Precipice

Procrastination = drawing
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My Grandmother’s wedding dress

Feeling nostalgic, I decided to try on my Italian grandmother’s wedding dress because being single and bored has apparently no other outcome…

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I wanted to feel close to the woman I knew very little about and with the dress fitting like a glove – besides me being a good foot taller and feeling a draught around my ankles – memories did start to flood back…

Grandmother Italia

I tug on the lace
Falling down to the ground.
Pale and brittle –
Just like my skin –
It could flake like tree bark and
Descend.
Not like yours.
An olive glow.
“You look just like”
“You’re the spitting image”
Years and years
This has left me confused.
Where I’ve bit my lip
Searching my pasty face for her,
Searching my clunky words for her.
Language has slumped exhausted
Out of my mouth,
Trying to mimmic
The dancing of her syllables.
How she missed out the H –
My name was remade.

I tug at this lace
Like a child,
As if it’s a bell-pull
And wait for a response
From Grandmother Italia.

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Moon

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Jagged lines, throw down your light,
And I’ll float and drift across the sea.
I’ll lie and wait to be moon-smacked
For shards of white to slice through me.

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All The Single Ladies?

Now just Listen:
She’s telling us something.
Women together
Women forever
Undulate our curves,
And it’s rhythm that we serve.
But is it Love On Top?
Or something else?
I’ll put this to you,
What has happened?
She told us in high-reaching-riffs
To own our hips and
Spit strength from our lips,
But now we are Hustlers,
But only a version,
A swerve, a Diva-sion,
And under their Halo,
Something has changed.
What’s 1+1?
And the Countdown begins.
The competition’s tough,
You see, flesh is enough,
So instead of him,
Upgrade your limbs.
Spread out your 1 + 1
And you’ll get a million hits,
Because, you know, If I Were A Boy,
I’d need proof you’re still “legit.”
The box to the left
Houses you now,
Possessions in a square,
The camera’s caging glare.
So, Mother of song,
Where have you gone?
Because gravity can’t forget,

Wait –

A drooping silhouette,
Is what you want to offset?
But I’m sure, I’m sure,
That your vision distorts,
Yes, I’m sure, I’m sure,
That your body contorts,
Because it’s hard not to drink
From a surrounding pool.
So, I see, it’s clear now,
It really is tough,
When the liquid’s Irreplaceable
And you’ve become Drunk In “Love.”

By Hannah Vaughan

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Sea Mist

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Cliff-faces looming out of the mist.

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Cerebra

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Some photos of my creative piece, Cerebra, that I have done for uni. I handed it in bound as a diary, where the drawings and the writing deteriorate as you read it. It explores the idea of women being split, where the mind is controlled by a floating male brain called Cerebra. Bit mad, but really fun 🙂

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New website

Myself and some other students have created a website based around our module ‘Bodies, Gender and Language.’ The collection of work includes writing, drawings and photography surrounding the module title subject. Take a look at our work!

http://www.strikingly.com/bodiesgenderlanguage

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