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‘Rudy Loewe: Intimacies of Care – Spaces of Grief and Possibility’ exhibition at Wellcome Collection

We have Audrey Amiss's exhibition named ‘The Surviving Exhibitions’.

Also we have Rudy Loewe's exhibition, named ‘Intimacies of Care – Spaces of Grief and Possibility’. 

These exhibitions are separate, but they explore a related theme, which is mental health.

You are welcome to visit both exhibitions, or choose to explore just one.

Both exhibitions include BSL videos on screens. You can also scan the QR codes using your phone camera to access the digital guide. You will have the option to listen to an audio description or read the exhibition text.

There is a tactile floor line to help with wayfinding. At each digital-guide stop, you will find a square with raised dots on the floor.

You can use our WiFi for free. Turn on your device’s WiFi and select Wellcome Guest. The first time you connect, you will be asked to enter your email address.

This pick-up station provides BSL information. If you would like information about a specific exhibition, you can find gallery guides and large-print guides here. These guides include a map of the tactile floor line, as well as a list of all the digital guide stops.

You will also find visual stories, which provide pre-visit information about the exhibition using images, symbols and short written explanations.

If you have any questions or need support, please approach a member of staff wearing a Wellcome Collection T-shirt – they will be happy to help.

Introduction to access resources

Hello and welcome to the digital guide for ‘Audrey Amiss: The Surviving Exhibitions’ and ‘Rudy Loewe: Intimacies of Care – Spaces of Grief and Possibility’. These are separate exhibitions and you can visit them both, in any order, or chose to visit just one.

This stop provides information about access resources.

The other stops provide further information about some of the key works in the exhibition, and you will hear from the curator, artists and other contributors. This is combined with visual description of the artworks. There are nine stops for each exhibition, including an introduction.

You have accessed the guide by scanning a QR code. You can also access the audio information by picking up one of the handheld players and a headset from the pick-up station in the foyer.

A tactile floor line is designed to support wayfinding between the stops. When you arrive at an artwork which has a stop, this is indicated on the floor by a square with raised dots.

You will find a QR code and stop number in close proximity to the square. The QR codes can be found on circular discs, with a number in high-contrast lettering. In the Rudy Loewe exhibition these are brown, and for the Audrey Amiss exhibition they are white with a green border. They are located either on the wall, on a label rail, or on a freestanding label holder next to the artwork.

If you need any assistance, there are members of our team in the gallery at all times. They will be wearing a black Wellcome Collection top.

In the foyer, there is a pale brown wooden pick-up station. In this pick-up station you will find a screen with a BSL introduction; on the right are the audio handsets and headphones.

On the right of the doorway to Rudy Loewe and to the left of the doorway to Audrey Amiss are shelves with various access guides. A4-sized large-print guides include exhibition texts in large font size, a map of the floor line, as well as a list of the digital-guide stops. There is one for each exhibition; they have the exhibition title and a symbol of an eye with a line through the middle on the cover.

You will also find A4-sized visual story booklets. These provide pre-visit information about the exhibition, using images, symbols and short written explanations. They have a symbol of a book on the cover.

There are also A4-sized maps of sensory elements in each exhibition, such as bright lights or sound. These have symbols of a nose, hand and ear on the cover.

There is seating available in both exhibitions. There are also folding seats available at the pick-up point in the foyer.

The tactile floor line for both exhibitions finishes near the exit. This is marked by a raised tactile tile with lines, rather than dots.

The first stop for each of the exhibitions is an introduction, where you will hear from curator Madeleine Kennedy. With the pick-up station in front of you, you can turn left to access the Rudy Loewe exhibition and right for Audrey Amiss.

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Rudy Loewe was born in London in 1987. They are a multidisciplinary artist whose work explores histories of resistance and African and Caribbean spiritual practices. They also focus on inequalities, as in the UK, Black people voluntarily accessing mental health support are more likely to be detained under the Mental Health Act.

Loewe explored the Wellcome Collection’s archive and found that Black people’s lived experiences were underrepresented. That’s why the exhibition is called ‘Intimacies of Care – Spaces of Grief and Possibility’.

Loewe held workshops focused on experiences of accessing mental healthcare, naming the grief caused by unmet needs, and imagining more generous forms of care rooted in spiritual and community-led practices.

Workshop participants were from ADHD Babes, a support group for women and non-binary people of African-Caribbean descent with ADHD. Their stories are weaved throughout the exhibition.

