MEANS

MEANS is excited to share the work of two more fantastic grassroots artists. This post marks the second of our new online series, where we showcase two artists whose work we particularly admire. Check them out below!

Kate Fallon-Cousins

I create characters from found objects and they are spreading a message of Peace. An alchemist mythologically can create a little man or Homunculus. When he is full grown he is an artist! He can create creatures of his own. Because he is born not of woman but from art, art comes naturally to him. God created me in his image and I in turn create art and the art creates his own self portrait. This is a theme that intrigues me. I love collecting objects. I am also a collector of music and the originality of other artists and musicians inspires me to be the best that I can be. I haven’t got a million followers and I haven’t got my work in any galleries. Until demand for my work goes up I will continue to donate my work and I love doing it. My work is on someone’s wall and I can give something back to the charity shops where I get so many cool things I love. The person that buys my work will have a little magic moment of finding a beautiful bargain. The magic is in the alchemy and the hope is always for Peace.

Once a month, Kate prints out postcards of her art and distributes them around the area in which she lives. An act of everyday creativity that enlivens the lived experience of her community. 

Crisia Constantine

Crisia Constantine’s works were featured by the Queerfest Norwich, Nottingham Poetry Festival, The Glasgow Gallery of PhotographyHead On Festival, Art and About Festival, Nomadic arts Festival, 1st Worldwide Studio and Apartment Biennale, Brighton Photo Biennial, Central East-European House for Photography in Bratislava, and Process Space Art Festival in Ruse, Bulgaria. The above image is titled ‘wheel of fortune’, it represents an abstracted symbol of the ‘wheel of fortune’ used in embroidery, the image is a photograph of alternative embroidery.

Hope begins around a table.

Eat with your hands.
Return to your body.
Cook slowly. Spill often. Laugh when it burns.

Tell the story of the dish before eating.
Name who taught it to you.
Name who couldn’t be here.
Say the animal’s name. Say the place.
“This was a pullet from Auntie Lena’s yard.”

Say it before the first bite.
Spill a little rice or tea on the floor.
Keep one chair empty.

Eat together, off one plate.
Let everyone reach. Let everyone chew at once.
Let the meal speak in overlapping voices.
Let silence be part of it too.

In dark times, cook something slow.
Make a broth for the dead —

bones or roots, onion skins, peppercorns, bay.
Simmer for hours.
Name your people in the steam.

Make a bread to rise with others —

flour, salt, water, and time.
Knead in a circle. Pass from palm to palm.
Shape into rounds. Mark with initials.
Bake it. Tear it. Eat as one.

Make food that it is easy to carry and give.
Wrap dhal in flatbread and keep it warm in cloth.
Mash bananas with oats and seeds, bake by the dozen, leave some at the door.
Crush dates, nuts, cacao for protein balls.
Scoop hummus and roasted veg into pita sandwiches.

Make food that you can eat while marching, chanting, and resisting.

Fold lentil pancakes around spiced potato.

Fill steamed buns with cabbage and beans—soft, warm, passed from hand to hand.
Press sticky rice around pickles and sesame, wrap it tight.

Dry marinated tofu into tough strips for long days ahead.

When it’s cold or late or hard to keep going,
pour from a thermos

ladle red lentil soup with turmeric and ginger.
Share smoky chili from metal flasks.
Scoop pumpkin risotto from a jar, still thick and warm.
Sip lemon balm and hibiscus tea brewed for courage.
Stir cocoa with chili into oat milk.

When it’s time to feed many
bring pots. Bring what you can.

Let black beans simmer slow with garlic and cumin.
Toss rice with chickpeas, preserved lemon, herbs.

Make food for the streets.
Make a stew of everything — roots, greens, barley, hope.
Scoop couscous with lemon and za’atar and

rice with chickpeas and olives into paper cups.

When the meal is finished, leave a little.
Spill crumbs. Say thank you out loud.

This isn’t just food.
It’s offering.
It’s remembering.
It’s a kind of hope.