Although it didn't start off that way, this piece was a response to the experience of curating the infusoria exhibition. Most of the participants were women I had got to know online; almost all our communication was by e-mail, and on blogs, discussion groups and Facebook because I had only met a few of them face to face. We discussed the emergence of common themes and concerns in women's visual poetry over the last few years, and as works for the exhibition began to fill my living room, some of these became apparent. In particular, recurrent fascination with smallness, fragility, ephemerality, and with the body grotesque. Fluid, ambiguous language and organic, sometimes tactile forms are crossed with the electronic, robotic, machine-driven, nerdy.
I was fascinated by texts left open for the reader to create. By poems that could be held in the hands. By the idea of writing in order to not say something: presenting the act of trying or failing or refusing to speak. I loved working with illegible or partly obscured texts, poems you could only read if you pick them up and play with them, shake them, hold them up to the light. In the months before the exhibition, I dreamed recurrently of finding a cache of blue-green stones or curious jewels, buried in the ground.