Lea Becker

I believe it’s incredibly important to realise that we can all be emotionally empowered. While the things that take place around us often happen without our influence, the way we deal with them is still our choice. I also believe that people are able to change, no matter how old they are. We might think we’re all set in our ways but it’s important to take responsibility for our actions and behaviour. We must frequently rethink and possibly change our attitudes if we want to be active, positive and empowered members of our communities.

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Phil Ormrod

To perservere in hope of Summer
To adapt to its broken promise
To love winter

To sleep.

To love winter
To adapt to its broken promise
To perservere in hope of Summer

Sisu by Lavinia Greenlaw

Susie Hogarth

Transformation – a traditional plot device in fairy tales, where a moment of magic precipitates a physical metamorphosis and narrative shift – takes on various forms in ‘The Girl of Fur and Bones’. Those that happen to us – ie. the bodily transformations that usher in the frightening rapture of adolescence – those transformations we can engineer for ourselves in defense, and those that may prove to be our salvation.

I wanted to explore anorexia – one of the most radical and brutal of physical transformations – as a kind of tragic spell (or ‘glamour’, in the traditional sense), which The Girl feels compelled to invoke as a kind of defense against corporeal change, sadness and loss of innocence. My starting point was fur, in the form of excessive body hair, being both one of the more unusual side-effects of anorexia nervosa and an oft-used symbol of sexual awakening or sexual danger in folklore. (The original French language Cinderella featured a distinctly vaginal fur slipper – the more clinical glass is a mistranslation – and the fur-covered wolves young girls encounter lurking in woods can be easily interpreted as a manifestation of the fear and danger of the onset of sexual maturity). The sudden sprouting of excessive body hair in anorexic sufferers has the effect of lending an animal-like sadness to the individual who emerges from the transformation – the Beast in pursuit of her Beauty – and consequently, to some extent, is an ironic counterpoint to the sexual ramifications of fur in folklore as the hair becomes a morbid suit of armour, protecting its wearer against physical maturity and its ramifications.

I like to take archetypal, universal folkloric elements and interweave them with the mundane, the urban and the everyday, allowing the former to bring out some of the magical or sublime qualities in the latter, and the latter to underpin and weight the former. This hopefully allows the language of fairytale to speak in a contemporary voice. A tower becomes the fortress of childhood against the sexual and bodily slings and arrows of adolescence. A packet of Space Raiders becomes a token of love and simple nourishment – a kind of fetish imbued with the power of kindness and empty calories. And the most vivid signs of urban peril – sirens – borrow some of the sexually dangerous symbolism of their mythological counterparts.

Madaleine Trigg

From the moment we are born, our body is in a constant state of evolution.

We emerge, grow, transform and ultimately decay.

The landscape of our body has its own intimate story to tell.  We are marked through our engagement with life, moulded by the people we meet.

Perhaps this is why scars intrigue me.  They act as a permanent reminder of the lost moment, prompting memories, which speak of our resilience and fragility, evoking trauma and triumph.

We cannot fully suppress the demise of the body.  Instead we must inform our attitude towards it.  Change is inevitable and necessary.  Without it we stagnate.

Rob Gallagher

Transformation is something, I guess, that I mostly think about in textural terms – conjunctions or juxtapositions of different textures; kludges, whereby things get wired, sutured or gaffa’d to other things; bricolage and recombination. Also, changes of state – the rind developing on something viscous; the fact that glass is a liquid and, given enough years, a pane thins at the top. I’m really attracted to that space where intention comes up against friction, and entropy, and finitude, and something new arrives.

Daniel Pacrami

Cells in human bodies replace themselves so regularly that, after seven years, the body is composed of microorganisms totally foreign to those seven years past.  A finger or toenail takes about 6 months to grow from base to tip.  Skin is shed and regrown over a period of roughly 27 days – a dozen new skins a year, a thousand in a lifetime.  Only half an hour of every human’s life is spent as a single cellular organism – the time in which the egg is fertilized.  The rate of transformation around and inside me is unfathomable.  In fact, stagnation is, intrinsically, alien.  Transformation is the most natural state of my existence.