The Tree Doctor says all the symptoms point to disease via a contact infection. “What about the air?” I ask. The Doctor avoids the question and says something about managing complex symptoms and pain. His voice becomes softer as he speaks of stopping treatment. He moves to the passive tense. “Letting nature take its course” murmurs through his lips. The tree struggles to grasp this idiom. I try to feed the tree a raspberry. He can’t eat it, so I do.
‘miasma’ is an imagined looping between a dying London plane tree and the interiors of my mother’s house. This exhibition is an elegy for the family tree.
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