Natasha Caruana

I  had the pleasure of interviewing Natasha Caruana, a London based artist working across photography, moving image and installation. Natasha’s art practice is grounded in research concerned narratives of love, betrayal, and fantasy. Her work is created drawing from archives, the internet, and personal narratives. She has shown internationally and is held in public and private collections. She is the founder of Work-Show-Grow and has most recently exhibited at Turner Contemporary, Margate, Musée Nicéphore Niépce, France, the International Center for Photography Museum, New York, the Science Gallery, London and Les Rencontres D’Arles de la Photographie.

Aside from your artistic practice, you work across many areas of the arts; mentoring, teaching, curating and most recently launching Work-Show-Grow. Each role has a common focus – to support artists. Can I ask how you came to work in this way?

I’ve always had my practice but at the same time, I’ve always taught. I think there’s a point when you suddenly feel a surge of confidence or you get pissed off about the art world and the way things happen. I think, for me, I started to notice how privileged I was having a full-time teaching job. It’s amazing to suddenly have a salary, suddenly be able to get a mortgage, that’s absolutely unbelievable. You realise that you have a responsibility to distribute that knowledge, and the best way I can distribute that knowledge is by sharing it through teaching or mentoring. I believe, especially at the moment, that knowledge is not being shared amongst peers. There is a certain trajectory for a lot of artists and as you progress, you realise successful artists have these secret little income streams, or there’s all these little secrets and no one is really being that transparent.

That was the catalyst for starting Work-Show-Grow, which hosts four workshops a year for 15 people to come together and work towards an outcome. The outcome could be making a book or an exhibition. For me, these workshops are about people progressing their careers by working together. Not necessarily by having the money to go and pay for a portfolio review. I mean, paying £180 to talk to a specialist, especially for young graduates who needs the support, it’s crazy. It all started to change a year or so ago. I was just really annoyed about how certain systems were operating. In particular portfolio reviews, which is quite specific to a photographic business model. I saw a number of people complain about them. People are always complaining about it, but no one’s really doing anything about it and showing a different model. So I decided to do something about it. Obviously, it’s tiny. It’s so, so small, four workshops a year, but it’s my way of thinking, actually, something needs to shift.

If you don’t mind me saying, in the recent past you have been quite vocal on social media regarding certain application processes for artists – particularly when it comes to open calls and the costs associated with applying. I would like to talk to you about Work-Show-Grow and providing more opportunities for artists. Did this programme grow out of a need to restructure the current systems, did you feel a responsibility?

It’s funny because I remember receiving an email from LensCulture (lens-vulture). As soon as you go on their website, it knows you’re there, and it sends you a little ping and says, I see you were looking at the black and white images – why don’t you enter the competition. It’s a very manipulative model. I put a tweet out that said, “you are being manipulated. Do not spend $50 on an image. Go and spend that money down the pub talking about your work to your mates”. It went viral. Everyone was talking about it, everyone was retweeting it. As a result, I received an email from them asking why I had done that. Honestly, you see students constantly questioning what they should apply for, whether it’s a competition or exhibition – this all costs money. I decided to unpick the models. I was doing research about how many people were submitting, and paying for applications. It’s a global thing. How much money are they really making from these competitions? For what end? You don’t have to dig very far to find out. Actually, there’s a lot of money involved. Thousands of pounds of money is involved and only so many people win. Of course, I have friends that do the competition model. I have friends that have spreadsheets and they apply every month. It is a system. It’s a strategy. For them, that’s their strategy. Maybe for me, the strategy is making work. What I always love or would love to say is that when I’m 80 maybe people will know about my practice. It’s the long game. Unfortunately for some they want it all now and they can pay for it to happen now. Obviously, there’s different ways of doing it, which I respect.

In the non-commercial sector of the art world there tends to be a misconception around pay, and money that artists earn. For example, an artist who exhibits internationally, at biennales, doesn’t necessarily mean they are being paid well, have a consistent income stream or are being financially supported.

It’s all the same smoke and mirrors at whatever level. How things are seen or how things are perceived. Just because somebody is showing everywhere on every international platform doesn’t mean they’re necessarily able to pay their support staff or themselves for that matter. That’s why it’s so important to reveal how things are working. That’s why and even with Work, Show, Grow I show my accounts online because it’s so important to show where peoples’ money is going, how that money being negotiated. Transparency is so important. Art is responding to what’s happening in the world so shouldn’t we be responsible and show where that money is going?

