f5ed75eb8c8ba495c89af77e19ce7cb7f1c99d2e4ee31590d90c6c1f974f148f/miley1.png" data-mid="233924730" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/640/i/f5ed75eb8c8ba495c89af77e19ce7cb7f1c99d2e4ee31590d90c6c1f974f148f/miley1.png" /> <img width="640" height="846" width_o="640" height_o="846" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/1428bc6c1f341cf98161d6d8a9a7189db1f9ce610e465f9acdc077c41ef46e3b/IMG_9649.PNG" data-mid="233924728" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/640/i/1428bc6c1f341cf98161d6d8a9a7189db1f9ce610e465f9acdc077c41ef46e3b/IMG_9649.PNG" /> <img width="640" height="732" width_o="640" height_o="732" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/1823bc9f7abca08bfb315c2f8d8b9ad70e531254657ac24c497e6f00e84cb7ae/IMG_6404.PNG" data-mid="233931216" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/640/i/1823bc9f7abca08bfb315c2f8d8b9ad70e531254657ac24c497e6f00e84cb7ae/IMG_6404.PNG" /> <img width="1272" height="1477" width_o="1272" height_o="1477" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/c1ea3b70476f3aeb21eda8417d31c59b375d24a425ec2bff97338ad0a50f3ecd/IMG_4387.PNG" data-mid="233931217" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/c1ea3b70476f3aeb21eda8417d31c59b375d24a425ec2bff97338ad0a50f3ecd/IMG_4387.PNG" /> <img width="1272" height="1468" width_o="1272" height_o="1468" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/b15a33f83146d49534f4de7d5a9f7ca9da781b41b702568035e584f9ab95abce/IMG_3487.PNG" data-mid="233931220" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/b15a33f83146d49534f4de7d5a9f7ca9da781b41b702568035e584f9ab95abce/IMG_3487.PNG" /> <img width="1272" height="1468" width_o="1272" height_o="1468" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/2d90e7a5f5464dd3a0d220cab78c2fa44b25a4b3317667575561ce33cf969c4b/IMG_4049.PNG" data-mid="233931219" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/2d90e7a5f5464dd3a0d220cab78c2fa44b25a4b3317667575561ce33cf969c4b/IMG_4049.PNG" /> <img width="1275" height="1468" width_o="1275" height_o="1468" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/58eb4288acf3fdc9a33cb31341800035116c252be6c9ab65ceafbb8408faa181/IMG_4117.PNG" data-mid="233931218" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/58eb4288acf3fdc9a33cb31341800035116c252be6c9ab65ceafbb8408faa181/IMG_4117.PNG" /> <img width="1272" height="1463" width_o="1272" height_o="1463" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/e7eb36ec30056aeb85f5b1c8929adf6d20560c95b3d2eb294d2d629a0daf967e/IMG_3492.PNG" data-mid="233931221" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/e7eb36ec30056aeb85f5b1c8929adf6d20560c95b3d2eb294d2d629a0daf967e/IMG_3492.PNG" /> <img width="1275" height="1471" width_o="1275" height_o="1471" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/ce326a3966cdbddd79a8dd0d9c4894a44108226f4019419f542b1d44d13e5d5f/IMG_3447.PNG" data-mid="233931228" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/ce326a3966cdbddd79a8dd0d9c4894a44108226f4019419f542b1d44d13e5d5f/IMG_3447.PNG" /> <img width="1272" height="1474" width_o="1272" height_o="1474" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/965f6d0b1896e4b0e2c362d832eb18ff164f3c2c5949a6206a10c71967828eae/IMG_3506.PNG" data-mid="233931225" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/965f6d0b1896e4b0e2c362d832eb18ff164f3c2c5949a6206a10c71967828eae/IMG_3506.PNG" /> <img width="1281" height="1469" width_o="1281" height_o="1469" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/d7a052c1335bf225d8784b90cfd96609e624caf59735563030135de37fa0173c/IMG_3485.PNG" data-mid="233931227" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/d7a052c1335bf225d8784b90cfd96609e624caf59735563030135de37fa0173c/IMG_3485.PNG" /> <img width="640" height="741" width_o="640" height_o="741" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/871a4b78391608516d3498ee4856b13d28954f57703b7e0c3208589031effbb9/IMG_5508.PNG" data-mid="233931229" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/640/i/871a4b78391608516d3498ee4856b13d28954f57703b7e0c3208589031effbb9/IMG_5508.PNG" /> <img width="1272" height="1471" width_o="1272" height_o="1471" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/b1b05f5ad25df778375a11c1585ac439826f99400658b9da2296bb58fb632e88/IMG_3498.PNG" data-mid="233931222" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/b1b05f5ad25df778375a11c1585ac439826f99400658b9da2296bb58fb632e88/IMG_3498.PNG" /> <img