This is Loewe’s first time working in large-scale multimedia sculpture. They have created spaces for participation, rest and reflection, inviting us to collectively reimagine what care could be.

Each stop contains a description of the relevant artwork and an ‘invitation’ from the artist. It is accompanied by tactile elements made with designer Johnny Chang.

This is a space to hold Black people’s care, healing the lack of care that has been given to Black people in other spaces. It’s a space to hold our grief, rage, joy and the complex web of emotions that might come up from this. This exhibition resists the traditional rules of being in a gallery. This exhibition was created on ‘disabled time’, working flexibly to suit disabled bodies and minds.

This is an invitation to those who are usually anxious to pass over the threshold of a gallery to reimagine what this space might be. 

This is a space that prioritises responding to the artwork and its themes genuinely and to respond to each other with care. This is a space for emotive holding, where you can take the time you need to move through the space.

Introduction to the exhibition

Hello, I’m Madeleine Kennedy, the curator of this exhibition. You will be hearing from me throughout this digital guide, as well as from the artist Rudy Loewe.

You are now inside Rudy Loewe’s exhibition ‘Intimacies of Care – Spaces of Grief and Possibility’. In front of you, on a gently curved wall, is an introduction panel. This contains the introduction text for the exhibition, and to the right of that an angled label that projects from the wall at 45 degrees.

On the right side of this label you will find a tactile symbol designed to be touched. This has been made by the artist in collaboration with graphic designer Johnny Chang. The tactile symbol displayed here resembles a spider, with eight legs fanning out from a circular body with a dot in the centre. You are invited to touch it to trace the lines of the drawing.

There is also a tactile symbol for each of the artworks you’ll encounter as you go around the exhibition. These are intended as extensions of Loewe’s artworks. They reflect the energy of each piece, rather than representing their visual appearance. You can find them on the right of the angled labels for each work.

These angled labels also contain an invitation written by Loewe. These invite you to think about themes connected to the artwork. Each track on this digital guide will feature Loewe reading one of these invitations for each of their artworks.

You will now hear them read the introductory invitation.

“This exhibition resists the traditional rules of being in a gallery. It is an invitation to those who are usually anxious to pass over the threshold, to reimagine how you can feel in places like these. This is a space to hold Black people’s care, healing the lack of care that has been given to Black people in other spaces. It’s a space to hold our grief, rage, joy, and a complex web of emotions.  

“This exhibition is a space that prioritises responding to the artwork and its themes genuinely and to each other with care. This is a space for emotive holding, where you can take the time you need to move through the exhibition. ‘Intimacies of Care’ was created on disabled time.”

This is the end of track 1. Please follow the tactile line, to your right if you are facing the QR code, to reach the floor tile indicating stop 2.

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Rudy Loewe: Intimacies of Care – Spaces of Grief and Possibility. The Search for Care / The Lack of Care. 2026. Gallery Photo: Benjamin Gilbert. © Wellcome Collection

This sculpture lights up in different colours. Rudy Loewe held a workshop and asked participants to share their experiences of seeking care. From this, they created a beautiful work, proving that the care system needs to change.

On one side you can see the negative care experiences people receive. They are real experiences of trying to ask for help and care. It’s usually difficult, lacking, or harmful.

The other side shows positive care: what better care looks like. There’s more support and connection in care… but it’s rare.

This sculpture has been designed to show the gap between reality and hope. That’s why it’s called ‘The Search for Care / The Lack of Care‘.

You know the game bingo? The words on the sculpture references the grid layout of a bingo card, where you can tick off each experience you have been through in an inadequate care system.

You are not the only one, as these are common experiences.

From an early age you learn “we don’t ask for help”, not from doctors, hospitals or the police. But willingly or unwillingly, you find yourself in the GP office/hospital/psychiatric unit. And at this moment of need, you are told, “You’re fine, you need to calm down, you’re making a big deal out of nothing. Dismissed. You’re, you’re, you’re. You’re the problem.”

There is no witness to your pain and grief. You feel unseen and unheard.

But there are seeds sown within you of what care could look like. Long-forgotten practices or treatments the GP would laugh away as inconceivable. In your spirit, you know it to be possible.

The Search for Care / The Lack of Care

To your right if you are facing the QR code is ‘The Search for Care / The Lack of Care’, a sculpture that takes the form of a double-sided lightbox. It appears like a grid of five by five cubes made of colourful acrylic tiles.

