I feel like so much of my life is reaching out and trying to feel for the boundaries and borders of myself. My place in the world, the ‘where’ I am situated. Borders are things that exist only when being policed, they are violent because of this. Am I policing myself if I look for the edges? There is security in knowing what keeps me bound in, what binds me, but in all this seeking I keep finding myself without boundaries - what do I do , is a question my loved ones never know how to respond to, for example. At my sister’s birthday recently her and a few friends explained how they had described me recently and asked how I describe myself - we all had different answers, all of them the truth. Can the borders of myself shift, and is the current world able to allow for this flexibility? This idea of borders and boundaries seems to be a physical pursuit, I am picturing my fingers wiggling into the darkness, searching for a soft surface to caress. I never want to write a memoir, but I do
This is a project about the conversations and thoughts that food, drink and the location of London brings.