He leant over for the tea and his arm caught the rim of nail varnish, tipping the bottle off the sofa and onto the floor. For hours, he massaged soaps suds into the carpet. Every little while, he would soak up the excess soapy mixture with a sponge, squeezing it out into an old ice cream tub. He felt no need for gloves, it was better when he could feel the foam and cat hair between his fingers.Walking home after the party where you came up too soon after drinking four too many and the cold air whips across your wet t-shirt because you left your jacket somewhere and the whites of your eyes mist the sodium light as you still tremble through the grinding teeth. The display above the bus stop says 10 minutes and you can’t wait that long because it’s so fucking cold.Don’t think about what you said or how you embarrassed yourself by slipping down the stairs and spilling your drink because it’s permanent but may soon be forgiven.
Stain! brings together a group of artists around the idea of a blemish or obtrusive mark that remains after an act.
Richard Muller, Eurydice Room.
Louise Madsen, Interior.
Jack Evans, Scuderia.
Craig David Parr, Proceratops, Memoirs of a Place and Trailers from the Trumpton Saga.
Mark Mindel, Hoop Lane and Wedding.
Helena De Pulford, Prone (Fillet) and Prone (Clown).