explores how trauma lives on—not only in memory, but in the body. It reflects on how we remember: not in clear narratives, but in fragments, flashes, and half-formed feelings. Sometimes what surfaces isn’t a story, but a sensation—unsettled and hard to name.
layering sound, abstract visuals, and archival material, the work maps a sensory experience of medical trauma. Hospital imagery recurs throughout—curtains, scans, the cold glow of clinical blue—evoking spaces where the body is observed, categorised, and often unheard. There is a quiet violence in these environments, one that lingers long after the moment has passed.
the body as an archive sits in the spaces between words—in the gaps, in the discomfort, in what’s missing. It doesn’t seek resolution. Instead, it invites the viewer to feel their way through the noise.
a term blending pseudopapilledema and amnesia—reflects on the fragility of memory when shaped by trauma. It considers how the body, particularly the eye, becomes both witness and unreliable narrator. The optic nerve, affected by pseudopapilledema, becomes a symbolic threshold: a place where vision falters, and with it, the clarity of what we remember.
pseudomnesia explores childhood trauma through the lens of visual distortion. Memories blur like the shadow seen through a fundus camera—subtle, easy to miss, yet capable of obscuring everything. That shadow becomes more than medical—it stands in for the confusion, the emotional opacity, and the warped recollections trauma leaves behind.
presented through abstract visuals and a cold, clinical blue, pseudomnesia evokes hospital spaces, diagnostic light, and the anxiety that lingers long after. What’s seen is uncertain. What’s remembered is incomplete. The work invites viewers into that space of distortion—where memory, body, and perception intersect, and nothing is entirely as it seems.
redacted, 2023
is a reflection on memory, medical trauma, and the emotional aftermath of childhood illness. Drawing from recurring nightmares and forgotten fragments, the work explores how early experiences are buried, blurred, and rewritten over time. What remains isn’t always clear—but it lingers in dreams, in files, in the things we try not to remember.
Through digitally altered images, a cold NHS-inspired blue palette, and cut or obscured faces, the project evokes the dissociation and distance of looking back. Hospital corridors and family scenes appear as disjointed echoes—half-familiar, half-lost. Presented as a zine, Redacted weaves together personal recollection with broader questions about the erasure of children’s voices in clinical spaces.
The work speaks to the quiet rewiring that happens after trauma: the learned functionality, the guilt, the forgetting. It doesn't try to reconstruct a full story. Instead, it traces the emotional weight of what was redacted—and what surfaces when you start to look again.