Likely Accident Foundry

The polaroids taped up by the mirror, taken down so you can read the backs. The pictures are the cats, for now.

Who we are

We are Magpie. We draw, we write, we felt small creatures out of wool, and we build the rooms you have been standing in. The work started on paper, with a pencil, and it still does: ink over the pencil, paint over the ink on an iPad, poems drawn over by hand until the words and the picture are one thing. It went out into the world through a shop on Etsy, a residency, and a lot of moving house. Likely Accident Foundry is the name for all of it. Most of the good things came from accidents, and a foundry is where a thing gets cast into a shape that lasts. We are one person working from a bedroom with our hands, our head and a computer, and we are not giving up any of the three because one of them makes somebody uncomfortable.

What we make

Art prints of our own drawings, printed to order. Poems drawn over by hand. Needle felted creatures, each one the only one. Small pieces made to order. Readings. Mixtapes. And the rooms themselves, which are also the work.

What it is made of

Pencil, ink and paint. Wool and a needle. Paper, at the sizes the wall says, and files. Plain web pages we wrote ourselves, in files anyone can read. A decade of our own words, read back to us. AI, on purpose.

Where the work hangs

The pictures are hung around the bedroom door, frame to frame. Touch one and it tells you what it is, the story, the sizes it comes in, and what it costs. The things you can hold are in the jewelry box on the vanity. What we are thinking is on the papers beside the corkboard.