Disinflection revisited.

Emma sent me her beloved printing press for the studio – already her imagination sewn onto the lining of another country; removing all not needed for self-imposed exiled. In speaking aloud what needed to be spoken she realised there were far fewer words required.

On our grandmother’s birthday, I witnessed a horse put down on the racetrack and saw the grotesqueness of the racing industry for what it was. I was scorned for my distress by people who couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to stay out with them.

All Images/Words Emma Kirsopp/Alison Boyd ©