How do you go about navigating the art world?

When I first started, I had this amazing opportunity where I was commissioned by the British Council to go to Saudi Arabia and make images. The commission was to show positive images of women in an Islamic country. There was a big edit. They wouldn’t let certain images come through and such. Through that experience, I got into the Royal College of Art. I really didn’t expect to get in. It was a real eye-opener because I found that place really competitive. At the same time, I was working at Threshes wine merchant, and Lidl in Brixton. It was a real struggle to do that. Actually, in the second year, they ended up giving me a bit of money, so I didn’t have to work so many jobs. When I graduated, I actually showed work in progress as my final show. I didn’t show final, glossy images. I only showed four images as I just couldn’t afford to produce anything further. The first two years after graduation were really hard. I didn’t apply for anything. I didn’t go to portfolio reviews. I was just trying to make sense of where I was in the world. My friends were getting quite competitive. I didn’t know how I fitted in. It wasn’t until I started going to openings and meeting people that things started to happen. That was the model which worked well for me.

I have actually only ever gone to two portfolio reviews, one of which was paid for. Competitions, I’ve never really done them. I mainly apply for Arts Council funding, and I’ve applied eight times. I’ve only ever been successful once. It’s good to remember that I have been in a privileged position. I’ve been teaching. I’ve had money coming in.

With iheartwomen I am interested in exploring the role of the female influencer, highlighting particular role models within the arts. You are positioning yourself as quite a voice and leader in this respect; I would like to ask you further about your mentoring platform – maybe you could tell us a bit more about the group of women you have recently supported? This is the third time you have done this? Does mentoring feel central to your practice as an artist?

The mentoring scheme has been really informal. It started in 2015 which was the most amazing year. I won the BMW Art and Cultural Award which was amazing. I went to the Musee Nicéphore Niépce in France for three months to make work. They gave me a £60,000 white leather interior BMW to drive around. It was ridiculous. I got it so muddy! It was so insane to be suddenly in the middle of nowhere making this work. I had just met my husband, got married in such a short amount of time, and then was making work for a beautiful catalogue. I had a solo show at Les Rencontres d’Arles and at Paris Photo with the monograph of the work Coup de Foudre (At First Sight). It was such a crazy year, but at the same time, I had female imposter syndrome. It became very apparent and important that I had to share this. All I did was decide to keep a little bit of pocket money aside, like £1,000. I decided I would give back that £1,000. I didn’t know how at first but landed on mentoring. I decided to mentor two people. In the summer I did a callout for a month’s mentorship to see who would be interested. It amazed me that pricing your work or packaging your work or carrying out inventories or taxes, all of this stuff was never talked about or shown. I was able to provide an insight to that for two people. They would come into the studio and embed themselves into the space. I used a French model of teaching, where people would have these long, open lunches together because between the hours of 12 and 2pm all the shops and food stores would be closed. Everyone would come together and eat lunch. I wanted to adopt that model into the mentorship programme.

We would have these long lunches, cook food, and talk about their work. It was amazing to use that model of lunchtime being the point of connection. Then the following year, I was away a lot, so I made that an informal mentorship. Then for the third year, I did a callout for a residential mentorship. It was meant to be two people, but I just couldn’t decide, so it became three, and then someone I said no to but I called her up two days later and said we have to make this work. I ended up having four people, and bless my husband but we moved out of our home so they could stay there. They had everything. I gave them food, and organised visits. What was amazing, I found, when you do these callouts, and encourage disadvantaged people to apply, how do you even say that? I had 164 applicants and interviewed 12 people for 2 places. When you are interviewing them, obviously you can’t say to them, how disadvantaged are you or how poor are you? You can’t say that. You talk about their work, you talk about what they want to do.

What was incredible about these four women, I had no idea about the challenges that they faced being female emerging artists. One of them, had come through the foster system and was in emergency housing. She came with no money. I gave her my bank card to use. It was such a reality hit for me. It was also interesting because these women had gone through the graduate system. They’ve gone through education and spent a lot of money. They’ve just graduated. What is the support at the other end? I did actually go home one night and just cry because, like you say, I did feel quite a lot of responsibility.

