I can't make a tidy book, nor cut to an even edge, nor stitch in a straight line. Such things are not possible, because a Knicker Drawer book comes from living and, in my way of being, living isn't made of neat edges and straight lines.
Living, experience - the daily raggedness of hours, questions unanswered, moments unresolved - is all about unevenness, uneasiness, uncertainty.
I celebrate that - living amongst my ambiguous, boundary-shifting, undefined and fluid moments. The broken story is always more memorable to me than the happy ending. The fragments more interesting than the whole. I leave my threads hanging, papers torn and edges curved.
But I recognise how a person might want a completion - even if simply to rest from the energies required to keep hold of continuous changing fragments - and maybe there is a little bit inviting that in each Knicker Drawer book, too. Clean pages, edges sliced neatly in order. The binding, straight amongst the hanging threads. Then this, I leave to you - add your definition of a moment in my raggedness of time. I think of this junction - me with my thread fragments and you with your pencil point - as our moment of collaborative art. Then see what can come from our happy coincidence.