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The power of the object
The power of the song
I see them as the same.


I collect the objects

I write the words

I find sounds that suggest presence

I find garments that suggest presence

I use one to strengthen the story in the other

I draw overlapping threads between songs and objects

I place the women in the musical landscape

A place where I (they) live

with the thoughts in my(their) head


Some of these words and found/altered objects come straight from my gut.

Some are observed from behind my eyes, watching other women, feeling the threads between me and them.

Middle age is a wonderful place to be …you don’t often hear that do you?

I feel strong, more powerful than I ever have. I see younger women battling with the world and themselves. I’m too old now to give a shit what the world thinks. This me is the most me I can remember being since those mythical school holidays as a child paddling along streams, whacking the undergrowth with a stick, imagining, exploring, not just the woods but inside my head.

I believe so strongly that every child should be let loose into the world with either real or metaphorical wellies and a stick.

I sang then, as I sing now.

I see older women either succumbing to the physical and mental toll of age, or fighting it with every bit of spirit left in them. I know women over eighty who skip sprightly around the world, physically if they are able, mentally if they are not. I see smirks, lifting of eyebrows and the sort of wrinkles that got there from laughing. I also see women barely in their sixties for whom it has all been too much… those wrinkles form very different patterns.

I believe so strongly that older women should keep their wellies and stick handy, just in case….


My way of looking at the world and telling other people, is to embroider my truth onto the bras… read it how you will. The soundtrack is the one I’m humming as I beat a path through life in my wellies, with my stick. Some songs are deeply, deeply, all my own. Some I’ve borrowed from those observed women.

I hum while I sew. I sew while I hum.


The object and the song are the same.

They arrive in your brain via different routes, thats all.


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