That’s interesting as there is a big step at the moment to ensure diversity is being represented at all levels. Do you think there has been a shift in the representation of women artists? And, if this is something you have thought about, is there anything else that you feel needs, or could be done?

I don’t feel like I’m a shining example in any way. I feel what I do is such a tiny little drop in the ocean. I’ve said to people, everything I do with the mentorship programme has been documented and if anyone else wants to use this model in anyway, I’m happy to help people. It’s about sharing. It’s the model of collaboration, not competition.

In the end I will always come back to the data, for example, in press photography there are only 15% of women working in this industry compared to 85% of men. That’s a crazy statistic. I heard that at a conference recently. I think it’s important to support young women. I don’t know whether it’s even making an impact yet. However, as a woman, I tend to get tired of the all-female shows, or another all-female panel. It’s really hard to get the balance as I don’t always want to be singled out because of my gender. I’m not a female artist, I’m just an artist.

I think to cultivate those new, emerging voices, it’s important that we share. Each of us should be thinking, how can we give back. It’s important to support younger voices. I do feel like, yes, things are shifting a little bit, but I’m not sure what the impact is in terms of the market, in terms of actually making an impact beyond a women-only show, for example. It just feels a bit contrived. Let’s just see what happens.

Let’s talk about your successful Arts Council application, and how you’re now seeking mentorship for your development.

In March last year I saw the Arts Council had launched the new Creative Practice Development fund. The idea is to single out an area of your practice you wish to develop. I thought, this is a new fund, I have to apply. If I’m ever going to get in, it’s going to be now. I made a plan. I spent weeks doing it. I had somebody proofread it as I’m dyslexic and I’m dysphasic. It’s a challenge for me to write clearly. I made a conscious effort to have an external person read through the application for me. The person I asked used to be a director of an arts organisation. That was her job, to write applications. She asked me to send it to her a month before submission, which was frightening. There was only a short window of time to figure it all out but I spent the time deciding what it was I needed and what I would really benefit from at this moment in my career. I was advised to keep the application really simple. All of the budget was made up of things like, I’m going to travel here and talk to this person, and I’m going to pay for my tube journey there and back. I really stripped it back; this is my activity, this is my first mentor and I’m going to pay £200 for an hour of mentoring. That’s what I was advised. I budgeted for eight sessions with the mentor. I also included a day rate for me of around £150. I also booked myself on to two courses, one being on installation art and the other one being on model making. I framed it very simply in terms of how I wanted to develop and who I wanted to approach for the mentoring.

I realised quite quickly that it’s actually really hard to approach people. Who and how do you decide? Who is going to be that person that will support you? Is it somebody from business, is it somebody that’s an artist, is it somebody that’s a curator, is it a gallerist? I don’t think I’ve ever really thought about my career since graduating. It’s been interesting talking to people as it seems most people really strategise and plan it all out. I just can’t imagine doing that. I don’t want to do that.

I attended this talk where Maria Balshaw, Director at Tate was talking about how she’d always had a coach throughout her career. It’s amazing, but no one talks about it. I was so surprised. I had a friend recently give me a list of numbers of mentors to approach. You phone up and you tell them your goals, you see what fits, and then you can select who you want. I mean, it is so strange, but people are doing it. I kept thinking, why is it I’ve never heard of this. Maybe I just live in a bubble. I have to admit, it makes total sense. People use these career coaches in the same way you would visit a dentist or a therapist. We work, what, two-thirds of our lives or something crazy. Why would you not get advice that’s external, that’s impartial, to help you figure out what you’re doing. Why would that be different from art to business? I suppose the reverse is, its anti-art. Art and creativity is finding your way and developing your practice, but then you go, actually let’s just strategise this like a business person. I’m not overly convinced. It seems slightly alien, but more artists are doing this than you probably realise.

In terms of thinking more about your artistic practice, I would like to talk to you about technology, as I know this element of research filters quite strongly into your work in terms of love, relationships and the data which surrounds that. Could you talk us through Divorce Index and Curtain of Broken Dreams and the exhibition at the Science Gallery?

The Science Gallery has a really amazing space and curatorial model. The exhibition is called Hooked, and is based around the idea of addiction. It’s been curated by Hannah Redler Hawes. They have a very interesting rolling program where they have three to four exhibitions a year, and the curator is someone new, and external, and they come in and embed themselves in the space. Every exhibition is from a fresh and new perspective of research.