The cubes have an assortment of colours, including green, light pink, pastel blue, dark yellow and coral red. Each contains a word or phrase written in thick black paint, the brush marks creating grooves like those on a vinyl record. You are invited to touch these words if you want, and feel how the thickness of the paint makes their surface slightly raised from the smooth acrylic of the lightbox.

The words and phrases all relate to experiences of seeking mental health care. The names of commonly prescribed drugs such as fluoxetine and sertraline sit alongside words like “CBT” (which stands for cognitive behavioural therapy), “lack of empathy”, “5 year+ wait list”, or simply “nothing”.

The sculpture is freestanding on a low plinth, so the back of the lightbox is also visible if you walk around to the other side. On that side of the sculpture, Loewe has painted phrases that reflect what care could look like instead. These include “a community of understanding”, “crisis support”, “decolonial anticapitalist care practices”, and “space to recover”.

Lit from within, the cubes illuminate one at a time, drawing our attention to one phrase and then another in quick succession. The artist intends this to be reminiscent of a bingo card, with one side reflecting how commonplace disappointing one-size-fits-all approaches to care can be, and the other side, dreams of a world in which generous and liberatory care could be experienced by everyone – in other words, the care they are searching for.

The tactile symbol displayed on the label that accompanies this work has at its centre a circle with a dot in the middle. Growing out of the top of the circle is a thick black line that curves to the right in a shape reminiscent of an ear, down to a set of six slightly curved lines like the roots of a plant. You are invited to touch it.

Next to the tactile symbol is a text by Rudy Loewe, which they will now read for you:

“From an early age, you learn ‘we don’t ask for help’, not from doctors, hospitals or the police. But willingly or unwillingly, you find yourself in the GP office/hospital/psychiatric unit. And at this moment of need, you are told ‘you’re fine/ you need to calm down/ you’re making a big deal out of nothing. You’re/you’re/you’re.’ There is no witness to your grief.  

“But there are seeds sown within you of what care could look like. Long-forgotten practices or treatments that the GP would laugh away as inconceivable. In your spirit, you know it to be possible.  

“The tactile element for this artwork is about searching for something important and having the agency to create what you need.” 

This is the end of track 2. If you are facing the QR code, then the tactile path continues to your right down a short corridor-like space to the next artwork.

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‘Intimacies of Care’, Rudy Loewe and Johnny Chang, 2026. ‘Rudy Loewe: Intimacies of Care – Spaces of Grief and Possibility’ exhibition at Wellcome Collection

With voice notes of care that bridge the void

Where, otherwise, we are left adrift in emptiness

Left to deal with the grief of our own living

Suicide-watch prevention systems keep us out of wards

Here we whisper sweet words of recognition

The intentional wearing-down of the network

We lament all that has been taken from us

This work is only possible because I have been held together by a community of disabled co-conspirators for many years, who have buoyed my spirit with loving whispers through tender voice notes, attending appointments and, when all the energy has left my body, raging on my behalf.

It is inspired by Mia Mingus’s ‘access intimacy’: the intimacy of automatically understanding access needs out of our shared similar lived experience of the many different ways ableism manifests in our lives.

‘Intimacies of Care’ means care formed from strong connections with those who have been through the same thing, fully supporting and understanding each other.

My community is QTIBPOC disabled people: queer, trans, intersex, Black and people of colour. A community of deep connections and support.

In this space, we hold each other’s grief and dream new possibilities of care for the future. The care that we are yet to receive from the state, and that we may never receive from such a place.

Intimacies of Care

To your left if you are facing the QR code is a large two-metre high, 1.5-metre-wide poster pasted directly onto the wall. The surface of the paper is a deep forest green dappled with sage green, in a slightly geometric pattern, like light reflecting off rippling water. There are three blocks of golden-yellow text arranged diagonally on the paper.

“We walk each other back from fault lines 

With voice notes of care that bridge the void 

Where, otherwise, we are left adrift in emptiness 

Left to deal with the grief of our own living  

Suicide watch prevention systems keep us out of wards 

We do our best on little to no resources 

Here we whisper sweet words of recognition 

Nothing protecting us from the great sea 

The intentional wearing-down of the network 

The tingle of scotch bonnet on your lips 

We lament all that has been taken from us 

And we dream and we dream and we dream.”  

