Afoot is a site where the initial tentative and child-like first steps take place. Actions, images, and words will all be given their chance and pushed on stage. Conversation between these squibs will be encouraged and sustained. It is understood that quick-fire experiments, however useful for motivation or a combatant against procrastination, rarely lead to much more than an increased dum dum of the heart and the production of work which can often seem body-less. 

This site, I hope, will remain in an active state of flux. Things will be uploaded regularly and will function as a 'blog' would operate.

Please be patient...




This is an initial action in a series of performances based in and around the Walthamstow Marshes. This short piece came from a late afternoon walk on the marsh, just down from Springfield Park, Clapton. It took as its starting point the idea of writing performance into existence, asking: whwhat happened to the 'live' aspect of these performances? And, Is it enough to merely imagine a work into existence?  



 4:39PM - Walthamstow Marshes

As the cobwebs reflect the afternoon light, a performance is underway. The deadly utility of a spider’s web seems to be of paramount importance to the work. A man lies amongst the Creeping Marshwort and Scot’s bracken. As he lays there motionless, still and bound, I contemplate the merits of this strange sight. He is bound with what looks to be thick shipping rope. From shoulder to toe the rope constricts all movement. I am reminded of past Houdini shows. The man remains calm. He lays there seemingly awaiting the sound of the starter’s pistol. Without warning he begins. Wriggling and writhing, he wears a pained expression. He is trying to escape with a great amount of effort. Time is moving incredibly slowly. 23 minutes pass. No luck so far. I begin to feel this may be an impossible task for our performer. Maybe, this is a performance of attrition, wearing away over time the very constraints that hold him? No, silly idea. Maybe, its a performance of failure and we are the only ones willing on his efforts? A few onlookers begin to leave, others look away. Discomfort has  now crept onto the faces of those watching. Where do we look? At this individual who after 49 minutes is exhausted and may be beginning to realise the futility of his mission? Do we walk away and leave him there? Or, do we stay and remain hopeful? I watch on, another woman also stays and we silently will our performer to beat his self-made constraint.


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7:44AM - Clifton, Bristol

'arm up. swivel right. hoot loudly. left foot down. lunge forward', read the instructions. 'repeat 300 times, do this in a cheery manner, without effort'. We stood in the car park in rows of 20. The light had all but gone apart from the orange glow coming from a near-by petrol station. '138.7 per litre', read the electronic sign.

We started our task; we did this as cheerfully as we could. The orange glow gave out a false hope of warmth; mid-October is anything but here. As the task continued the exhalations of breath grew stronger, clouds of uniformed gas rose upwards. 

'huhh....hurr....huhh....hurr....huhh....hurr....huhh....hurr....huhh....hurr.... huhh....hurr....huhh....hurr....huhh....' everyone in unison.

The mass exercise propaganda films of Nazi Germany came to mind; except in this case no-one marched up and down the lines keeping time. We had naturally fallen into this rhythm without any effort.


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The link below (photo) was the result of a kind-of joint writing exercise between myself and the deceased author of The Living Mountain, Nan Shepherd (kind-of, because Nan had no say). Nan became somewhat of an inspiration for a single day's diary - written for the Sideways festival - which chartered the events of a days walking on route to Turnhout, Belgium. I was participating in Sideways as a Walking Librarian, as part of the Walking Library project.

(entitled: kasterlee to turnhout)










The Boucalais texts came out of a task initiated by Paulo Sudo - member of the Various Artist collective - whilst walking and participating in the VA project entitled, Boucalais. The response to Paulo's instruction follows on from the Walthamstow Marshes series (example across the page). Performances are constructed within the mind and from the conception, through to the transcription and on to the vocalisation and actualisation, they intervene in the space between the visual and the unreal/imagined. Sites in this case are dependent on my whereabouts at the time of receiving instruction - 'don't step on them' - which then acts as a trigger and a performance begins. 




7:36AM - Hotel Bellevue, Wissant, France

She was awaken by the early arrival of the bin lorry. 'mmmmmmmmmggrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr............KKSSHHHHHHH' The protracted arm bullishly lifted the bins up and deposited their waste inside. The time 7:36am.

Miss Angel opened her eyes. We looked up from the ink heavy notebooks and paused. Her eyes wandered briefly across the ceiling before settling on ours. We stood there with our backs against the wall, hands dirtied with blue ink from a night's worth of laborious scribbling. The walls, once an exhibition of pastel pinks, had now turned yellow under the weight of thousands and thousands of post-it notes. All secured firmly by red, green, blue and white drawing pins. Not a patch of pink to be seen.

Miss Angel before she turned in had been wearing a black three-piece suit, tailored and with a tie. It had all but vanished. She now resembled a yellow tarred and feathered victim, immobilized by the memories that had been written onto the notes. We had begun with the suit but as the memories seemed insatiable in their flow, we moved onto the walls and furniture.

7:43am. Miss Angel rose at this point and begun her task: calling aloud every single memory that adorned her suit, the furniture and the surrounding four walls.

'age six. Hit mother', '1975. found dead sparrow', '98. married john', '13th June. Fantasised about co-worker' '2003.walked through Barton Stacey' 'had an ice cream last week', '2 nights ago, woken by drilling','16th Sep 2011.chickens killed by fox, sounded like a dying baby' 'yesterday, had lunch'...

We too continued on, writing out our post-it notes.




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'A' is a text/audio performance that presents the character 'A' in a lecture come character description come short story style reading. The short piece describes 'A' as being innocently unidentifiable, and whose only  task (self appointed) is to 'maintain a certain sense of order' and mend those things which are often left forgotten. This mending is temporary, and 'A's voiced rationale behind this is, 'If I were to fix something securely, soon there would be nothing left to fix!'


The piece is composed of a narrator/lecturer/friend of 'A', who presents 'A' and 'A's current situation.


Click image for audio.

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