This site now acts as an archive only. For the latest news, opinion, blogs and listings on disability arts and culture visit

Disability Arts Online

Fons: naming the new soft sculpture and wondering what life is all about... / 16 December 2012


Fons Memorabilium  Universi: source of notable information about the universe, a Renaissance encyclopaedia.


Fons: an alternative spelling of Fontus, a Roman water deity.


Fons: a spring, a fountain and, by extension, the source of something.


Fons: the bottom (lowest part).


Watching water rushing into my driveway, but cosy indoors - sheltering from the rain, I persevere with the soft sculpture. Kosta, awaiting a metal pin in his skull,  looks down his nose at me while I construct another head.


From initial drawings, influenced the weather outside and my preoccupation with the state of the universe, I contemplate calling the third man Fons; a name to live up to. I'm not sure yet that I can construct him as drawn, but the challenge intrigues me. Fons will have 'diversed'  far from his origins, there is no way he can be one of the Kouroi, yet the building materials that are his DNA are identical.


How are the Con.Text conversations having an influence the third man's construction? Working with the texts, teasing out the images that connect and contrast, I reflect on the compromises we are all making in order, not just to be, but to be more.

And on the pressures to be more; live more - a better kind of more - a better kind of life.

Kouroi, carved from a single block of stone, rely heavily on The Pose to create the impression of movement, the impression of life. Today of course we rely on social networking to create the impression, not necessarily of life, but of having a life. A more impressive life.

Aspirational life.


Fons balances on the knife-edge referencing both research into the past, the desire for roots and historical justification, and reaching into a future time or space; or anywhere but now. A visible emotional interpretation of part of the evolutionary journey that sees us reaching out, clueless, rather like that spaceship travelling into eternity with it's already dated image of who we think we are.

The unknowing reaching into the unknown.



Where are we going, where do we come from?

Is there time to raise your head; is life too

complex to risk changing focus, or taking the pressure off long enough

to realise the aimless, addictive loneliness that drives humanity

far from it's instincts and deepest longings?

And if we stick with this journey is there any chance

that one day our descendants will arrive somewhere they name Utopia?

Or, proclaiming uniqueness,  demanding individual recognition

and rights, are we giving ourselves up for some unwanted end-game

that sees us all falling, dead-ends, by the wayside?

With so many wasted opportunities, so many wasted lives? 




Keywords: depression,disability art,poetry