width="640" height="739" width_o="640" height_o="739" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/611a2263d98d7610564ce7643a2e294ef91686a11ddb3d962c8ccc5f38cd582b/IMG_5433.PNG" data-mid="233931215" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/640/i/611a2263d98d7610564ce7643a2e294ef91686a11ddb3d962c8ccc5f38cd582b/IMG_5433.PNG" /> <img width="1366" height="710" width_o="1366" height_o="710" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/3311e7dcfb866e94bf87d5c296c64880f61d340c7f7142f3650d2e437e552605/mtv.jpg" data-mid="233942022" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/3311e7dcfb866e94bf87d5c296c64880f61d340c7f7142f3650d2e437e552605/mtv.jpg" /> I started thinking about how I, too, was different online to the way I was in my body, in the real world. How I would flatten and translate myself for consumption. That wasn’t a revelatory thought, even in 2015, I knew that, but I wondered if I could turn my Instagram feed into a space for performance, a way to comment on the shallow self-branding of the Instagram artist. I’d read Athletic Aesthetics. I grappled a lot about whether mimicry alone can truly critique something. I also felt the need, for my sanity, to create some kind of barrier between me and the chaos of the comment section - a sort of hyperreal avatar called Bex Ilsley who would stand between me and all this attention, something untouchable and distant, laced with pastel positivity, taking cues from the visual language Miley’s fans used. In 2015, that felt somewhat fresh, I guess, alongside artists I admired, like Molly Soda. <img width="1280" height="1280" width_o="1280" height_o="1280" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/8f90de4256659fddf647c5d84a0cf78ee4dab5d33a6221d19f23643dd54fb30d/3.jpg" data-mid="233925988" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/8f90de4256659fddf647c5d84a0cf78ee4dab5d33a6221d19f23643dd54fb30d/3.jpg" /> <img width="600" height="600" width_o="600" height_o="600" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/e82fc17bc156ecb17a3193a7b42c000dba634441556b10ad300e30ed9d5e5ca6/leew.jpg" data-mid="233926094" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/600/i/e82fc17bc156ecb17a3193a7b42c000dba634441556b10ad300e30ed9d5e5ca6/leew.jpg" /> <img width="600" height="600" width_o="600" height_o="600" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/17f90055dc9f672287b0f924cba21007d33e30d88bc643201be2bff5c2039591/Photo-17-02-2015-14-19-00.jpg" data-mid="233926096" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/600/i/17f90055dc9f672287b0f924cba21007d33e30d88bc643201be2bff5c2039591/Photo-17-02-2015-14-19-00.jpg" /> <img width="992" height="992" width_o="992" height_o="992" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/b4be606304d00d3f27bdbb443c323995574805fdc880e24977c5e95d2b459bb0/2.jpg" data-mid="233926129" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/992/i/b4be606304d00d3f27bdbb443c323995574805fdc880e24977c5e95d2b459bb0/2.jpg" /> <img width="639" height="629" width_o="639" height_o="629" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/7f2c032b4bccd218466ebaec9ecb88effa30cde96f1cae2c333faaba89166983/Screenshot-2015-06-30-11.02.23.png" data-mid="233926904" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/639/i/7f2c032b4bccd218466ebaec9ecb88effa30cde96f1cae2c333faaba89166983/Screenshot-2015-06-30-11.02.23.png" /> <img width="1280" height="1280" width_o="1280" height_o="1280" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/e07b34aa2521756cba67886b3160ad3aa7cd3fa0b9172fb57693f60a9d8964a1/Photo-19-09-2014-08-46-28.jpg" data-mid="233926154" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/e07b34aa2521756cba67886b3160ad3aa7cd3fa0b9172fb57693f60a9d8964a1/Photo-19-09-2014-08-46-28.jpg" /> <img width="900" height="1350" width_o="900" height_o="1350" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/7efa7db21c15cfac7418f50670bed95605860dd53d31df9420ae723b2e6578e4/w1.jpg" data-mid="233926136" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/900/i/7efa7db21c15cfac7418f50670bed95605860dd53d31df9420ae723b2e6578e4/w1.jpg" /> <img