Thursday, 18 April 2013


This is the text that was created from the development in Fremantle and forms the basis for much of our work:

I’ve been sitting in this chair for ages waiting for my son and his family to visit. They don’t come that often. Sam’s wife is busy with the kids and work. Well, that’s what he tells me.

This will happen only once in existence. Bells don’t ring for no reason.

I seem to recall the first day I arrived here. The Matron looked me up and down and said “There, put her in there. She belongs with those people”. The place smelt of mothballs

I only see land and desert. Bells don’t ring for no reason.

They said I was violent once. I was strapped down and before I knew it daylight became darkness. I slept for three days. Well, that’s what they tell me.

I will meet you again sometime, but never in the same setting. Bells don’t ring for no reason.

I’m sick of toast, I want fruit for breakfast so I wheeled myself out into the courtyard and managed to sneak through the gate to the orchard. The Matron came running out and started yelling at me. I looked at her and said, “I want fruit”.

They grabbed me from behind and before I knew it I was confined. Bells don’t ring for no reason.

My son should be here by now. It would be great to see the kids again. It’s been a long time. I look at the painting of a butterfly hanging on my wall. It’s blue wings remind me of the sky outside. Oh how I wish I were a butterfly.

I remember running. The wind and clouds streaked with grey. The dew from the morning mist still lingers. I can taste it on my lips. I don’t know how long I will be able to hide from them. Bells don’t ring for no reason.  

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