Rose Brooks

Sometimes, I write things down to remember.

Mainly, I write things down so I can see them all small like the lights in the windows on the hill across the way; pull the words out - silk handkerchiefs - like a clown, and string them up.

Sometimes, I write things down so that I don’t have to say them.

Saying things out loud feels more real, you have to hear it in your own voice. By the time you read this, it will be just pictures of letters. Spelt out and spaced out. Like the picture of the porch, taken from the dream, taken from the house, taken on my phone, seen by you, through your screen. Standing back allows for room to process, to lay it all out and see the pieces. It’s cathartic, pull little letters out like splinters, like the first time you plucked your eyebrows. By the time you read it I will have stopped wincing. 

My work is the lens with which I see and navigate the world. Although research lead in practice, my emphasis is always on exploration and experimentation, embracing the process and the ever evolving, transient qualities of work without a fixed outcome. I am fascinated by the mysteries of the everyday - the inexplicable and intangible, the spaces between and the peripherals. Here, I engage with technology in order to look back on the human experience: to watch systems parallel to our own - the internet becomes a wide open playing field to be explored, dug up, and re-mapped.

I am interested in the discussion of dreams as the telling of secrets - my colleague tells me she dreams of smothering her mother. We laugh as if it’s a joke, and speak about lunch. Her’s is before mine, I don’t mind.

I am interested in the dream as the coughed up, appearing on the carpet.

I am interested in this as processing, as trauma and as stuckness, as the absurd, the funny, the obscured.