Helen Stratford

WELCOME TO MY STUDIO

The photograph shows me standing vertically wrapped in a large red blanket. I am facing away from the camera. White typewriter text at the bottom of the blanket reads Chronic. I am standing on a concrete floor in front of a large billboard printed with tropical ferns. Behind the billboard is a large indoor greenhouse with pine trees and wooden architectural structures. — *Public S/Pacing* (2024) image: Julian Hughes

Hi, I’m Helen Stratford, I’m an artist-architect and academic. I live and work in between the Cambridgeshire Fens and Sheffield.

I have a social practice that embraces performance, art, architecture, speculative diagramming, writing and civic action. Changing life experiences have led me to recalibrate my practice. Exploring personal worlds of pain, health and limited energy, my current work seeks to re-encounter, subvert, or ‘crip’, public spaces and practices built around expectations of hyper-productivity and optimisation; re-interpreting them with care and humour.

At this moment in creatively and sustainably embedding my lived experience in my work, I believe in centring ‘crip time’ – how disabled, sick, and Mad bodyminds navigate time/space – as a critical tool for innovative forms of art.

During the residency I am planning to work between drawing and performance-based actions to develop an interactive space that invites audiences to examine the tensions and ecologies between work, wellness and (radical) rest. I am excited to use this time to connect with my peers in exploring how places of friction, failure, unknowing and ridicularity might critique the normative and extractive presumptions that structure daily life, and support modes of self-care and mutual aid. The residency is a direct development of an Arts Council England DYCP grant (2025/26) exploring ‘Ecologies of Crip Time.’

Please take some time to look around my studio, at the work and thoughts. Feel free to ask questions and get in touch through the comments!

With care

Helen

3. SOME PEOPLE HAVE THE EXPERIENCE OF FINDING THEMSELVES IN A SPACE AND HAVING NO IDEA HOW THEY GOT THERE.

The photograph shows an image of a computer monitor displaying a close-up view of a hand drawing on a hand-drawn chart or grid filled with handwritten text and heavy black lines written in deep black charcoal, making much of the content obscured. On the screen in front of the image white text in typewriter font reads: 53. Have you had personal experiences with the supernatural? behind the screen there is pink and cream fabric printed with hand-drawn circles, lines, grids and dashes in red, white and black lines. In front of the screen, partially obscuring it are machine embroidery charts and diagrams in red stitching on red fabric.

The photograph shows an image of a monitor with a black frame displaying a close-up view of a hand drawing heavy black lines in deep black charcoal, in the image golden early morning sunlight casts a long shadow of the hand across the paper. On the screen in front of the image white text in typewriter font reads: 3. Some people have the experience of finding themselves in a space and having no idea how they got there. Behind the screen there is pink and cream fabric printed with hand-drawn circles, lines, grids and dashes in red, white and black lines. In front of the screen, partially obscuring it are machine embroidery charts and diagrams in red and pale blue stitching on red fabric. Further behind the fabric and the screen on the right there is a view of a doorframe and a plug socket indicating this is a domestic space. — The photographs shows an image of a monitor with a black frame displaying a close-up view of a hand drawing heavy black lines in deep black charcoal. On the screen in front of the image white text in typewriter font reads: *53. Have you had experiences of the supernatural?* and 3. Some people have the experience of finding themselves in a space and having no idea how they got there. Behind the screen hangs pink and cream fabric printed with hand-drawn circles, lines, grids and dashes in red, white and black lines. In front of the screen, partially obscuring it, are machine embroidery charts and diagrams in red and pale blue stitching on red fabric. In the bottom image, behind the fabric and the screen there is a view of a doorframe and a plug socket.

I’ve been experimenting with bringing together some of the things I have been exploring during the residency in a space that might form an exhibition proposal. These photographs form a sketch towards what that might be. One of the things I want to develop is an immersive and sensory space that speaks to crip time and optimisation processes in ways that play with the wellbeing visual models and assessment devices I have been collecting. Many, if not all, of these models and devices are owned and invented by physicians and psychologists; researchers and scientists who patent, trademark or commercialise specific psychological frameworks. All propose to change your life for the better. The image brings together a film of drawing and redrawing a mental health assessment matrix in a space filled with printed drapes and embroidered textiles. Together, they pay attention to the repeating forms and labour embedded in the models; making them into a series of unending patterns that make visible the ridicularity of their amount. At the same time they translate them into textural and sensory fields which, like the accidental door frame and plug socket in the second image, rub up against these neat and tidy models of progress.