width="900" height="1350" width_o="900" height_o="1350" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/ccb2a7b437715ec9a0e4c582356359551f15df2f13717e8a1074af3c82d567ba/w3-copy.jpg" data-mid="233926138" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/900/i/ccb2a7b437715ec9a0e4c582356359551f15df2f13717e8a1074af3c82d567ba/w3-copy.jpg" /> <img width="900" height="1350" width_o="900" height_o="1350" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/6b3f98da19c671c11265995ed5645b560a9e5f4e20d3eeb7f2036c9965a888e2/w2.jpg" data-mid="233926137" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/900/i/6b3f98da19c671c11265995ed5645b560a9e5f4e20d3eeb7f2036c9965a888e2/w2.jpg" /> In the first half of 2015, I also started to play with shapes and other materials in my sculptural experiments. I worked on my execution. They got smoother, sleeker. I made blobs that dripped downwards, I made gigantic ones 6 feet wide. I remember the day I managed to make the first drippy one, in March 2015, because it took some figuring out and I was so pleased with it. It involved tipping and coaxing the rapidly solidifying foam down a vertical sheet of greaseproof paper I could then peel away to preserve the drips.&nbsp; <img width="640" height="640" width_o="640" height_o="640" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/63f7e63d1de4a7937c02bd3242a42df1b3ace1b4f2742f86ea53cf7e82dd2d7e/40130942_311812632955149_5387082960027516928_n.jpg" data-mid="233928471" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/640/i/63f7e63d1de4a7937c02bd3242a42df1b3ace1b4f2742f86ea53cf7e82dd2d7e/40130942_311812632955149_5387082960027516928_n.jpg" /> In April 2015, I made a few more. <img width="540" height="540" width_o="540" height_o="540" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/02077242af4b7886ac2fb049b5a8a8dd5cfd5ff1882148fb8dcfd625113df783/52826918b83fd5d23fb49877d7e32564.JPEG" data-mid="233942020" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/540/i/02077242af4b7886ac2fb049b5a8a8dd5cfd5ff1882148fb8dcfd625113df783/52826918b83fd5d23fb49877d7e32564.JPEG" /> <img width="540" height="540" width_o="540" height_o="540" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/e466fc506f97ac7449c53d59ff11253d258e5b4189084346bb3f8f38a2a5f2c0/b6413a7ed9ad0146d496b5504cbecf12.JPEG" data-mid="233942875" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/540/i/e466fc506f97ac7449c53d59ff11253d258e5b4189084346bb3f8f38a2a5f2c0/b6413a7ed9ad0146d496b5504cbecf12.JPEG" /> I’ve gone back and forth in my head about writing this next part, but I will, because it’s the truth. In September 2015, an artist mutual contacted me to ask if I’d trade that trio of blobs above in exchange for work of theirs - similarly colourful, wall based pieces made from similar materials. I agreed. I never received anything from them, but that person is now - a decade later - very well known for making work very similar to the above (albeit&nbsp;much more polished and finished). They do it very well. They began this shift in their work in December 2015. I understand the idea of influence, taking something and honing it, swallowing it up and translating it into something your own. There’s plenty of that in this story, after all. It’s part of what art is. I will say that it pains me sometimes to think about what could have been, if I’d had the funds, if I’d had the time, if I’d had better mental health in my 20s, if I’d found a way to focus, stick with them and develop them. I think if I had carried on making blobs like this, it would have looked quite a lot like what that person makes now and has enjoyed phenomenal success with. Maybe. Maybe I only had the early sketches in me, the prototypes, rough ideas that didn’t know how to market themselves properly, and theirs is the final version. That’s alright too. I know what hindsight is, and I can laugh at myself about that. I felt strongly that my blobs should be affordable for everyone - especially for Miley’s young fans. I didn’t realise I was also preventing the work from ever being viewed as valuable. As art. Ultimately, uni life was a struggle, these materials weren’t cheap. I had other ideas that were more interesting to me, pressure from tutors to make things that had more to say - something that could be intellectualised. Pressure on myself to do the same. To my knowledge, that person has never acknowledged that I influenced them. I say this with as much humility as I can muster, but looking at the timeline, it is difficult not to wonder. I can’t say it doesn’t sting, on bad days, when that person is tagged on my old posts - ‘this looks like one of yours!’ - or when that person’s artwork appears alongside my own in image searches - see similar results. Ah well. Life really does go on. In that summer of 2015, I made blob variations from casting plastic and plaster and silicone. I made one covered in plastic eyeballs that I could insert my legs into, a kind of tongue-in-cheek reference to The Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife and the way I was starting to feel about my relationship with expanding foam and the endless online gaze. I made one I could puke, like the foam was invading my body from multiple angles. <img width="2163" height="2163" width_o="2163" height_o="2163" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/ee2758e408b20c3b73899fd218da683f937f709c75814724d088e17be6914b0b/IMG_5246.JPG" data-mid="233926877" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/ee2758e408b20c3b73899fd218da683f937f709c75814724d088e17be6914b0b/IMG_5246.JPG" /> <img width="1000" height="1503" width_o="1000" height_o="1503" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/7ed003549fe529a422d6643f4bc056d120f78ef8888cbd8a4d57404ac50f307b/f_14_1000.jpg" data-mid="233927180" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/7ed003549fe529a422d6643f4bc056d120f78ef8888cbd8a4d57404ac50f307b/f_14_1000.jpg" /> Making Instagram such a central part of my practice was taking its toll on my head. I knew I was basing much of my self-esteem on positive reactions and keeping myself relevant to a growing audience that weren’t even the audience I was trying to speak to. I was mainlining dopamine through my phone and it was turning me into a twat. I couldn’t post freely anymore, couldn’t share mistakes or messy momemts or failed experiments, for fear of backlash and shattering the illusion I was trying to build. Everything had to be glossy and perfect and ready-to-ship. That’s what I’m grappling with, above. The End In early July 2015, Miley contacted me and my friend Zara - owner of Keep it Bright, to ask if we would produce artwork for an unknown project. I was put in touch with a digital marketing director at Maverick Management.&nbsp; -- We are working on a project and after seeing your amazing blobs at Miley’s house I thought they would be perfect creatively to use as part of the design. Do you have them as PDF files, or as like a wall paper that we can tweak? I’m not exactly sure what format the design team needs but I’m hoping to find out tomorrow. -- When I responded with some of the repeating patterns I’d already made for my own merchandise, they asked if any of it was custom-made for Miley. When I said no, they asked if I could make a new, exclusive version they could license for usage. I said I could, no problem. I asked some clarifying questions about what they wanted and I gave an estimated time frame for completion. -- We are interested in doing a buyout on these exclusive blob designs, so that Miley would own the rights to use them as needed in the future. Please let me know what the cost of this would be, both for creating and owning the rights to the designs, and I’ll work on getting it approved by business management. -- Now, as a student in my second year of art school, who was not in any way business-minded or used to negotiating this kind of thing, I had no idea how to answer that question. I asked around. I asked my tutors and a few working artists I knew. Nobody had a black-and-white equation I could use. Nobody could tell me how to price my work for this. I was clueless, so I responded -&nbsp; I'll admit I've never sold full copyright before and I don't know how to name a price without knowing the extent to which the design could be used. I have been seeking some advice from trusted artists and designers I know (in general terms, of course) so I have some idea but it seems this is always dependent on the usage. do you have any more details on that yet? Could you tell me what your budget for artwork is for the project? -- We don’t currently have any plans to use the blobs for anything beyond this initial website project, so I don’t have more details