Tuesday, 30 December 2008

I have been collecting eggshells since I got back to London for the holidays, although I am still unsure as to what I should do with them. My interest in them lies in their individuality. They all look so similar, yet they are all completely unique. I have been considering writing on them, or inside them. So far they're neatly labelled in egg boxes.

Today I went to see a play written by Harold Pinter, who died on the 25th. It was called No Man's Land. It was interesting; bizarre in parts. A particular theme which interested me, one which is quite common in terms of what i read, was the question of truth and reality, and unanswered questions.

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