FUTURE : NOW

A photograph of an unopened white envelope on a wooden plywood bookshelf filled with architectural magazines and journals. Only the spines of the journals are visible. The envelope sits in the space remaining on the shelf in front of the journals. On the envelope hand-written text reads "To Helen. Wishing you all the best for your special birthday with Lots of Love from Mum." The handwriting is old-fashioned joined up writing with flourishes, written carefully in black pen in the middle of the envelope. In the top right of the image, a thick hardback book rests horizontally on top of the journals, satisfyingly filling the remaining gap between the next shelf. The book is red with the words healthy on the spine in white capitals and Caitja underneath in black capitals.

I mentioned this image in the group meeting. It is a photograph of an unopened card written by my mum for my 60^th birthday which won’t happen for a while yet. My mum accidentally wrote it to me instead of my sister last year. It occupies a bookshelf in my house, waiting. In the meeting Mariette commented how it relates to questions of measurement that I have been exploring elsewhere in the blog and the residency. Its writing prompts a judgemental measure of what is incorrect (the wrong day, the wrong year, the wrong person) but, in another reality, it generates a different measurement of time. This is what I love about it. In many ways, the unopened card is an adherence to rituals; to processes; to obligations. At the end of the day, it is just a birthday card, like the multiple others I have received from my mum over the years. Yet, it sits in-between time, in front of architectural journals from up to three decades ago and below a book on Healthy Scepticism from this year. And at this time, it contains precious time; a time when many things might happen.

I devised a performance piece that had instructions for what to do in the case of different eventualities, who might open the card and who will be thanked for the love it contains. The unopened card makes me think about three people and their connections to each other. Perhaps when it’s opened it will have been written to my sister after all. It is a deeply sentimental, bittersweet and poignant object, and I wondered whether to post a picture of it because of that. But after our conversation I post.

MEASURE

I wanted to respond to Sophie’s most recent post on Measured Speech. As part of my wellness coaching course I have been collecting wellness model diagrams; redrawing them with imprecise charcoal and ink and then stitching them using digital embroidery that picks up all the glitches and traces of the drawn line and translates it back into precise yet imprecise detail. The image shows machine embroidery of wellness model diagrams including ‘Spheres of Influence,’ ‘Wheel of Awareness’ and ‘Solution Focused, Decisional Balance’. What I have noticed from drawing and redrawing these models is that the models always follow a pattern of optimisation. Everything is always in a circular one way motion (clockwise or anti clockwise) on a linear scale (from left to right or upwards) and always heading towards change and growth. This one is provisionally called ‘Measure’.

Close-up of a blood red textile artwork combining drawing and embroidery. Pale turquoise stitching creates layered looping lines that resemble topographic contours or movement traces. Pale pink embroidered arrows point in multiple directions, accompanied by short dashed markings and a large question mark on the right-hand side. A dark red raised band runs diagonally from lower left to upper right, disrupting the flow of the stitched lines. Loose black drawn lines are visible in the background, adding another layer of marks and suggesting uncertainty, navigation, or competing directions of movement.

PERSISTENT

A floor creaks. There is the sound of a shuffling movement inside a room and cars driving past. There is a long sound of something being drawn slowly across a page. It sounds like a felt tip pen but feels dry and lightweight, unlike the wet sound of a paintbrush. It grates a little bit with the surface of what might be paper; not a sharp, high-pitched scrape like chalk but a dry friction that nevertheless causes a little feeling of discomfort. There is a gentle crack of something tiny falling quietly or breaking apart on the paper.

The sound is consistently spaced, and while it stutters and stops at moments as if hesitant, it persists in a regular rhythm. These charcoal lines create a sustained, low-pitched rasping sound, like a steady breeze rustling through dry grass or an unrelenting hiss. Birdsong occasionally overlaps in the background and pigeons coo repeatedly. As the stroke slows down at the end of a line, the sound drops in pitch and becomes a deeper, more tactile scrape.