the usage. However we do need to be covered in the event that this changes 6 months from now. We can offer you $500 for the custom blob designs, with all the rights to use them in perpetuity. -- Since there’s no indication of how the designs could be used in the future, I have to consider the potential of that and assume it may be widespread commercial application. I’m also aware that an artist of Miley’s standing shifts a lot of units and if you were to use my design on any commercial products then I’d want to negotiate an amount that is a fair reflection of the expected sales. Obviously I’m not looking for some delusional and unreasonable sale price at all, but from speaking to others who have sold copyright for use by musicians, $500 does seem low for full rights. If there are no plans to use the design beyond a launch website then I’d like to propose exclusive licensing of the designs to you instead for a one-off fee of $500 for that specific use. If you need to use the designs for something else later on down the line then we could discuss the sale of the full rights at a later date once this need becomes apparent. If licensing doesn’t work for you, let me know, as I’m still open to negotiating a figure for full rights at this point. -- Sorry for the delay. There have been some creative changes happening and I wanted to get a straight answer before replying. It looks like we’re going in another direction at this point, so I don’t think we’ll be needing the custom blobs any more :( -- That was the end of the Miley chapter. They said the reason for the lowball offer was because the album was being released outside of Miley’s contract with RCA, so there was no budget. I still wonder sometimes if I fucked up. I read this back now, ten years later, and I ask myself if I threw away the opportunity of a lifetime.&nbsp; In August 2015, Miley Cyrus &amp; Her Dead Petz was released and went on to become a cult milestone in independent pop - bold, weird, and high-profile. I love the album. It’s raw and mad and takes me straight back in time. I read these emails back and I flit between two opposing views - that my instincts were correct and I was right to turn down $500 for the full rights to the only intellectual property I really had at the time - work that meant everything to me. Another part of me wonders - Did I throw away an incredible opportunity because I lacked the tools to negotiate? Could I have coped with that level of exposure and momentum at that stage in my life anyway? What I keep with me is that I know I played a small part in shaping a little corner of popular culture. I’m on a moodboard, somewhere in the past. That’s more than I could ever have dreamed of when I was a child. I am still grateful, forever, to Miley, for promoting my work. I wouldn’t have gone on to do what I did after without that. I don’t think she had any idea about these discussions. What’s painfully ironic is that I moved away from making blobs after that anyway, so it wouldn’t really have mattered. It had come to its natural conclusion. My work became much more about self-portraiture - costumed facets of myself I created, that felt more authentic to me, somehow, than the person awkwardly shuffling around Manchester, glued to a phone. That’s something I’ll write about another day. In December of 2016, one of the blob images somehow ended up in Adbusters, on a Donald Trump collage captioned ‘pussygrabber’, mistaken for a royalty-free graphic. A hilarious conclusion to their journey. They were great about it though, they printed a correction in the masthead of the next issue and gave me a years’ free subscription! <img width="296" height="394" width_o="296" height_o="394" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/3223d9f451b865db2a2df98ab113ab137401f33bb0b0b13a9c1b37e228371a6e/unnamed.jpg" data-mid="233954199" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/296/i/3223d9f451b865db2a2df98ab113ab137401f33bb0b0b13a9c1b37e228371a6e/unnamed.jpg" /> I came back to blobmaking briefly in the years after, but as parts of other things. It wasn’t possible to keep Blobshop going when my living situation was so precarious - multiple HMOs in various cities while I crashed and screamed through life - and I had no money for a permanent studio. I worked collaboratively with