Introduction // Background // Theory and Context // Methods // Discussion i. Bodies and Buildings // The Pleating Papers // Discussion ii. Spaces and Voices // Other Stories // Conclusion // References and Image List

I have often felt frustrated at the didactic nature in which we talk and write about art; the way an audience is taught not to think but to wait to be told what to think; and how we are stuck in an academic or pedagogic system of speaking that does not question the extent to which this is relevant or necessary to the work.

Many questions arise from this frustration: must one always explain and contextualise or make it easy for the viewer? What happens when artists themselves write, or text is an art form in itself? How do text and artwork relate to one another and what is one with or without the other? Must narrative always be singular, or could there be multiple, equal narratives? To me, it seems that as a contemporary art public we have a general tendency to need to understand everything, to have things explained, wanting things to be easy to read — an inherent laziness, perhaps, or a backlash against elitist models of talking about art. Perhaps we don’t trust enough in our own immediate response to a work of art and the personal associations it triggers (if indeed it triggers anything at all). But, in being told what to think (e.g. by texts in galleries or art criticism in magazines or academic papers), are we cutting off opportunities for alternative meaning and more intuitive readings of art?

As a child, I had an aversion to audio guides that persists to this day, preferring to imagine my own stories of a place or object. It was more exciting to conceive my own narratives while wandering around a National Trust stately home or English Heritage castle1 than to listen to a history as relayed by a BBC Radio-voiced speaker,2 full of dates, details and names that I would never remember. This attitude follows me even now when I visit a museum or historic place, or experience an artwork. I want to imagine. I want there to be many possible stories, some of which I would never envision. I want places, objects and works of art to be allowed to tell their own stories, even if these stories are multiple, various and constantly changing. I want the narratives I experience when looking at a work of art, or the stories my sculptures tell me, to be some amongst many; to leave things open for new associations to be made and relationships formed.