Powder
There was a stone cast out all by itself from her installation. I much preferred the stone to the artwork in fact to the whole exhibition, which I had been looking forward to seeing immensely. I picked it up and took it home with me. The next day I grated it all up into crystalline powder, poured it into a pot of clear nail varnish and painted my nails. I have some left
Miracle
I had remembered reading about those saints that continue to smell fragrant after death so with a mop and a bucket of stale water I coated the inside of a room in miracle perfume.
Church Bell Tower
The church bell tower had turned into a spa and so I booked a reflexology appointment under the name Isabelle, set my phone to a recording of the very bells, climbed the stairs and hoped that somebody would call me.
Echo
I had wanted to keep an echo and so I found one that lasted for eighteen seconds, recorded it and set it to always play on loop. To help, Polly and I thought she could be not the echo but the whole wish itself and so we had many conversations about where she was.
Three Milks
There are three milks outside the smallest cream house on the street. They sit in a line, a few inches between them. One is a large plastic bottle mostly empty, one is a glass bottle completely unopened and one isn’t milk at all, but a small bottle of white spirit.
The song took a pill
Dear Alice,
For Three Milks I am doing a performance where I am driven in a car very slowly from my house to the house where the three milks are. It is a tiny way, just around a corner. The drive is called Grace Slick. She wrote the song White Rabbit. The first time she was involved in White Rabbit the song was long but not many people heard it, and the second time around, the song was tiny but millions still hear it. It was as though the smaller song took a pill and slotted into the bigger one, and yet the bigger one is tiny in length.
If the drive is called Grace Slick, who am I and what am I doing inside? I am not sure
I’m day dreaming about your part. On 1st September it would be great if you could enter the event, anytime is fine, walk to a surface and put down a piece of paper very slowly. I’m sure people would notice. The paper could have the Three Milks story on it after all, and maybe after all of this, Three Milks is like a fairytale that has undergone a transformation in disguise.
White Rose
There was a show and she asked me to burn CDs for her and so I did but into two of them I dragged and dropped a tiny image of a white rose
Bruise
She told me about the bruise she had acquired and how she had wanted to slow it and keep it so she rubbed it more but that she felt it would be better here with me in my work alongside Am3er(*), Sn0ww*te, La(una! and all the other dead passwords to come
Bridge
Honey
I was thinking about dry honey so I asked my friend who is a Butoh dancer to be honey as subtly as she could in a chair opposite me and a man I’d never met, while I asked him to stroke the back of his head whenever he thought someone was behind him and a boy dressed as spiderman sat between us and stared.
No New Stories
The dentists is called waterfall house, opposite its cafe j’adore, which is closed down and cafe aroma too. I always miss the air with the air freshener at work and instead spray the black cat wallpaper and it looks like fur that has been rained on. As the sun rose a lorry full of ping pong balls fell over into the bend in the road
Rules
Sarah Boulton – Swan Video, 2014 (1 min. 50). This video should only be presented held by someone. They should hold it close to them and watch it in its entirety as they do, without taking their eyes off it. If it means they crane their neck that is ok. The video should only play once.
Dark Quartz
I approached a lady on the tube to ask her what perfume she was wearing. She told me, Dark Quartz
Loudest Thunderstorm
I played a very loud thunderstorm in headphones in a soundproof room. The appointment was rushed and the room was hard, made of shiny wood and full of things that stayed silently still.
Sarah Boulton uses descriptions and occasions to look at absence, the feeling of immateriality, and the idea of forever. Boulton graduated from the Slade School of Art in 2015 and since has presented pieces with Rhubaba Gallery & Studios, Cell Project Space, aqnb, Wysing Arts Centre, Artarea and OPENYOURKIMONO. Her texts have been published by Tender Journal, Best British Poetry Anthology and SALT Editorial.**
