This Glass is Already Broken (2018-19)
Colour photograms (9 x11")
Ongoing series of colour photograms using a drinking glass. Text below written by Kieran Lilwall to accompany the series.
'My house I filled with collected things, has already been
destroyed somehow, or I've moved on.
This home we raised togetherm has already collapsed or
burned, or we've just moved out...down-sized.
This glass is already broken, so I enjoy it enormously.
This relationship has already changed.
This relationship is already less thrilling.
This certainty has run to doubt.
This huge 5-litre canister of oliveoil I brought back is already empty.
This child I became has already grown and gone.
The big meal is already savoured and done.
The voices that raised me are already dead.
These shoes are already a touch wak.
This new tent is already not light enough.
I've already seen the limitations of my great new idea.
I've already picked holes in my justification.
This crew has already split, just drifted apart...
This city-so-perfect, has already lost some of its charm.
This summer is already a cold autumn.
The music is already annoyingly familiar.
The keitz already seems less fascinating.
This battery's charge is already really short.
This day-bed is already threadbare.
This dope new thing is already stale.
This Christmas get-together is already over.
These farewells are shaken and hugged.
These floorboards are already scratched.
the pendant has already been lost, maybe in a river.
This class already has a new teacher.
So's this record.
These kids have already become a bit cynical.
This lake is already cold again.
This beautiful bowl is already in pieces.
This book is already dog-eared and tatty.
This rainbow pencil has already been sharpened to a useless stump.
This rainbow pencil has already been pinched.
These ideas have already been redefined.
These bones and joints. these bones and joints already ache.
This balance is already comprimised.
These memories have already faded.
This clear thinking had already become muddled.
These connections have already stopped firing.
Others' memories of me have already dimmed.
This blood in me has already stopped moving.
This glass is already broken and I enjoy in tremendously.
This welling of emotion has already dulled.
This moment of clear, bright singing, it's already fallen silent.
This afininity has been replaced by pity and suspicion.
This expansiveness is alredy guarded and cautious.
This contentedness had shifted.
This phrase has already been turned more elegantly.
This vivid focus is heavy and limp.
This floor, swept and mopped, is already mucky again.
This hot-hand has already run its course.
This digital storage is already puny.
These rounded, white, rectangular tiles are already cracked and chipped.
This sharpness is already less keen.
The sheen on these panniers is already dulled, scuffed and smudged.
This pleasure in novelty is already replaces by irritations.
This care-freedom is alredy weighed down.
This downhill run, this freewheeling, has already lost pace.
Thse responsibilities I'm already absolved of them.
This walking lucidity has been forced to a blunt.
This certainty, this lovely righteousness, is tempered by doubt.
This belief in a cause is already unsure of its worth. This pro has already been intimidated by its cons.
This ability to persist has already wavered and submitted.
this enthusiasm has already abated.
This composure has already been seen to crack.
This wonderful return of a boundless energy has already gone again.
This high, so clear and clean, is already muddy and a bit head-achy.
This thing that is the best thing I've ever seen, it already seeems a little played out.
This heavy green kitchen cabinet I hang myself has already fallen from the wall.
All my glasses lay shatted and I enjoy them all the more enormously.'