Divorce Index and Curtain of Broken Dreams is part of the exhibition because I did this project which charted divorce rates in the UK. I went to 10 hot spots of divorce, which all happen to be coastal towns. I was really interested because in a previous body of work Fairytale for Sale, a number of the photographs were people on their wedding day with the backdrop of the seaside. It’s as if the sea represents this illusion of eternal happiness. If you look at the data, it’s actually the worst place to be photographed on your wedding day.

When I was there, visiting these towns, I was looking at why are people tend to get divorce. What is it that is pulling these people apart, and why coastal towns? What are the external forces that are pulling these couples apart?

For the work Curtain it Broken Dreams, I collected around 1,600 wedding rings from cash converters, pawnbrokers and seaside shops and constructed a curtain. The number of rings represent 1% of the divorces in the UK in a year. Within the context of the show, we don’t often talk about the addiction to love, and this addiction for perfection. When you put that ring on your finger, it’s almost like you imagine it to be some mythical cloak, it’s going to make everything okay, and you’re going to be happy forever. However when you look at the data, 42% of marriages end, it’s almost like one in two couples get divorced.

Within the exhibition the audience is encouraged to walk through this curtain of rings where you will find a mirror on the floor, which invites you to think about yourself. It’s quite narcissistic. There is also a film installation on the wall as you walk in. The film was never really meant to look like that. I’m performing a dance with my husband in our wedding outfits after being apart for three weeks. I was travelling around the UK on this journey to coastal towns. I hadn’t seen him in three weeks. While I was on this journey, I was staying with divorced men to interview them for a documentary I thought I was making. I’d stay in their houses, asking questions about why they got divorced. It was all a bit too much.

In the end I decided on producing a performative piece. I put my wedding clothes back on. My husband put his wedding clothes back on and we met on the return of my road trip. We performed gestures of responses to why people were getting divorced, like gambling, deprivation or infidelity. You see a moment in the film where my husband is looking beyond the camera, then I’m struggling trying to grasp hold of him. At the same time, you see me holding this white pristine wedding dress, which during the course of the film, gets extremely dirty. This idea of this perfect bride is getting more and more tarnished. It was such an emotional thing to do. I’m not a performer and we’re not dancers. The film became a moment of us figuring things out. You see this jostle between essentially the universal responsibilities between a man and a woman or a married couple.

The response to the exhibition was amazing especially amongst works that were talking about addiction to cocaine or an addiction to alcoholism. People were thinking about my work within the context of science and addiction. It was very interesting.

It is a privilege because the work was the fourth biggest commission I’ve worked on where there has been funding available. Arts Council match funded the Open Data Institute to support the project and show. Suddenly you’re able to make a large body of work. You’re able to employ people. I could really stretch my practice, whereas before, the work Married man was made using disposable cameras, the cheapest thing I could do. With Fairytale for Sale all I did was collect images from the Internet for absolutely free. It’s an ebb and flow and actually I’m at a point where I think I don’t want to take that fifth commission. I just want to make something that really supports my personal practice – away from a commissioner’s influence.

I want to talk to you a bit about the elements of time and narratives in your work. I’m specifically thinking about Timely Tale, 2017 the work you did with your mother. Could you talk about the processes you go through when working like this? And the dynamics between public and private – especially with the way the work was shown through a VR headset. There’s quite an intimacy with the way this work is viewed. Where do you draw the line with allowing the audience to come into your life? It must be quite an emotional drain on you.

It’s true, I think with Divorce Index and Curtain of Broken Dreams, I was determined to not make it autobiographical but I just couldn’t help it. I spent a year as an artist in residence at the Open Data Institute looking at all these different narratives.

The piece with my mother, Timely Tale, is viewed through a VR headset. It is a five minute film where you’re hanging from the chandelier in my mother’s bedroom, and you see her going about her day, waking up from a nap, taking lots of medication, looking in the mirror muttering things like, who would want to love me? When you take the headset off, you’re sitting inside this doctor’s waiting room full of furniture that I had collected from closing down hospitals. The whole piece is quite political because it’s looking at the NHS crisis and the impact of services being cut. These services are being destroyed all around us. The video piece is a very intimate view of the impact this is having on people, like my mother.