students at Kendall Collage of Art and Design with my friend&nbsp;Natalie at her space The Moon in 2016, for a video project directed by Bokeh Monster. We made some blob headwear for that. <img width="1024" height="683" width_o="1024" height_o="683" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/d58385875516dc897de3a0ab2c3f4c1de05ad381d695f244951e60faa64726de/160407__MG_9959-XL.jpg" data-mid="233996333" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/d58385875516dc897de3a0ab2c3f4c1de05ad381d695f244951e60faa64726de/160407__MG_9959-XL.jpg" /> I made some to support a TV screen for Castlefield Gallery’s ...in Dark Times in early 2017. <img width="5184" height="3456" width_o="5184" height_o="3456" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/8574bfbd697af3c83e9ec8625d2ad783b31a4e8d8dd5775c7e64c51460fb6412/InDarkTimes.jpg" data-mid="233932540" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/8574bfbd697af3c83e9ec8625d2ad783b31a4e8d8dd5775c7e64c51460fb6412/InDarkTimes.jpg" /> <img width="5184" height="3456" width_o="5184" height_o="3456" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/823d1adf53f9f3217722ca1fe3e85c59a7aa67bb9533f90f7bfe990344d0680c/Indarktimes-15.jpg" data-mid="233932543" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/823d1adf53f9f3217722ca1fe3e85c59a7aa67bb9533f90f7bfe990344d0680c/Indarktimes-15.jpg" /> This piece existed until it was sent to Belgium for another show, and one of the blobs fell out the back of a truck somewhere! The Beginning (Again) In 2021, I started thinking about what I could do to make this work feel like I owned it again, not something absorbed into the feed and forgotten. What could I do differently? I always loved the idea of making a transparent blob, and I’d been doing a few experiments with casting, like this surreal cartoon breakfast I made for fun during the covid lockdown. <img width="782" height="782" width_o="782" height_o="782" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/5b5bea25c209963b6a41abb0eeb09805202fd24edab8b0bd7a3ba8ce0ddf39fd/englush.jpg" data-mid="233934740" border="0" data-scale="57" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/782/i/5b5bea25c209963b6a41abb0eeb09805202fd24edab8b0bd7a3ba8ce0ddf39fd/englush.jpg" /> The second iteration of Blobshop launched in October 2022 with minimal fanfare and little response. Years of slow posting and a severely reduced level of engagement with Instagram meant I was greeted with a punishingly low-priority place in the new algorithm-driven feeds. I could not - would not - put in the level of effort required to claw my way back to the top. I cringed at the thought of making a reel or using a trending audio. It felt humiliating and my heart wasn’t in it. I didn’t need to make them to survive anymore, having succumbed to full-time work in web development, so there was no need to force myself to play the game. I wasn’t willing to manipulate algorithms for attention I no longer craved. I really only wanted to prove to myself that I could do it and make it feel like mine again, rather than an idea that had been co-opted or diffused into something else.&nbsp; I’m so pleased with how they came out after 18 months of trial and error. I love them. <img width="1440" height="1440" width_o="1440" height_o="1440" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/26fadc70a223b86fdfea9f56f4aecf35451d80088517f308045cbf4f1020d7bd/333594610_883483372716225_4334422963196199098_n.jpg" data-mid="233942794" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/26fadc70a223b86fdfea9f56f4aecf35451d80088517f308045cbf4f1020d7bd/333594610_883483372716225_4334422963196199098_n.jpg" /> <img width="1440" height="1440" width_o="1440" height_o="1440" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/3a45da2709dd33c4e1c1c9bd2a8545709f4c85717e16ef76fbe482459eed11fa/333580993_523406256565260_2154899897817779670_n.jpg" data-mid="233942797" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/3a45da2709dd33c4e1c1c9bd2a8545709f4c85717e16ef76fbe482459eed11fa/333580993_523406256565260_2154899897817779670_n.jpg" /> <img width="1440" height="1440" width_o="1440" height_o="1440" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/bf2f3e4ae926780b68bbe68a189852691f50762c7d11b01efc6aa40dee56bf0a/330793293_975066813483078_5507339190195194097_n.jpg" data-mid="233942793" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/bf2f3e4ae926780b68bbe68a189852691f50762c7d11b01efc6aa40dee56bf0a/330793293_975066813483078_5507339190195194097_n.jpg" /> <img