A motorbike seems to mark the end of the regular long, drawn-out sounds which are then replaced by short bursts of notation. These are also regularly paced, as if filling in gaps at regular spaces; producing quick, rhythmic clacks as the charcoal stick abruptly meets the paper. Two voices start an inaudible conversation in the background in the street outside, and a short electronic tone or horn pulse is emitted by a car’s security system to confirm its doors are open or unlocked by its owner.

Seemingly outside of these early morning greetings and routines, the drawing continues, persistently. It has its own rhythm. At moments it stops for a long pause before regaining pace. Sometimes it is drowned out by the vehicles passing but it continues, nevertheless. In its own time. It sounds like whisper moving across a room. In the distance, more voices greet each other and the traffic noise ebbs and flows in intensity. The floor creaks. The traffic noise grows. The pigeons coo. There is an inaudible sigh in a moment of pause.

This is a first attempt at trying to write an audio description of the drawing process I have been exploring and filming during the residency. In the description I am paying attention to all the sounds: the drawing and the sounds in the space and in the street outside. I was interested to hear how the sound is different to how I imagined the drawing would sound in relation to my experience. In my mind there were more gaps and pauses, but from the sound there is a constant and persistent rhythm which counters the irregularly spaced sounds of early morning activity coming from outside the room. It reminds me of my experience of chronic pain – of never being able to be calm – and of responding to an embodied and non-negotiable time frame that was often in conflict with or rubbed up against that of the outside environment.

SAMPLE 2 119MINS / TATAMI SATIN CROSS STITCH

A series of 6 photographs with black borders showing two pairs of pale skinned hands tracing embroidered lines on bright red fabric. One pair of hands is visibly older than the other. The textile contains stitched diagrams, arrows and looping forms in pink and pale blue thread. The images document a tactile encounter with the embroidery, as the raised stitches are explored through touch. — A series of 6 photographs with black borders showing two pairs of pale skinned hands tracing embroidered lines on bright red fabric. One pair of hands is visibly older than the other. The textiles contain stitched diagrams, arrows and looping forms in pink and pale blue thread.

I show my mum my current work-in-progress. She is partially sighted, so the showing becomes a feeling. Tracing the lines of embroidery with our fingers, we talk and laugh about wellness models, illness and autonomy through a tactile and sensory conversation.

In the 1950s my mum worked on garments for Queen Elizabeth II as a dressmaker for a London Fashion house. One of the dresses she worked on is currently on display at the King’s Gallery. This is exactly the sort of exhibition I try to avoid. The exhibition centres garments produced for royal ceremonies and state occasions, histories inseparable from empire and colonisation. Yet, I became emotional when my sister, niece and I recently took my mum to see the dress we’d heard about (repeatedly) all our lives.

The feeling is difficult to untangle. Partly it was seeing my mum encounter a piece of her own history. Partly it was the accumulation of years of stories suddenly materialising in front of us. Partly it was an awareness of all the other hands that remain absent from the story. I found myself wanting to find all the hands that worked on these exquisite outfits: the hundreds of unnamed workers whose labour supported state weddings, coronations and diplomatic visits; work entangled with wealth drawn from extracted lands and colonial systems. Their contributions remain largely invisible while the finished garments become objects of national celebration. At the same time, I was frustrated by the lack of access design. The hand-drawn sketches that accompanied the garments were displayed too high for my mum to see from her wheelchair.

There is no touching in the exhibition, only admiration.

3. Some people have the experience of finding themselves in a place and having no idea how they got there.

16. Some people have the experience of being in a familiar place but finding it strange and unfamiliar.

53. Have you had personal experiences with the supernatural?

A large sheet of white paper mounted on a tripod easel stands in a harvested field covered with golden straw. Drawn on the paper is a hand-written grid or chart filled with repeated letters and numbered cells, with column headings including words such as 'always,' 'usually,' 'often,' 'sometimes,' 'rarely' and 'never.' In the middle of the paper is a crescent shape of light. it is a partial solar eclipse projected through a telescope the end of which is in view. The lower right corner of the paper curls forward in the breeze. Behind the chart, mature trees are silhouetted against a clear evening sky. To the right, a bright green tent or windbreak is partially visible, while drawing and workshop materials are scattered on the ground beneath the easel. Warm, low sunlight casts long shadows across the field.

Close up of a detail of a charcoal drawing on white paper of a grid infilled with letters and numbers. The numbers 31,32,33,34 are visible in the frame and the letters AUOSRN, repeatedly. A golden crescent-shaped projection of a partial solar eclipse moves slowly across the view, from top left to bottom right. The video is silent.

