The peach fabric she’s made is so elastic, there is no end to what it can contain. Her head keeps expanding, skin thins, revealing all the rubbish inside. Her black pattern reminds her of dark clouds in the sky, they come and go. Whenever she worries about worrying too much or too little, she rolls […]

He was big softy to begin with. He changed by the slightest touch, so I folded the excess fabric over itself and stitched him in. The structure did not make him stiff or defensive. If you pressed on him, a mark remains for a while until he’s had quiet time to recover. Allson is tender […]

The trim positioned on his head, stiff and rigid, keeps his head collected, unlike the unrestrained body that keeps growing sideways. I say to him, a walk could be nice, or catch some mice? He says, I’m perfect for a tangelo. My bad, Tangelo.

Frightened often, Patrick hardly had time to recover. He could have, but decided against, constructing a wall to his heart, which keeps out the things that scare him but also that which delights. He realises the bad the good and the shocking are all his imagination and the definition of being alive.