width="1440" height="1440" width_o="1440" height_o="1440" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/f3d66e4dd557c84a3a25f1a316bcdf969b36ec2eeaa0f309f26b04d7e37fdba5/335764566_912443426567788_6148477686608556169_n.jpg" data-mid="233942798" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/f3d66e4dd557c84a3a25f1a316bcdf969b36ec2eeaa0f309f26b04d7e37fdba5/335764566_912443426567788_6148477686608556169_n.jpg" /> Thanks for reading.Bex ✴ ✴ ✴ &nbsp;<img width="2004" height="1320" width_o="2004" height_o="1320" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/3b55000e90f6b7495c23b27b40a9a3133510c61853da2fb4cd01179da533194c/b2.jpg" data-mid="233938641" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/3b55000e90f6b7495c23b27b40a9a3133510c61853da2fb4cd01179da533194c/b2.jpg" /> <img width="320" height="320" width_o="320" height_o="320" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/95ba7ff526a3ef2d5930fd1bdf93905c6a984b3951afd8f7f9a93c0f3f87261b/IMG_3571.GIF" data-mid="233938333" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/320/i/95ba7ff526a3ef2d5930fd1bdf93905c6a984b3951afd8f7f9a93c0f3f87261b/IMG_3571.GIF" /> <img width="640" height="640" width_o="640" height_o="640" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/26a9a4eaf65af6ffe6e55982c3ff0fc03d2ee84a359a7f2483dab728a07b1ae8/IMG_3567.JPG" data-mid="233938335" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/640/i/26a9a4eaf65af6ffe6e55982c3ff0fc03d2ee84a359a7f2483dab728a07b1ae8/IMG_3567.JPG" /> <img width="640" height="640" width_o="640" 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data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/239c839b85ae0c1e1d675c8fde69d51298afd4d6f6412f9eed63c1b4d015c231/unnamed-copy.jpg" data-mid="233938423" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/239c839b85ae0c1e1d675c8fde69d51298afd4d6f6412f9eed63c1b4d015c231/unnamed-copy.jpg" /> https://bexilsley.com/Overview Fri, 30 May 2025 08:59:44 +0000 Bex Ilsley https://bexilsley.com/Overview <img width="1000" height="1000" width_o="1000" height_o="1000" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/00f1ed1f854274da3b7be6676857a8b0f6a2436c5a3b47f9775e3ce844d30765/beach.png" data-mid="234857940" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/00f1ed1f854274da3b7be6676857a8b0f6a2436c5a3b47f9775e3ce844d30765/beach.png" /> 04 I’m Still a Cannibal for the FBI I wanted to fix a childhood memory, and ended up deep in a digital dig-site, reverse-engineering a mostly-forgotten piece of history. Read more 🏝 21st June 2025and beyond <img width="1000" height="1000" width_o="1000" height_o="1000" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/0d7a34bcb961d8915619ffa1128fcd0028e7c150c496cf27a90f5aeffabd9825/GJ5A1907-2.jpg" data-mid="234492328" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/0d7a34bcb961d8915619ffa1128fcd0028e7c150c496cf27a90f5aeffabd9825/GJ5A1907-2.jpg" /> 03 Are You Still Watching? What happens when you become the work, then fall apart in front of it? Read more ⏿ 12th June 2025 <img width="640" height="633" width_o="640" height_o="633" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/6b03303905913efa8cdcc935a63bb67bea6e756eca47cba61a3adf6cd61a58e8/IMG_3005.PNG" data-mid="234492291" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/640/i/6b03303905913efa8cdcc935a63bb67bea6e756eca47cba61a3adf6cd61a58e8/IMG_3005.PNG" /> 02 Blobshop (2) Some bonus content regarding Blobshop. Includes a fun story about the time I didn’t get to make a mess on a roof in Oklahoma City. Read more 🌪 4th June 2025 <img width="2448" height="2448" width_o="2448" height_o="2448" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/5d359add15fb3c1c5c684f380cc2ced9617a945147488adacb23a35eb62bae64/IMG_5854.JPG" data-mid="234492299" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/5d359add15fb3c1c5c684f380cc2ced9617a945147488adacb23a35eb62bae64/IMG_5854.JPG" /> 01 Blobshop Once upon a time, I made neon goo blobs in my art school studio and I shipped them around the world for £25 each. Then Miley Cyrus followed me on Instagram and things got complicated.&nbsp; Read more 🗢 31st May 2025