A close-up view of a hand held in front of a white projection screen outdoors. Bright sunlight passing through a telescope projects a glowing crescent-shaped image of a partial solar eclipse in the centre of the palm. In the foreground, part of a telescope is visible, aimed at the screen. The lower edge of the image reveals straw-covered ground, suggesting the scene is taking place in a harvested field. Warm evening light illuminates the hand and screen, highlighting the projected crescent shape, creating a fleeting interaction between body, light, and astronomical observation.

washing clothes

washing dishes

washing my mother

Frictions

Tuesday: my mum and I go for a slow walk – carefully navigating and registering every slight change in surface, every minute change in level, avoiding every raised kerb and seeking solace in the shade. It is a form of attentive and responsive, embodied and situated research. Yet this mode of attention is not voluntary. It is born out of non-negotiable necessity and exposes the frictions of the built environment that often remain invisible to those who move through it more easily.

Long shadows of two people stretch across a sunlit paved path. One is holding the other one's arm. One shadow appears taller and broader, while the other is slimmer and carries a long object resembling a walking stick or cane. They are divided by a raised curb. The low-angled sunlight creates strong contrast between the dark shadows and the bright pavement. — Long shadows of two people stretch across a sunlit paved path. One is holding the other one’s arm. One shadow appears taller and broader, while the other is slimmer and carries a long object resembling a walking stick or cane. They are divided by a dropped curb. The low-angled sunlight creates strong contrast between the dark shadows and the bright pavement.

STRANGE-ING TIME

A bright blue digital display set against a black background reads ‘Monday Before Dawn’ in capital letters above the time 4:54 a.m. in larger numbers in the centre of the screen. Running along the bottom of the screen the date reads: 17 August 2026. There is a reflected light from a mantlepiece and the illuminated screen emphasizes the stillness and darkness of the pre-dawn hour.

I am back at my mum’s. At first, I think I can’t continue with the residency process in this space: practices of art and care feel in direct tension. But then I start thinking about how conventional Western ideas of neoliberal productive time hold very little meaning here. I think about anti-disciplinary scholar Lisa Bradley’s article ‘Life without Clocks’ in which she tries and fails to ‘strange’ time by living without clocks for 12 days. For Lisa, the failure is not in removing the presence of clocks, rather it is in how the rhythm of time has ‘woven its threads through the fibers of my body long ago.’

Here, caring for my mum, time has not disappeared. It registers in the fading daylight, in ‘morning’ and ‘night’ pills, mealtimes, bin collections and the presence or absence of people passing. But ‘Monday morning’ and the productive week become absurd concepts. I have a vague memory of Friday night, but I’m no longer entirely convinced it exists. Instead, time gathers, circles, drags and folds into repetition, reassurance, waiting and attention. Rather than treating this as an interruption, I lean in.

ON FAILURE

Last week I experimented with filming myself drawing and redrawing the assessment chart. I tried to film in morning light as a way of bringing together two types of time and a link to ecologies (with a nod to Carolyn Lazard and Jade Montserrat). BUT I keep failing, I am not a film maker and the filming is out of focus, is too dark, doesn’t fit in the frame, stops before the end, also, because I am tired, I get up too late for the sun, my body aches from drawing this way and I have to stop repeatedly. It is incredibly frustrating but then I realise this is the process. This is the ridicularity and failure I am trying to embrace. And the rub against normative aesthetic, even architectural, desires to make it neat and tidy is palpable.

A blurry image of a chart of lines, numbers and letters drawn in black on a white background. Most of the image is in shadow with some patches of sunlight on the right which are white and tinged with yellow. The chart is composed of numbers that run from 1 to 62 and repeated letters AUOSRN. At the top there is some indistinguishable writing that appears to be a legend for the chart.