In each corner of the poster is a symbol made of yellow lines. In the top left it resembles a sea creature, with four tentacles that each curl into a spiral at the end. The top-right symbol looks like a snake in a zig-zag shape, wider at the bottom than the top. The symbol at the bottom right appears like a heart-shaped nut. And the bottom left is simply two lines leaning towards each other, over two symmetrical pincer shapes.

At the bottom of the poster, between two of these symbols, is a spiral of text which reads:

“The ‘we’ here are the queer, trans, intersex, disabled Black people and people of colour I have lovingly felt in community with.”  

The tactile symbol that accompanies this work on an angled label holder to the right – which you are invited to touch – looks like a tightly coiled spring. At the top and the bottom of the spring, the black line of the coil splits into four strands that splay out diagonally.

Next to the tactile symbol is an invitation by Rudy Loewe, which they will now read for you:

“This work is only possible because I have been held together now for many years by a community of disabled co-conspirators who have buoyed my spirit with loving whispers; through tender voice notes, attending appointments and raging on my behalf when all the energy has left my body. ‘Intimacies of Care’ is inspired by Mia Mingus’s ‘access intimacy’, which she describes as ‘the intimacy [she feels] with many other disabled and sick people who have an automatic understanding of access needs out of our shared similar lived experience of the many different ways ableism manifests in our lives.’ 

In these intimate spaces, we* hold each other’s grief and dream new possibilities of care. The care that we are yet to receive from the state, and that we may never receive from such a place.  

The tactile element for this text is about the magic of the collective.”  

This is the end of track 3. If you are facing the QR code then the tactile path continues to your left towards the next artwork.

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‘It Takes a Community to Hold These Wounds’, Rudy Loewe, 2025–6, Commissioned by Wellcome Collection. ‘Rudy Loewe: Intimacies of Care – Spaces of Grief and Possibility’ exhibition at Wellcome Collection

This sewed artwork shows the death of a loved one. The community has come together to support each other.

Rudy Loewe uses the white lily to reflect loss.

It evokes the Jamaican grief ritual of Nine Nights, where family and friends gather for nine nights in a row to remember and celebrate the person who has died.

Supporting each other through their grief.

A rupture has taken hold of your world. Nothing passes. There is no time. And in this moment (was it a moment? a month? a year?). Just the grief that grips you like an enveloping darkness. A community cares for you through the struggle like loving gardeners tending to seedlings that might not last the first frost. Rubbing oils into your dry skin, cracked with mourning. Providing sweet care and shining light into that eternal shadow.

It Takes a Community to Hold These Wounds

Hanging from the ceiling is a textile artwork called ‘It takes a community to hold these wounds’. It measures about metre and a half tall and just over a metre wide. It is suspended from a row of dark fabric tabs along the top. The same dark fabric forms an outer border, framing a broad strip of green and an inner border made of peacock-blue silk.

These fabric elements frame a painted image in the middle of the textile work of five Black people gathered in a living room.

Sitting in the centre of the scene is a woman with light brown skin wearing a pink, belted dressing gown and matching fluffy slippers. The armchair she sits in is upholstered in cream fabric with a swirly green design. She has mid-length brown Afro hair parted in the centre.

She stares straight ahead and doesn’t seem to be looking at anything in particular. A full cup of tea sits untouched on the low coffee table in front of her. 

On the wall in the background are two photo portraits, possibly of family members. In front of one of these, slightly obscured by one of the standing figures, there is a card with pink flowers and the words “deepest condolences”.

The seated woman in the pink dressing gown is the focal point of the scene, and the four other people all appear to be tending to her needs in various ways.

Someone in a green sweatshirt is standing behind her, their face out of frame, holding a plastic Afro comb in one hand and gently smoothing her hair with the other.

A teenager kneels beside the seated woman to the right of the table. Her black hair is pulled up into a bun and she wears light blue trousers and a blue-green jumper. She is placing a blue-and-white-striped vase containing white lilies on a lace doily on the coffee table.

To the left of the seated woman’s shoulder, someone in a bright orange jumper is looking at her with concern and offering her a plate of food: jerk chicken, rice and peas, plantain and callaloo.

Sitting in another armchair facing the woman at the centre of the scene is another figure wearing a lilac jumper and royal blue trousers. They have their back to us and are mostly out of frame but their hands reach over the coffee table to hold the hand of the seated woman.

