Aut Splash

I’m autistic, and in this project, through multi-exposure, intuitive texts and working with my emotional states, I show the sensations of the world of a person with autism spectrum disorder.

The way I feel is always a collage of reality, everything is happening at the same time and from all sides.

I shoot and write in the moment of strong feelings, puting a print through my body in the picture — I don’t need self-portraits for it to be a self-portrait.

Basically I feel nott-quite-as-human, enchanted existence, you either talk or walk, not all at once. I feel inundated with emotion, and simultaneously unable to join in.

I feel that autistic people are excluded from art because of their inability to write according to set moulds, and I want to disrupt that system. I want to create a book that will be a window into the experiences of myself and other autistic people who ‘on the face of it’ do not need support and are recognised by the WHO classification as ‘coping without support’. But this is a big lie. Without support we can barely survive.

But yes, there is joy here. The physical happiness of shimmering colours, of a shining world. Sounds that make me happy — as powerful as sounds that displease.

I want you to see it. I want the photographs to touch your eyes the same way the world touches me through the senses — and makes me numb.

I feel the sea like home, the most comforting place, her sound calms me like a song, can I please come back

(yes)

I made this portrait of the mermaid in Folkestone, and it’s the exact feeling of what it is to be autistic when it comes to socialising.

Strange figures, can’t catch it, what’s going on, why everything is so fast and loud, can we please take turns talking

I just have to stand still to make room for everything that flows from the world through me.

It’s a lot for a day

small things are friends, and I can trust them more than humans, they are solid, they stay the way they are

Autistic Joy

as the sun travels from dawn to dusk, illuminating things with magical pollen.
the little joys that make me so happy — like the gift of each day.
colour. light. oozing like the impressionists.
I don’t need a special technique to see the world like this, it’s built-in

[this new picture reflects the experience of autistic joy seeing a bunch of small identical objects. It gives me so much WHEEEEE inside!]

Autistic Rage

sounds

feelings

smells

breezes

everything

EVERYTHING

too

much

Finger spells

If I were living in Medieval I would be burnt already, just because of fidgeting I do with my hands. Are all witches autistic?

Words are gone

Sometimes they are. Sometimes I can only look. Is it an ancient cast, I guess. I am a translator from my language to human and back again, I do it in snapshots, poems, existence on earth. Sometimes the translator goes on strike.

You’ve got a fish not a girlfriend

For some days. I can’t feel. My love is like an old costume, my human feelings, my thoughts. I just put if off. And stay. Inside the glass jar. Resting.

Underwaterrr

(once upon a time there lived a man who had a selkie bride and he burned her skin and she sailed away forever)

Don’t burn my funny skin.

I need to float in the void once in a while.

In the shape of myself.