We are our bodies. Not only physically speaking, but also in terms of identity: our body defines who we are. This is all the more true for artists: think of what the hands mean to a pianist, the legs to a dancer, or the throat to a singer. 

So much so that, sometimes, a limb can have a life of its own. This is how, on a quiet January morning, my right foot decided to sneak out and go for a solitary walk down New Cross Road. Just like Mayor Kovalev, Gogol's novel unfortunate protagonist, I woke up to my leg one fifth shorter, and you can imagine my embarrassment… It was only by sunset that he was to be found laying around in my neighbors window, stealing the spot to their cat George, enjoying the winter sun and tingling its toes against a bunch of chamomiles.

The nose and the foot was a temporary display kindly hosted by the independent art space Window 135.