The image shows a video camera on a tripod pointing at a wall. Taped to the wall with masking tape is a large piece of paper. It has ripped edges and looks as if it was cut in a hurry. The wall behind is papered in woodchip wallpaper and painted with magnolia paint, the kind you find in a domestic bedroom, and the top of the wall has a faded decorative wallpaper border with repeating motifs. The paper contains a hand-drawn chart or grid filled with handwritten text and heavy black lines written in deep black charcoal, making much of the content obscured. Across the top are handwritten notes defining letters, including 'A = always, U = usually,' 'O = often,' 'S = sometimes,' and 'R = rarely.' The camera’s fold-out screen displays a close-up view of a hand drawing on the grid. Black plastic sheets cover furniture or stored items beneath the wall. — The image shows a video camera on a tripod pointing at a wall. Taped to the wall with masking tape is a large piece of paper. It has ripped edges and looks as if it was cut in a hurry. The wall behind is papered in woodchip wallpaper and painted with magnolia paint, the kind you find in a domestic bedroom, and the top of the wall has a faded decorative wallpaper border with repeating motifs. The paper contains a hand-drawn chart or grid filled with handwritten text and heavy black lines written in deep black charcoal, making much of the content obscured. Across the top are handwritten notes defining letters, including ‘A = always, U = usually,’ ‘O = often,’ ‘S = sometimes,’ and ‘R = rarely.’ The camera’s fold-out screen displays a close-up view of a hand drawing on the grid. Black plastic sheets cover furniture or stored items beneath the wall.

ALWAYS USUALLY OFTEN SOMETIMES RARELY NEVER

A photograph of deep dark red digital embroidery stitched onto a paler blood red fabric. The embroidery is in the form of a grid with numbers that run from top to bottom 4-8 and 27-31 consequentially and letters that read AUOSRN. The chart is cut off and in places the letters A are cut in half and in others red stitching is over sewn in white. On the right hand side a piece of brown tape with ripped edges has been stuck on the fabric. on the tape hand written text in black felt tip pen reads: Sample 2 119 mins / Tatami Satin CROSSSTITCH. — A photograph of deep dark red digital embroidery stitched onto a paler blood red fabric. Numbers run from top to bottom 4-8 and 27-31 and letters read AUOSRN. On the right hand side is a piece of brown tape with ripped edges stuck to the fabric. On the tape hand written text in black felt tip pen reads: Sample 2 119 mins / Tatami Satin CROSSSTITCH. Image: Josie Turnbull

I’ve been redrawing this mental health assessment chart for a while now. I have drawn it in charcoal, in watercolour, in ink, on fabric and translated it into digital embroidery. I am excited to explore where the material of the chart breaks down and fails, but also the performance-based repetitive action of filling in nonsensical questionnaires as an embodiment of crip time. I drew it recently on a whiteboard as part of a performative lecture at a the Society of Social History of Medicine conference at Leeds University with my co-conspirator 20th century healthcare historian Dr Caitjan Gainty. As I drew Caitjan talked about the histories of efficiency and productivity in spaces of work, medicine and healthcare…

The photograph shows a view of the front of a typical lecture theatre or classroom. On the right a projection screen displays 19th-century motion-study photography and chronophotography illustrating human locomotion phases of upright male figures, notably featuring works by Eadweard Muybridge and Étienne-Jules Marey. These were the foundation of 'time and motion' studies by which awkward or redundant movements could be eliminated, tool layouts redesigns, fatigue reduced, and factory assembly-line efficiency maximised.
Beneath the projected image is a whiteboard. A pale skinned woman in a black sleeveless knee height dress with red curly hair is drawing a chart on the whiteboard. She is leaning, a little awkwardly, to the right in order to bend to reach the extent of the board. On the left is a desk with a visualiser and lectern. A pale skinned grey haired woman with black rimmed glasses and a lanyard is speaking and making hand gestures to an invisible audience in front of the desk. — Caitjan Gainty (left) and Helen Stratford (right) presenting ‘The Ins and Outs of Productivity’
at SSHM 2026: In/Out University of Leeds July 2026: 20 minute paper and live drawing presentation.

The image shows a grid drawn in bright blood red ink on pale cream silky fabric. The brush strokes from a wide stiff brush can be clearly seen in the lines of the grid. Inside the grid are letters and numbers drawn in a thinner brush that read AUOSRN and the numbers 22 and 23. On the top right hand side the grid is overlaid with an appliqué addition made from a darker cream translucent fabric. This has smudgy monoprint drawn and precisely stitched concentric circles in bright and deep red which break down and unravel at the top. It looks like an oyster or a finger print. — A grid drawn in bright blood red ink on pale cream silky fabric with numbers 22, 23 and letters: AUOSRN. On the top right hand side the grid is overlaid with an appliqué addition with monoprint drawn and precisely stitched concentric circles in bright and deep red which break down and unravel at the top.
The stitch time for the appliqué was around 22 minutes. Image: Josie Turnbull.

