It isn’t helpful to think about my work in the context of a gallery. Nothing is given. My work may have no relationship with a gallery-type space: it may be on paper, or said, or just in my house.

For the time being it may be unhelpful to think about any physical context for my work. The project I’m working on at the moment – the forks writing – is still too softened to have an outside surface, and so thinking about where to contain the outside surface can only threaten it.

And by context I mean not just the physical space but the skin of the work. Whether the words will be sung, and have sound, and have a tune; or just have the sound of being said; or be typed or handwritten, and on paper or card or inside little boxes … I don’t feel like I have enough of an idea of the work yet to allow it into physicality.

But here’s the problem again: here I am putting off the aesthetics of the work again.

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I have to be careful. I think there’s a danger in thinking about the viewer too early. The mechanics of the work – whether it’ll be easily taken in in a gallery, whether it will suit the viewer, questions of commercial value – are the threatening bits. The skin of the work, the close, integrated surface of the work, which is kindly and which is mindful of the work’s inside, is a friend of the work, and is the work. Whether or not my fork writing is filed away quietly on index cards is a question to take seriously; whether or not it will be easy for people to see the writing if the card file were put in a gallery is a question to ignore until the last possible moment.