With the idea of including text, I decided to use observations that could be very personal to me and the feelings that surround being at home, or just observations surrounding things that happen in my home.

I like the idea of the prose all being in lowercase, I like the ‘lowkey’ effect of using lack of capitalization as a stylistic device, this brings the subtly and almost ‘shy’ way of presenting itself, which definitely matches the atmosphere. I like the idea they are embedded in time, giving more of a context to the not only the imagery, but also the way that different times and days have an impact on the words.


topophilia,(From Greek topos “place” and -philia, “love of”) is the love of, emotional connection and basic human instinct of a ‘sense of place’.
to me, home is my safe space, it becomes either my freedom or my constraints, sometimes equally as jarring.
very lucky, i still live with my parents, and so the ever growing sense of craving independence mingles with the safety and comfort, along with the ‘sense of belonging’ and being rooted within our day to day life that we have crafted for ourselves.
documenting pieces of ym home has been cathartic, spellbinding, and sometimes confusing, trying to figure out why the crumbs on the bread board, or the socks hanging on the edge of the basket brought such familiarity and sense of comfort to me. being able to revel in these emotions exposed uncomfortable underlying feelings, and the realisation that sometimes although home might be a haven, it does not distract from the inner goings on in your mind; it is simply there to shelter you.


today the skies are grey and the light that leaks from inside wraps around the kitchen as subtly and gently as it can. i fall into space; i dissociate, not recognising the way that the grey bounces off the floor, the kettle, even the cupboards that sting my eyes with their brightness. i watch as the light doesn’t change. i watch as the shadows don’t get darker but suddenly the lights have to be turned on. in this space i feel lost, but comfortable knowing that the floor will catch me, and the light will continue to wrap itself around everything, it does not falter – 22nd november 2017

the silence is deafening, but it is comfortable, the steady drip of the bathroom tap keeps the ticking clock company, the steady hum of the computer compliments the steady hum of my thoughts. my hands are cold. my feet are not. should i put the heating on? it isnt uncomfortable. i don’t want to leave the house, the silence, it is deafening, but it is comfortable. 13.49pm, 22nd november 2017

the yellow lighting of the lamp of my desk casts deep shadows over the atmosphere of the room. the house encased in claustrophobia, bubbling frustration and deep-rooted anger itching at my skin, suddenly the house is too hot, the room is too small, the vices too loud, the shadows too dark. 18.08pm 22nd november 2017

sun wraps its way below the horizon, gathering dusk means bitter cold outside, but warmth within. 17.23pm 26th november 2017

my safe space, my haven and my warmth. 17.24pm 26th november 2017

it is the absence of home that makes me miss it, being away makes nostalgic fools of us all. 10.03am 27th November 2017

the eggs are nearly a month out of date I tell mum.

Saturday mornings start with coffee and crumbs, kettles and cuddles. clinking cutlery and crinkling as bread is wrapped up again. Saturdays end with hazy vision, Sundays begin with crumpled sheets, pill sliding down your throat and sunlight caressing freckled skin.

Wednesday I am alone. I pair the socks, try not to flinch at dirt that is left over, at least they don’t smell.

an instinctive need to be chase light and warmth, a connection to my surroundings, but never aware of why. 12.53pm 27th November 2017



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