My favourite part of today was exploring the fascinating Seeing and Perceiving Hub. Here I’ve written about my own experience of losing vision. Moorfields Eye Hospital – thank you, I’m eternally grateful. VISION I bang my head on an ancient
DAY 8: Dr Joyce Datiles – Friday 23 October 2020
Reflection on ENSNARED – THE INESCAPABLE REALITY OF FATIGUE S U R V I V O R By Writer-in-Residence, Dr Joyce Datiles December 2014. The day after Christmas. To those who met me afterwards and those who knew me before,
DAY 7: Fiona Thompson – Thursday 22 October 2020
Today was a mystery tour through an area I know so well, Bloomsbury. And yet it turned out that there was so much I’d never seen. A story garden, magical spells, ghost stories and mysterious clouds in a crypt. The
DAY 6: Suzie Inman – Wednesday 21 October 2020
Found words Everyone has a secret A story they’ve never told What’s yours? Maypole dancing, Anne abseiling. Wonder! Hideout in the Hell hole. A radical and indomitable spirit – Curiosity and hope for connectivity. What we name and what we
DAY 5: Irene Lofthouse – Tuesday 20 October 2020
A Pot of Tea A word in your shell-like colour me purple for shades of grey are not for cattle, light and dark are more than a number, our eyes able to behold a myriad spectrum. I saw
DAY 3: Lauren McMenemy – Sunday 18 October 2020
BEHOLD: the Future! A vision in shiny metal. Bewildering and be-wonderful. Everything you could hope for, everything you could imagine. All getting ready right behind this hoarding, ready for your arrival, ready to build new communities, new careers, new lives.
DAY 2: Galen O’Hanlon – Saturday 17 October 2020
All of it is new A Bloomsbury Zoom Spree First, a walking tour of EYE:SPY stories: We found Dickens’ horse in Doughty Mews, All tacked up for derby day derring-dos We heard of Horse Hospital hullabaloos, And of a fox
DAY 1: Nicola Gill – Friday 16 October 2020
Nicola’s piece was based around the Opinion Pole maypole installation on Store Street. Their brightly coloured dreams spiral in the breeze Stippled along satin lengths they flutter, flashing glimpses of dignified longing One wants a future where quiet voices can