A Quiet Intimacy

A curious narrative begins to form by using small details of an existence that is anonymous to me. I merge found objects that were once bookmarks into the pages of the books that I am reading.

The dictionary definition for the word 'anonymous' is to be without a name and, while working on this project and others, I observed a need for anonymity and the fear associated with not having it. I started to imagine ways that I could represent the subtleties of our differences without the identity attached to a face or a name. I prefer working with objects that have been used: Once valued and with purpose but then, as time passes, discarded or forgotten. It is this facelessness and the delicate infiltrating of belongings and spaces of existences that are unknown to me that provide me with the scope to explore small differences.

Entering libraries early in the morning, before the cleaning staff have cleared away the books or neatly rearranged the furniture, I photograph the books left behind and the chairs no longer occupied but left untouched. At the beginning of the year, I approached libraries and asked them to collect items found in books, imagining that I would never hear from them again. I have now started to receive what people have used as bookmarks. I scan these objects into the pages of the books that I am reading. Overlooked items are given space to be seen, highlighting the intimate act of combining a stranger's items with my own belongings.

Through listening, thinking and observing, I began to notice a distinct lack of understanding and tolerance for our differences and I found this deeply concerning. It is this reason that has helped to shape my practice. Working with intention helps me to form ideas in a structured way but the potential for chance and the unknown is exciting to me.

Libraries are one of the last free indoor public spaces: A space to be quiet and acquire knowledge. Through this project, I have been observing the services they provide to communities.