ABSTRACT
I know that all contemporary artists need a written introduction to their work, something that provides it with a bit of context. At best a narrative that portrays my work as the logical culmination of a personal journey, full of struggle and heroism. I sit here in front of my screen, trying to make a diverse artistic practice involving installations, video, performance, sculpture and online work out to be a single cohesive body of work. But below almost each of the words that I slowly type on the keyboard, a squiggly red line appears. It is as if the spell checker is determined to undermine the carefully constructed artistic persona that I am putting together from shows in and outside of institutions and other arts spaces. It is as if the computer is suggesting a potential drift through my own biography that opens the possibility that I could be writing a far more interesting text about my work than I am right now: a less regulated and smooth narrative of who I am as an artist, led by the associative structure of my spell checker's software, rather than my own preconceived notions of who I am and what I do.
