Of an afternoon, one can find me soaking in the view from the landing which overlooks the rich autumn colours displayed in our delightful (and unusually large) London garden. However, although used for soaking and doubtlessly coloured with rich autumnal hues, I don't feel like your used tampon is sufficiently contributing to my musings enough to validate its presence on the windowsill.
I personally enjoy the work of Tracey Emin, I found 'My bed' to be a daring comment on the insecurities and imperfections of a female contemporary creative. Emin did however, put her 'artwork' in a gallery, thus exposing her flawed self to the world, I feel like instead of making your post-modernist installations on the windowsill of our council house, perhaps you could be persuaded to take it to Saatchi? I feel like maybe a good throat-grabbing (re-Nigella Lawson) could re-align your creative chakras, art is suffering after all.
P.S: Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, there is no end to your absence of shame.
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