I see scale as being less about the size and more about the meaning.”
Back when I was five, I used to stick yellow Hula Hoops on my fingers and pretend to be engaged. Tiny hands all salty, our big maroon-grey rescue Mastiff – a girl, like me – licked them clean. Bundled in duffel coats and balaclavas we’d meet Dad at Seal Sands after work, watch the black-footed Little Stints wade in the froth by the pipeline.
Dad had a stroke in the year that Lady had her first litter. The nurse taught me to inject Lovenox (“if this is love,” we’d grimace) straight into his stomach. He was so angry, that’s what kept him with us so long.
But last year, we threw Dad’s ashes on the Estuary, and skimmed stones after him.
I love walking by water, talking to him.
In pink jeans, walking Lady’s daughter (all grey now) by the chilly inlet off Scotts Road, I catch a sapphire sparkle – steel hoops and a furled wire net – “Planet’s Biggest Public Art Project”, the Gazette said. Far across the water, in silhouette, one giant loop is a half-inch circlet. My ring finger fits right inside it.
This is the fourth in a series of experimental exhibition texts commissioned by Platform A Gallery for the group show Fuze, 2011. Quote taken from a conversation between Annie O’Donnell & Becky Hunter, April 2011. Final text up next.