DONNA ENTICKNAP

I have always collected stones. I bring them home, arrange them in lines on windowsills or specific configurations that just feel right–there’s a specific order to things. A lock and key maybe. A portal back to the land and time they came from, a vessel for the spirit of place. A charm or spell for control and certainty. Like the old folk custom of hanging hag stones to ward off the fears and dangers of the time, I see parallels in my own struggles with obsessive compulsive disorder and anxiety. The need for certainty and the tendency towards magical thinking.