WELLBEING COACHING MODELS

During the residency I am trying to finish an assessment for a wellbeing coaching course. This is a list of wellbeing coaching models and tools. It’s not, nor ever will be, exhaustive…

SPHERES OF INFLUENCE

The image shows a photograph of machine embroidery on a densely checked polycotton fabric with a dark grey background and white lines. The embroidery is made up of thick bright red, ever increasing, yet disintegrating circles and half circles that resemble the inner world of an oyster or fingerprint stitched in silky satin thread. This contrasts with a geometric triangular shape with a measurement of 10cm stitched over the red circles in an eggshell blue thread. — *Spheres of Influence* (2026) detail. Image: Josie Turnbull.

I watch the recording of the residency induction, and I am struck by how generous the space is – a time to push back against the ‘should’ of productivity. It makes me think about my current work that I have been exploring during my DYCP which focuses on the opposite – on the ridicularity of healthcare and wellness processes based in efficiency and optimisation.

I also watch the recording of first meeting and then select these images of recent work-in-progress: a re-purposing of health and wellness mental and visualisation models and methods through drawing and embroidery. This sample was made with the help of Poppy Nash in April this year. It had a 77 minute stitch time. I feel it speaks to the meeting’s discussion on re-purposing, language and translation.

The image shows a photograph of machine embroidery on a densely checked unhemmed polycotton fabric with a dark grey background and white lines. The embroidery is made up of thick bright red, ever increasing, yet disintegrating circles and half circles that resemble the inner world of an oyster or fingerprint stitched in silky satin thread. This contrasts with a geometric triangular shape that resembles a line drawing of a slice of pie or cheese, with measurements of 10cm and 8cm stitched over the top of the red circles in an eggshell blue thread. — *Spheres of Influence* (2026) – digital embroidery from ink drawings of wellbeing coaching models and NHS food diary handout on cotton check fabric. Image: Josie Turnbull.

HOW TO START WITHOUT STARTING

I can’t be there for the first residency meeting. I talk to Jamie about how sad I am about this: that I can’t even meet the requirements of the residency from day one. We say of course that is ok, and I think about my studio text which says that I am embracing failure during this residency, but I still find it difficult to reconcile with the normative structures I have internalised.

Section of a flowchart diagram in black hand written and printed text on a white background illustrating a daily routine on a workday in September 2022, focusing on managing pain and work activities throughout the day. Key decision points include pain levels, use of painkillers, exercise, work tasks, meals, and rest. Work tasks are organised in the centre, with labelled boxes and arrows spiralling around with multiple complex choices and actions. — (Un)productive Spatialisations #1 (detail) (2022)

This situation makes me think about my drawing ‘(Un)Productive Spatialisations’ which I made in 2022 to highlight the work to get to make work. I am not in the same place as I was when I made this diagram, which tracks the granular choices a ‘sick’ bodymind makes to get to make work; to be in public, but it resonates with me now in a different way as I work with my sister to care for my mum. All the hidden labour that goes into living is in my mind and how this affects bodyminds in different ways – whether it’s the work of the ‘sick’ body, or the work to make work, or the work to care for someone else’s needs – all of which disproportionately affect those bodyminds whose needs aren’t seamlessly met by the environment around them.

Flowchart diagram in black hand written and printed text on a white background illustrating a daily routine on a workday in September 2022, focusing on managing pain and work activities throughout the day. Key decision points include pain levels, use of painkillers, exercise, work tasks, meals, and rest. Work tasks are organised in the centre, with labelled boxes and arrows spiralling around with multiple complex choices and actions. — (Un)productive Spatialisations #1 (2022)

I am grateful that Jamie says it’s fine that I can’t make it, and I viscerally relearn Alison Kafer’s critical aspect of crip time: that it’s more than fine to meet the day, the residency, the work as you are, rather than bend your body and mind to meet the clock, in fact, it’s fundamental.

I’ve included the audio description of the diagram by Char Heather as this is something I would like to explore more of during the residency. It’s an excerpt from a longer description which was written and recorded by Char for the project Public S/Pacing at Bloc Projects, Sheffield in 2024.