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I’ve been working on a new project called The Grantidote.  Last week it took me west, to where I come from.

The Grantidote’s centering women, pausing to understand how a woman’s wholeness is made up of fragments big and small, some chosen, others delivered by circumstance.

The Grantidote’s about acknowledging the marks women leave on our world.  I believe by fully registering women’s impact we begin to rectify an error that’s made how we organise, experience and understand humanity feel ill-fitting and wrong.

Toxic masculinity needn’t control the whole narrative, after all.

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Hop on my hashtags too, won’t you?  #52and40, Instagram and #TheGrantidote

52and39/24 Don’t touch that dial

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The dial’s changed to summer, with intermittent cross-broadcasting bouts of cold spring and wet autumn filtering in.  It’s still Scotland, after all.

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Wet pavements and foot-ways have changed from dark, splashy marl slabs or muddy, oozing foot puzzles to muted, boney hues.  Shoes come home clean and dry. Jackets sometimes stay on the hook.  Everything’s easier.

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Petaled, leafy performers in gardens come back every year to play the same show.  It’s as if they discuss wardrobe all winter, then reveal themselves; the same but different to the same but different audience.

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