Dani Schlosser

      ‘Dolls cannot stand alone’ #adollslife You want the life of a Barbie doll— the pink dream house, fancy dresses, driving Ferraris, riding My Little Ponies, being married to a man as perfect as you, whilst having occasional trysts with He-Man. Those...

Anne Ryland

      In Her Bones I discover her just off Pier Road, sitting on the bench that overlooks the river. Draped on the wooden slats, right femur resting on left, Agnes is completely at home in her two hundred and six bones. Relieved of padding and muscle,...

Jo Dingle

      Noticing how The snow has changed us, softened our faces, a glint in our eyes.  We perceive other differently; perhaps because of the way we drove more slowly, appreciating the need to take more care on the corners, or use the gears instead of the...

Joseph Carrigan

    Scrappedbooks China fragments sank into the ceiling pond. Drifts of weaponised magazines rose from the grass. Ochre splashed with primary blocks, exclamation marks the outline sharp, even through the brume. An upturned caravan echoes a tombstone. Pulped...

Bridget Khursheed

      Standing on top of the National Museum of Scotland We find the roof garden. Its little patch of moorland, birches, heather so perfect it might hide grouse turd, quartz, even Tunnock wrappers. A mountain peak handkerchief picnic-pack pooled until...