This Risograph print series is a continuation of my anatomical Russian nesting doll Matryoshka (see Folklore exibit for more).

Here, the medium itself is thematically important since Risographs are a hybrid process of screen printing and photocopying. Each individual print is therefore technically a duplicate, yet no two are ever truly identical. Small shifts, misalignments and ink variations create subtle differences across the series, echoing our own cycles of reproduction and the way identity and individuality emerge.

Riso inks are also soy-based and sensitive to light, slowly fading over time if exposed to direct sunlight. This means every print has its own lifespan influenced by the care and conditions of its environment. In this way, the series is more than a simple reproduction. Each piece ages, changes, and will eventually one day disappear, mirroring the impermanence and individuality of life.

The first piece Hippodrome, was a faithful recreation of a genuine 1904 flyer from the venue’s golden age. Paying homage to its history, the flyer was framed within a design mirroring the Hippodrome's iconic stained glass canopy. This limited edition version subtly degraded moving down the piece, dissolving into decay until the text is no longer readable - a visual metaphor for the Hippodrome’s faded splendour and a quiet protest against its abandonment.

100 prints were created in total and exclusively available to buy directly at the fleeting exhibit. The remaining unsold copies were subsequently destroyed once demolition began.

A year-long project I undertook in the wake of the pandemic during a time of mass uncertainty. The project drew inspiration from divination practices like Tarot, and became a creative ritual of its own, combining playing cards with lines from Shakespeare's sonnets as a kind of cultural compass.

There was mathematical elegance to the process: 52 cards in a standard deck marring neatly with the 52 weeks of a year, and the card values themselves corresponding with the 14 lines of a sonnet, counting Aces as high and low.

Each week I drew a new card and sonnet page at random. The card value indicated a specific sonnet line which would serve as a reflecting point for inspiration, as well as becoming the title of the artwork. I then used the playing card itself as a canvas, working directly on it to transform the ordinary card into a new finished piece.

After concluding the project, I wanted to acknowledge something more meaningful in thefinished pieces than what was ultimately a mostly ignored social media post. I didn’t love every piece on its own, but the body of work: the process, the ritual and the persistence was something I was proud of. Maybe I’d grown protective of the cards after pouring so much energy into them, but to me they felt larger than their literal dimensions. I wanted others to see them that way too.

With some sleight of hand, I built miniature gallery spaces to photograph each card as though it were a monumental work. I left the miniature model people unpainted - stark white to expose the artifice, but I wanted to draw attention to the pieces themselves, and how much weight a gallery space can lend a piece of art. My hope was to encourage viewers to reconsider something they might otherwise overlook - like for example, a small, altered playing card on a desk.