You told me that you loved me on our way to see Carsten Holler’s exhibition at the Hayward. It was 2015, the sun was shining and we were both really high. The stark brutalist structure spouted two metallic snakes that coiled from its top to bottom, later we would slide down them. I told you the building reminded me of a minimalist portrait of medusa and you said that was stupid. We spent half the day there playing. Almost children but not really.

You winked at me as you popped a capsule into your mouth from the pile on the floor. The show was supposed to be centred around decision making but we both knew it wasn't a choice for you. Even a vague suggestion invited impulse. You were disappointed at its lack of effect. I wasn’t surprised and wished it had been sweets instead. We sat on the grass outside afterwards and ate salads I had made from tupperware containers. I wondered what size the pile might be if I could transform your weight into pharmaceutical pills. Not very much, I decided, wondering if I could carry you.

According to Haraway, play is ‘the most powerful and diverse activity for rearranging old things and proposing new things, new patterns of feeling and action, and for crafting safe enough ways to tangle with each other in conflict and collaboration’*

*Haraway, Staying with the Trouble: 150

Let Us Play