This work began when I acquired a malfunctioning electric typewriter which scrambles every key into a different letter. I interpreted its glitchy layout and wrote fragmented, hesitant lines of poetry directly onto found printed material.

Using pages from the Bolia New Collection catalogue, I composed texts that drift around ideas of perfection, longing, and the quiet grief of forms that never quite arrive. A shambolic meditation on what slips through design and what cannot be held by ideas of coherence.

When held to the light, each page reveals faint reverse impressions: hidden words, ghosted structures. Sofas wash up on shorelines. A tree pushes through a window frame. The image shifts depending on how it is seen.

Afterwards, the works were folded up and released into circulation via a vending machine, sold for 50p.

They’re still out there somewhere.