Joi Murugavell
The Upside Down Bum

I’ve often found myself searching for clarity in intense, repeating cycles. When my mum died six months ago, it set one of those cycles in motion. This particular loss felt like a vivid game of hide and seek. Questions like who am I—or maybe more accurately, who am I being—began to surface more frequently, more urgently. Memories from childhood drifted in and out, mixing with the person I’ve come to think of as “me” today.

The works you see here were made alongside those questions. Not just who am I, but also how can I see more clearly?, who am I pretending to be?, why do I dislike Valentine’s Day? I don’t always have the words for where these questions lead, but I seem to find something like answers in the images I make—and sometimes in the short sentences we call titles.

Showing this body of work feels like another part of that process. I’ve come to think of exhibitions a bit like AA meetings—spaces where things are shared openly, and where, occasionally, you leave with one or two unexpected penpals. People who stay in touch, who write, who visit. Over time, I’ve started to see this exchange as the real reason for exhibiting: a kind of workshop where someone who mostly thinks in images meets people who think in words. Somewhere in that meeting point, a clearer understanding can emerge—for both sides.

As for the upside-down bum—it’s what I’ve always called Valentine’s Day. A slightly ridiculous “public holiday for the heart,” as if we need a reminder that we have one. As if matters of the heart could ever be contained to a single day, or even a moment. We’re already living it all the time—one big, throbbing heart, with limbs reaching in different directions, full of hope, desire, mess, and something that connects us to much more than ourselves.