Arianne Churchman
Folkloric Wormhole

Exhibition open:

20.1.18 – 11.2.18
Sat. – Sun. 12:00 – 18:00

Private view:

Thursday January 18th, 19:00 – 21:00

I’ve slipped through a hole and somehow I’m not sure, I’m not sure where I’ve ended up. I’ve cut the apple in half, flattened it into a circle and have found five seeds in a pentacle, these seeds branch out, holey toast is hung upon each branch and before I know it I’ve slipped through another hole. There is a talking bull but he’s got woodworm and I’m not sure whether he is woodworm, bull or another of these wormholes. Time and space is flattened, we’re all drunk on cider and I don’t know where we are.

Speculation is the name of the game. None of this is quite real, historically or scientifically. We float from one speculation to another, from one time frame to another. We’re going to bless some trees, we’re going to hope for cider - we’re going to offer up something. We’re feeding apple trees their own apples - we’re creating a tunnel back to themselves. We’re summoning spirits, spaces and slippages; we’re still unsure where we might end up.

Are you ok falling through these holes? It sometimes shifts things about - apparently things aren’t the same once you go through them - well that’s if they are there at all. Topsy-turvy things are chucked together and then chucked at you. You’ll find that time is no longer quite the same, shapes and meanings are altered, can you see that donkey's tongue – why is it so long now? Are you sure you’re ok falling through these holes?