On the angled label holder, in front of you if you are facing the QR code, is a tactile symbol you can touch. It resembles a rounded vessel patterned with horizontal lines, out of which four lines emerge at the top, as if stalks of a plant. On both sides of the vessel are two lines that create the impression of oversized handles, taller than the vessel itself.

Next to the tactile symbol is an invitation text by Rudy Loewe, which they will now read for you:

“A rupture has taken hold of your world. There is no time. Nothing passes, just the grief that grips you like an enveloping darkness. And in this moment (‘was it a moment? a month? a year?’), a community cares for you like loving gardeners tending to seedlings that might not last the first frost. Rubbing oils into your dry skin, cracked with mourning. Providing sweet care and shining light into that eternal shadow.    

“The tactile element for this artwork refers to the ways that community can create nourishing systems that feed back into itself.”  

This is the end of track 4. If you are facing the QR code, the tactile carries on behind you and then right to lead you to the next artwork close by.

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‘Rage’, Rudy Loewe, 2025–6, Commissioned by Wellcome Collection. ‘Rudy Loewe: Intimacies of Care – Spaces of Grief and Possibility’ exhibition at Wellcome Collection

The artwork you see is called ‘Rage’.

Where did the idea for the painting come from?

Rudy Loewe held a workshop and one participant explained that their rage was like a person in flames.

They are angry because someone with mental health problems needs help, care and support.

Yet when the police arrive, they think the Black person is a threat, and form a barrier.

You see this and feel emotional, right? You feel anger and fear… because you can’t help.

You witness the way those around you are treated as threat when they need care. You learn to make yourself small, turn your rage inwards and tend to your wounds. It takes years for you to meet healers who say, “But of course racism. Of course, homophobia, transphobia, colonialism, ableism, structural violence.” Of course, of course, of course. It’s so obvious.

A Rage whirls within you and they tell you that it does not exist, that it need not exist, that you do not exist. There is nothing wrong with you unless you are a threat, in which case you are locked up and/or medicated ‘for your own good’. But that Rage, left restricted and ignored, seeps into your bloodstream like a poison that must be released.

Rage

To your left, if you are facing the QR code, is a colourful acrylic painting. It is made up of two canvases, one on top of the other. The smaller one is 85 centimetres wide by a metre tall. Behind it is the larger canvas, about 1.7 metres wide and two metres tall, which appears to be fixed directly to the wall.

The painting on the smaller canvas shows a Black person with locs wearing a moss-green hoodie, pale blue jeans and white trainers. They have an alarmed expression, their eyes wide, and stand with their back to a grey-shuttered closed-up shop that’s sprayed with graffiti. They are framed by a triangle of yellow light cast behind them by a streetlamp.

The heads of four white people take up the lower right quarter of the frame. They are turned away from the viewer and towards the person in the painting. They appear to be uniformed police officers. One wears a neon-yellow high-viz waistcoat. Three of them wear peaked caps with a black-and-white checkered band around the brim. The fourth is capless and bald.

A figure who appears to be made of flames – painted as orange, yellow, red and black streaks – stands between the Black person and the officers, with one arm raised and the other in a protective gesture, as if shielding or protecting the person behind them from the police.

The larger canvas depicts a giant flame, its expanse of red and orange paint surrounding the scene. It’s as if the fire is spilling out beyond the bounds of the smaller canvas.

On the angled label to the right of the artwork, Loewe has created a tactile symbol for you to touch. At the centre of the symbol is a line that coils twice at its centre and then splits into two strands at the top, like the stalk and leaf at the top of an apple. Two more lines curve out around the coil on each side, joining with the central strand at the bottom to make the shape of a heart.

“You witness the way those around you are treated as ‘threat’ when they need care. You learn to make yourself small, to tend to your wounds, and turn your rage inwards. It takes years for you to meet healers who say, ‘But of course racism. Of course, homophobia, transphobia, colonialism, ableism, structural violence.' Of course, of course, of course. 

“A Rage whirls within you and they tell you that it does not exist, that it need not exist, that you do not exist. There is nothing wrong with you unless you are a threat, in which case you are locked up and/or medicated ‘for your own good’. But that Rage, left restricted and ignored, seeps into your bloodstream like a poison that must be released.  

“The energy of the tactile element for this artwork centres on the rage that must be released from the body to heal.”  

This is the end of track 5. If you are facing the QR code, then the tactile path continues to your left towards the next artwork.