One of my ex-students, Khadija Saye, was in the Grenfell Tower and she sadly lost her life. It was around the same time I was invited to make a proposition for that work, Timely Tale. It just completely threw me as I would have a number of tutorials with Khadija talking about the photography inside that tower, and photographing her mother. We were in these small little tutorial rooms and I was seeing that work evolve. I kept in touch with her. I followed her career and then the day that they announced what had happened… I get emotional thinking about it.

Through the work I was making, I decided it was important to talk about what was happening behind closed doors. You sit next to somebody in the doctor’s waiting room, and you have no idea who that person is, or what the impact all these cuts like the police service or the NHS is having? It’s a real moment. My response, and initial reaction, was to make this body work. My mum, 10 years previous, had a kidney and pancreas transplant. It was exactly 10 years since the transplant and now her kidney is failing again. She can no longer go to her local transplant unit because it’s no longer there. It’s closed down. The difference in 10 years is incredible. I was actually going on a residency to LA for the summer and I just thought, I’ve got to make this now. It was such a quick project. I put a team together. I didn’t know how to make VR. I just thought, I have to respond to this, it was a very visceral, emotional response to everything that was happening.

How did people respond to the work as VR is a very immersive environment, it demands emotion, you’re no longer a passive viewer.

The success of that work came about because I worked so closely with the volunteers. I actually don’t call them volunteers or invigilators anymore, I call them the minders of my mother’s story. I worked a lot with them, I did presentations with them and carried out test-runs. They were the ones that when you came into the hospital waiting room, were saying, have you used ever VR before? Would you like to take a seat? When you put this headset on we’ll do some adjustments and you’re going to be listening and experiencing Penny’s story. It was so important that they were there to invite people into that story because otherwise, it is really clunky. It’s new technology. It feels a bit weird, you feel like people are watching you when you’re inside listening to my mother’s story.

I realised very quickly the visitors didn’t want to leave. They would sit there and they’d want to talk to the minders about the story. During the week of setting up, I realised we needed another space so, it’s amazing that Photoworks let me, I turned up with my mother’s cabinet and every single teapot that she had and I announced ‘we’re making a second space’. It was for the people who needed to exit that space, it was too emotional for them. They could view Penny’s teapots and talk about their experience with the VR. The second installation space, which contained my mother’s actual armchair, her lamp and her book was a space for people to reflect. It was very unexpected. I didn’t think or anticipate people would need to talk about it.

As you know with VR, you can decide what you want to look at. It’s not like a normal documentary piece where there’s a shot of the pills, the hands, the face, the feet, the empty beds. We know those images. This was a moment where they could decide what they wanted to view.

You tackle issues of relationships, of domesticity, of sexuality. Your approach appears almost ethnographic in the way you examine how people interact with each other. Do you see your work as a commentary on society or culture?

I feel an artist’s place in society is to respond, reflect and then give back. It’s something I’m interested in. I often have a folder on my desktop where I’m saving interesting images and texts I come across. I’m not purposely political, but I do believe the personal is political. The personal moments of my life can open up and become a political statement as a response to what’s happening around me. That’s what the work is, essentially. My work is very narrative driven, taken from my life and what surrounds me; it’s an interesting time to be making work.

When I spent time on the residency at the Musee Nicéphore Niépce in France, I was using Twitter, a lot. I was tweeting the evidence and data I was coming across, from this I got an invitation to apply for a new residency with the Open Data Institute (ODI). This organisation is set up by Sir Nigel Shadbolt and Sir Tim Berners-Lee (The inventor of the World Wide Web). That guy still exists – he gave us the World Wide Web! It’s insane. As part of ODI Nigel and Tim founded the Data as Culture programme, because he believes, without a doubt, artists are the original code breakers. Artists are the ones that are thinking ahead, they are responding to the world around them. I make work under that umbrella. Artists should be out there responding to the world.

I get the sense that you are not afraid to place yourself into your work. I read somewhere about the project Married Man where you were described as both participant and observer. How did this work come about?

Married Man was a piece of work shot entirely on disposable cameras. I dated 54 men for 18 months. I would meet up with different married men every night. Towards the end I was meeting up with three married men a day trying to figure out what this work was. I always start a project with a question. I never know where it’s going to go but I always have a question. For this project my question was, how is technology changing relationships?

