Poppy

In my ignorance I can’t remember the artists name but it was a piece that consisted of three screens in a row. The first showed a camcorder recording of a birth, the second an underwater image of a messianic figure plunging into water over and over again and the third a recording of the artists mother slowly dying in hospital. It had been timed so that at the end of the 30 minute presentation we were left with an image of a newborn baby’s face and the lifeless face of the artists elderly mother. Without any special effects or CGI for an instant the baby’s face and the face of death were exactly the same. I was left feeling better about the world. It seemed that wishing oneself young again was the same as wishing to be old.

- ‘Oh come on, smile. Lisa, Jack… being bisexual is hardly a crime. Best of both worlds, isn’t it?’

- ‘No, Gwen. No, really it’s bloody not. It’s the worst of any world because you don’t really belong anywhere, because you are never sure of yourself or those around you. You can’t trust in anyone, their motives or their intentions. And because of that, you have, in a world that likes its nice shiny labels, no true identity. For Torchwood’s “Little Miss Sensitive”, you don’t half talk crap sometimes. So do me a favour and shut up about it, all right?’