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Rudy Loewe: Intimacies of Care – Spaces of Grief and Possibility. The Space Within. 2026. Gallery Photo: Benjamin Gilbert. © Wellcome Collection

See the sculpture? Rudy Loewe created this as an opportunity for rest and reflection.

The city can be overwhelming, so here you can take a break.

You can get comfortable in a warm and calming atmosphere designed to feel healing and supportive.

Inside, you can see red light – just like red-light therapy – designed to make you feel comfortable, relaxed and healed.

Stay for as little or as long as you want.

You find yourself stranded within your own body.

Overstimulated, untethered, out of spoons, in need of rest and lost at sea.

A place to ground and gather yourself, an invitation to stillness. Connected in a journey to stop and rest. You can listen to the audio pieces, but you may also wish to just be.

The Space Within

If you are facing the QR code, then in front of you is a dome-shaped space designed to provide a low-stimulation environment. It is an artwork called ‘The Space Within’. Its shape is inspired by natural forms and traditional African architecture from Zululand, Namibia and Cameroon. The dome is covered in green fabric with a soft undulating surface.

Above it hangs a textile banner, stretching a metre and a half tall and a metre wide. It has a symbol that resembles a line drawing of an abstract figure with a spiralling coil for a head, their arms raised to the sky. A circle in the top-right corner gives the impression of a moon.

The artist Rudy Loewe’s hope in creating this work is to counteract the feeling of being ‘stranded’ in central London, especially for disabled or neurodivergent people, for whom the city can be particularly overwhelming.

 ‘The Space Within’ offers the chance to rest, with the option to listen to meditative sound pieces made by the artist. The warm tones of the interior evoke red-light therapy, which studies suggest can help reduce anxiety.

You can enter this work by going through a low arched opening. There are members of Wellcome staff here to help you access the work and use the headphones.

Inside are grooved spaces where you can lie down if you want to. There are swathes of soft red fabric hanging between each individual groove, designed to enable you to rest next to but separate from fellow visitors, providing places for pause and for reflection.

On a freestanding label by the entrance to this space is a tactile symbol Loewe has made for you to touch. It has as its lower half a straight vertical line. At the top of that, it starts to swoop into four curved lines, out of which a wavy triangular shape emerges, filled with black dots and circles.

“You find yourself stranded within your own body. Overstimulated/untethered/out of spoons/in need of rest and lost at sea. This space comes as a raft in the chaos. A place to ground and gather yourself, an invitation to stillness.  

“The tactile element for ‘The Space Within’ embodies what is being seeded within you when you open to stillness.”  

This is the end of track 6. If you are facing the QR code, then the tactile path continues to your left towards the next artwork.

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‘List of Demands’, Rudy Loewe, 2025–6, Commissioned by Wellcome Collection. ‘Rudy Loewe: Intimacies of Care – Spaces of Grief and Possibility’ exhibition at Wellcome Collection

Rudy Loewe held conversations with workshop participants.

As you know, there are barriers to mental health care. But it’s not only because of mental health issues. There are many reasons: there’s not enough support, barriers to autonomy and making decisions for yourself, plus cuts to disability benefits.

This artwork was created as a list of demands.

• Healthcare to focus on people and communities.

• A return to, and respect of, ancestral practices.

• Racism, ableism, misogyny, the oppression of LGBTQIA+, and classism to end.

• People’s lived experiences affect their wellbeing, and some problems in their everyday lives are caused by oppression.

• Acknowledge that growing up in foster care has long-term impacts on mental health, financial stability and access to housing. Those leaving foster care need financial resources and wellbeing support for the rest of their lives.

• A person’s substance abuse, housing instability or migration status must not affect their access to care.

This list of demands is being sent to the current government, highlighting the necessary changes in the mental health system to centre community care.

List of Demands

To your right is an artwork called the ‘List of Demands’, made up of two large-scale text-based paintings, each two and a half metres high. They occupy a corner of the gallery, one on the wall to the left and the other on the wall to the right, so they are at 90 degrees from each other and surround you with text.

The background is a rich green-blue colour. The text on top of it has been hand-painted in vibrant pink capital letters.

“The tactile symbol on the angled holder in front of you has four lines that splay out at the bottom and converge in the middle of the image, on top of which is a shape the resembles a crown with three points. You are welcome to touch it.” 

“This list of demands comes out of workshops I co-facilitated with Camille Sapara Barton, where we reimagined what care could look like when it centres on people’s lived experiences and the power to make decisions for ourselves and those we love.  