Hungry, I've Fallen
September 2-12, 2026

Red Gallery, Fitzroy North, Melbourne. 

 

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Lately we spend days suspended between longing and catastrophe, embedded in the landscape pining for a place that doesn’t exist. 

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Marvel! How the body holds it all at once. 

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Some sort of spiritual cavity that contains all your little sparks and wonderings. The things you could never do because of time and money but the little cheers still flutter around amongst the anxious misery. The long hours and early mornings and groundhog days despite the deep deep, deep dioxazine purple sadness. Longing for something that already encases you the way concrete longs for the damp earth and the worms. The daily missed justices and off-balance of the whole sinking ship. The quiet ache knowing we could be heading right into disaster and the fucking awe and wonder of it all. 

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The plasticity of us means we’ll only be the same under the same circumstances, so what happens when the world changes? Inside of corporeality there’s animalistic instinct dormant, or maybe, it’s not too far under the surface. When a sweet animal is treated badly do you blame the bite and not the hand that drove it there? 

 

The truth that made me ravenous. 

 

Slimy rich cunts eating baby birds and the wings of rare mythical beasts you and I have never even heard of while we plunge into the deep and churning of the unknown, of what the world looks like when it’s uncared for. 

 

I fall and tumble with it all but this time I fall hungry. 

 

I am a beastie, deranged and course-haired. Full of meteors and gleaming.