Back when I made the work internet forums were places where married men could find a mistress, like dating websites but private. That’s what most forums were used for. No one else, just married men finding a mistress. I had to quickly come to terms with being the other woman myself. I was with a married man for five years. I read a lot of Sigmund Freud and in his book Beyond the Pleasure Principle he says that ‘if you repeat something that’s traumatic, it will become pleasurable’. This inspired me to consider what would happen if I kept dating married men, over and over again? What would happen to the power in that relationship? How would I feel? So I started to date married men for a serious amount of time. I started to make a collection of images of fragments and moments of what the affair meant, what the staging of the affair meant, what was the performance of the affair. People’s responses would be, why would you wear that jumper on a date? That jumper looks disgusting. Other people would say things like, this artist is a whore, and she must have so many STDs. To people talking about, how is this even good photography? The images are rubbish, is this right to be making this work? I’ve heard people in the gallery turn to their partner and say, have you ever had an affair?

It’s interesting how the work has opened up a conversation about what an affair is and the intrinsic power within those relationships, and even the performative nature of it. I think there’s a real performance of an affair. We have an imagination of what an affair looks like, this imagined ideal. As well as take images I also recorded all the dates. It was never for art but I just felt like I should record what was happening because it might make me feel a bit safer. I’ve had an anthropologist who’s transcribed all of that material to field study. It’s so interesting; what are two people saying to each other when they’re about to conduct an affair? The men would talk about their “situation”. They wouldn’t say, my wife, they’d say, “my situation”. It was almost like there was a little dictionary online of how to talk when having an affair. They would refer to their second phone as their “naughty phone” or “business phone” and that would always be kept in the drawer at work, it wouldn’t leave the office. That was how they negotiated affairs. In terms of research it was so interesting because how would you ever really reveal the ways those relationships are being negotiated in this technological age?

At some point along the way I met this curator that wanted to show the work. It made me stop, basically, as otherwise I wouldn’t have known how or when to stop. Since then, it’s been shown a lot. The whole first series is in a public collection. It’s been shown in the ICP Museum in New York, it has its own life, essentially, which is great. It’s going to be looked after.

Would you say Married Man was possibly one of your first mentors?

What can I say, yes I suppose, I think my Married Man was an amazing mentor to me. I was doing stupid things when I met him. I was 18 years old. I was just ridiculous. I was doing ridiculous things, some legal, some illegal and he plucked me out of this South London scene and was like, what are you doing with your life? Where is this going to go? What the fuck are you doing? I remember him hitting the dashboard of the car when he picked me up once as I was hanging out with some random guy in a car park. He told me I was going to university. He got me a flat and gave me a phone. He was such an amazing moment in my life that allowed me to do things I wouldn’t have dreamed of. He was obviously the original mentor, which was weird. 25 years older than you, married, how does that work out in your mind? You think, am I meant to be on this trajectory, or was it all his influence? With an experience like this so early on in your life it’s easy to be unsure of who you are.

Other mentors would definitely be Anna Fox. I met her when I graduated. We have since worked on many collaborative projects. She’s a very open character. She shares things, she shares how things work. I think that’s what a mentor should be. Sharing knowledge, how things work, because honestly, it’s all such a mystery. Who knows how things happen? You see these people’s names everywhere. You’re like, how did they get that show? What is that? How did they get the funding? You don’t really understand how things work. Obviously there’s a backhand conversation going on, which more often I think, gosh, people being asked to apply to competitions after the deadline has passed, stuff like that doesn’t help anyone. Of course nepotism happens everywhere but makes me sad when it takes away opportunities from underrepresented voices.

I have this amazing team around me. I’ve had an assistant, Sarah Howe, for the last five years, which has been amazing seeing her grow over this time and I’ve got my husband who is a production extraordinaire, both have worked really hard to get to where they are today. No handouts. And through Work-Show-Grow I’ve meet this amazing selection of emerging artists that are there for conversations, there to help mould. You may say that I am a mentor to them, but equally they are mentors to me. Being able to find out what’s important and where I should be putting my energy too. You get that through listening to what people’s troubles are and what people’s anxieties are. Through those insights, you end up essentially being mentored. They give me so much. I think I’m lucky to have a number of mentors in my life.

– Laura Hensser, 2019
Image credits: Curtain of Broken Dreams at the Science Gallery, 2018, Divorce Index at the Science Gallery, 2018, At First Sight, 2016, Fairytale for Sale, Nero, from the series Married Man, 2008-09, Timely Tale, 2017, Car, from the series Married Man, 2008-09